(Years ago, when my youngest aunt first attended school, she had until then been called “Jojo” by family and friends instead of her birth name. This wasn’t an issue until she started school.)

Teacher: “[Aunt]? [Aunt]? I guess she’s absent.”

(After roll call is done, my aunt raises her hand.)

Aunt: “You didn’t call me!”

Teacher: “I didn’t? What’s your name?”

Aunt: “Jojo!”

Teacher: “There’s no Jojo on the list; your name can’t be Jojo.”

Aunt: *getting upset now* “Yes, I am! I’m Jojo!”

Teacher: *light bulb goes off* “The only absent person is [Aunt], are you [Aunt]?”

Aunt: “NO! I am Jojo! My name’s Jojo!”

Teacher: “[Surname] is your last name, right?”

Aunt: “Yes!”

Teacher: “Then you’re [Aunt].”

Aunt: “NO! I said my name is Jojo!”

(She then proceeds to have a full-on tantrum, so the teacher drags her to the office and calls my grandmother to try to resolve the issue. My grandmother just laughs.)

Grandmother: “OH! Jojo is her nickname. I didn’t realize we were only calling her that. Yes, this is [Aunt].”

Aunt: *stomps her foot* “Mooooooom! You’re dumb! My. Name. Is. Jojo!”

(Forty years later, the family will not let my aunt live it down.)

(My husband and I have never let our children believe in Santa. We host my in-laws for Christmas this year. They live 2000 miles away, so they stay for a couple weeks. We adults are chatting a couple days before Christmas, when my four-year-old comes up to me.)

Daughter: “[Nine-Year-Old Uncle] is angry with me.”

Me: “Why is he upset with you?”

Daughter: “Because I told him Santa isn’t real.”

(Thankfully his parents were amused, not upset! I had another chat with my daughter about not telling other children about Santa, even though she knows he’s pretend. Meanwhile, it’s not everyday that a niece breaks the news of Santa Claus to her uncle!)

(At my family’s Christmas dinner, my uncle is talking to my cousin. His mom — my grandma — hears them, and asks this gem.)

Grandma: “Oh, you know [Cousin]?”

Uncle: “Yes, Mom. He’s my son.”

Me: *snorts into potatoes from a table away*

(In her defence, she’s 80 years old with eight kids. Not exactly easy to keep track.)

(It is Christmas Day and I am cooking dinner for the first time, as my aunt has lost her leg and can no longer do it. She is making it very clear how she feels about it, as she has been doing it 30 years. I hear this conversation taking place.)

Aunt: “If I was cooking, we’d be eating by now. She’s taking ages.”

Mum: “Then go and ask her when it’ll be ready.”

Aunt: *annoyed* “Why should I? It should be done by now; she should hurry up. I don’t know why we couldn’t have it at your house, [Mum]; her house is awful. You can’t even go in the kitchen, because the door’s locked.”

Granddad: *annoyed* “Do you want it cooked properly or not?”

(More complaining ensues. We are now having dinner.)

Brother: “These potatoes are amazing. Are they homemade?”

Me: “Yes. I got the recipe online.”

Aunt: *annoyed* “I could have made these without a recipe on the Internet. You kids are so lazy these days. You could have asked me for a recipe. I don’t see why we should have to do this differently from last year. I could have made dinner, and it would have tasted a lot better than this, and—”

Granddad: *angry* “Would you shut up? You couldn’t cook dinner because you can barely walk. You can’t fit all seven of us into [Mum]’s small bungalow, and there is nothing wrong with [My Name]’s house. This dinner is delicious, and if you don’t like it, don’t f****** eat it.”

(My aunt shut up, finished her dinner, and went into the living room where she sulked for the remainder of the time she was here. It has been three weeks and she is still avoiding me.)

(My family is playing a fast-paced game where you need to get another person to guess a word or phrase. My uncle is trying to get my dad to guess a phrase.)

Uncle: “What Joseph’s father gave to him.”

Dad: “A coat.”

Uncle: “Yeah, but if he were an octopus.”

Dad: “A coat of arms!”

Uncle: “Yes, that’s it!”