(I’m helping my brother with a project. I’m cutting out pictures while he’s typing up a synopsis. He starts pounding the keys and typing gibberish.)

Me: “You know, I don’t think your teacher will accept this.”

Brother: “If I keep going, I’ll get a word!”

Me: “Well, you know what they say, give a monkey a typewriter and eventually it’ll say something.”

Brother: “The monkey or the typewriter?”

(I have just had a singing conversation with my three-year-old son while getting him ready for bed. Once we’re finished, I turn to my husband and notice he’s giving us a weird look.)

Me: “What?”

Husband: “I honestly don’t know if you two understand each other because he takes after you, or because you’re just perpetually three years old. Either way, there’s two of you and I’m scared.”

(I am, to put simply, a physical wreck. There is always somewhere on me that hurts, normally my hands/arms/shoulders/neck, but occasionally various leg joints. I am arguing with my younger brother, and poke him in the back of the head.)

Brother: “Wait, that’s not fair! I can’t poke you back, because I don’t know what’ll kill you today!”

(One of my cousins has a couple of young kids, including a six-year-old girl who likes to boss people around. When she realizes that I’ll let her, and that I’m pretty strong, she takes a shine to me.)

Cousin’s daughter: “Put me on your shoulders!”

Me: “Okay!” (I do so. I am 6’3″.)

Cousin’s daughter: “Whoa! This is so cool! I’m taller than everyone! I’m-” *suddenly clings very tightly to my head*

Me: “You all right?”

Cousin’s daughter: “We’re really high up. Don’t look down.”

(After seeing ‘Les Miserables’, two weeks later the music is still in our heads driving us crazy. One evening my mom starts humming the first line of ‘Masters of the House’.)

Mom: “Fa la la la la…”

(Noticing our death glare reactions, she finishes.)

Mom: “…la la, la, la.” <*to the tune of ‘Deck the Halls’. It's July.)

Dad: “Nice try.”