(We are at a family reunion for my mom’s side of the family. I’m about eight and I’m talking with my great aunt. A relative I’ve never met approaches and starts talking to my great aunt.)

Relative: *finally noticing me* “Well, hello! Whose little girl are you?”

(I blush and ignore her because I’m shy.)

Great aunt: “That’s [my mom]’s oldest girl.”

Relative: “Really?” *she leans closer and wrinkles her nose* “She doesn’t look like [my mom] at all. She doesn’t even look like family. You sure she’s not just one of the kids’ friends? None of ours are redheads.”

(My dad walks up.)

Dad: *to me* “Come on honey, we’re leaving. Tell your aunt good-bye.”

Me: “Bye, aunty!”

(I hug her and run to grab my dad’s hand.)

Relative: “Wow! She looks just like you! Are you her daddy?”

Dad: “Yes, she’s mine. I’m [mom]’s husband.”

Relative: “Oh! I thought she was some other person’s kid because she doesn’t look like her mom!”

Dad: “You do realize that just because she’s related to you doesn’t mean she’s going to look like your side of the family, right?”

Relative: “Well, the other kids look like our side of the family, so I thought that meant all of them had to!”

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(My 11-year-old son and I are driving home from getting groceries. We had been talking about his new cousin, who was born the month before.)

Son: “I’m never getting married, and I’m never having babies. They’re just too much work.”

Me: “Maybe when you’re grown up you could adopt an older kid.”

Son: *excited* “Yeah, that’s it! I’ll adopt a 21-year old when I’m grown up.”

Me: “I think that’s actually called marriage.”

(My brother and I are sitting in the living room eating dinner. I’ve started doing some laundry and the washing machine is making some really strange noises.)

Me: “I don’t like the sound that washing machine is making.”

(My brother gets up and closes the kitchen door.)

Brother: “Problem solved!”

(To this day, he says ‘most of life’s problems can be solved by closing a door’. People think he’s being really profound, but we know better!)

(I am chuckling while reading the paper. I am reading an article about malapropisms, where people get clichés wrong. Instead of the phrase ‘screaming like a banshee’, they would say ‘running around like a banshee’, or ‘jumping like a banshee’. A banshee is an Irish ghost that’s known for screaming or wailing. As my family is Irish, I figured my mom would know this.)

Me: “Get this. This person used the phrase ‘jumping around like a banshee’.”

Mom: “Well, that’s what they do.”

(I look puzzled.)

Mom: “They jump up and down.”

Me: “Mom, banshees scream.”

Mom: “Right, they scream, and they hop up and down.”

Me: *exasperated* “Mom, do you know what a banshee is?”

Mom: “It’s like a chicken, but smaller!”

(I’m visiting my family for a holiday. The whole family is relaxing on the lounge. My sister is massaging my husband’s head, which is what I’d be doing if I wasn’t playing a computer game with one hand and the other around my husband.)

Sister: “Do you mind if I massage his head?”

Me: “I don’t mind if you do that. I would do that if I had a third hand.”

Sister: “I am your third hand!”

My Husband: “Once removed… on your mother’s side.”