(This entire conversation, except for one word, takes place in Estonian. My father’s English isn’t very good, but he does know a lot of words.)
Father: “What was the name of the new British prince again?”
Me: “George.”
Father: “Jaws? That’s an odd name for a kid. Wait, is the entire British royalty named after body parts?”
(My mother passed away from cancer a few months ago. She and my six-year-old daughter were the best of friends, often getting into mischief together. Not long after, my daughter comes downstairs looking woebegone.)
Daughter: “Mummy, I don’t want to go to school today. I don’t feel well.”
Me: “Oh, sweetheart, that’s no good. What’s the matter?”
Daughter: “I’ve got cancer.”
Me: “You’ve got… how do you know, sweetie?”
Daughter: “I caught it off Grammie.”
Me: “Sweetie, cancer isn’t contagious. You can’t catch it off someone. Now look me in the eye and tell me honestly: do you really not feel well, or do you just not want to go to school?”
Daughter: “I… well… I don’t want to go to school.”
Me: “I thought so. Why did you say you had cancer?”
Daughter: “Because Grammie told me that the one good thing about having cancer meant she didn’t have to go anywhere if she didn’t feel like it. And I don’t feel like going to school!”
(Needless to say, my daughter and her “contagious cancer” were packed off to school as usual. She’s been “in remission” ever since!)
(While I sit at the dining room table on my computer, my older brother is sitting across from me, attempting to carve wood. He’s trying to get a knot out of the edge of the wood, and doing so in a very dangerous manner, hammering the point of the blade in with the handle of a different blade, while the blade in the wood is pointing towards his hand. Since he’s already proven to be accident-prone and easily injured, I speak up.)
Me: “I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself.”
Brother: “Nah, it’s fine.”
(I sigh and turn back to my computer. Suddenly, my brother lets out a loud yelp!)
Brother: “It was the stick! The stick stabbed me, not the blade!”
Hopping online one day, I notice I have a message with an attachment, and open it. What is enclosed is adult imagery. This alone catches me off guard, enough to stop and wonder what is going on.
That’s when my mother, who is on the phone with my grandmother, looks at my computer and shouts, “ARE YOU LOOKING AT PORN?!”
Instantly I can hear my grandmother laughing through the speaker, and I have to explain the situation. After that my mother explains everything to my grandmother, who can’t stop laughing.
(We are saving for a trip to Savannah, so our Girl Scouts are having booth sales everywhere. A car dealership invited us to have a sale at their lot, and it is slow. Not many people come to a dealership to buy cookies. My girls are Juniors, aged 9-11, and are bored. My daughter is standing at the table asking everyone who walks by to buy cookies, and finally a man comes up, with the owner of the dealership.)
Man: *asking my daughter* “How much for a box of cookies?”
Daughter: “$15,000, and I’ll throw in that truck.”
(The owner burst out laughing, and told her that she had a job anytime she wanted it, once she was an adult! The man bought two cases before we went home.)
