(My husband and I have been married for a year now. Whenever our families get together for the holidays, the topic of children comes up—especially when WE are going to have them. During a Christmas party at my in law’s house, his father is telling me all the stories about my husband when he was a child. We are talking about it on the drive home.)

Me: “You were a troublesome child.”

Husband: “What? I was always a good child!”

Me: “That’s not what your dad says. Going down a double black diamond when you’re only seven, calling your dad an f’ing idiot to your mother when you’re just three!”

Husband: “Yeah, he likes those stories.”

Me: “See. That’s why we can’t have kids. If they turn out like you, it’d be bad.”

Husband: “Whoa! Good child! I was the good child!”

Me: “Well, I wasn’t! I was a manipulative instigator.” *pause* “So, that’s it, then. We can’t have kids because if we do, they’ll end up being a combination between the two of us: troublesome, manipulative, evil demon children. I don’t know if I feel right about bringing that evil into this world.”

Husband: “That’s going to be my excuse from now on. I can’t place that evil upon others.”

Me: “We would be the ones having to deal with that evil! I can’t deal with the evil!” *pauses, nods sagely* “It’s decided, then. We can’t have kids. They will be demons.”

(Like many Scandinavians, we’re an atheist family, and I’ve sworn never to lie to my kids. I have never tried to convince them that there are tooth fairies, Easter bunnies, et cetera, and have instead taught them that these are just ancient customs that people follow for fun and for tradition. Our family celebrates all holidays, just not in a religious way. It’s just before Christmas; it’s snowing heavily as we’re driving in the darkness on a back road with my three young sons. Old Christmas jingles are playing on the radio, creating that warm and fuzzy Christmas feeling.)

Me: *jokingly* “Well, boys, have you been nice this year? Do you think Santa Claus is going to bring you presents or just charcoal?”

(Note: naughty children traditionally get charcoal from Santa in some countries.)

Five-Year-Old Son: *upset* “There is no Santa Claus! It’s just a fairy tale, just like Easter Bunny and Jesus!”

Me: “Well, yes, that’s true.”

(I’m quickly deprived of my Christmas spirit and start thinking, “You reap what you sow…”)

Five-Year-Old Son: “Besides, you buy the Christmas presents, not elves!”

Me: *smiling* “All the more reason not to be naughty, isn’t it?”

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(It is late evening on Christmas Eve. My husband and I are driving back from his parents’ house, after spending the evening with his family, including his sister and her husband.)

Husband: “It’s midnight. Merry Christmas, baby.”

Me: “Merry Christmas!”

Husband: “Since it’s now technically Christmas Day, I suppose you can open your present. Check the glove compartment.”

(I open it to find a neatly wrapped, box-shaped present.)

Me: “Aw baby!”

Husband: *devilish smile* “Just to warn you, Santa has decided you were naughty this year.”

(I laugh, and open the present expecting to find an ‘adult’ toy. Instead, it is a DVD box set of a TV show.)

Me: “I guess I was the wrong kind of naughty, huh?”

Husband: “Aw, crap!”

(He immediately does a U-turn and starts speeding back towards his parents’ house. It dawns on me what has just happened, and I start laughing hysterically.)

Husband: “Forgive the speeding, but I really don’t want my sister opening my ‘gift’ to her of edible panties.”

(He suddenly gets a phone call from his sister, which he answers on loud-speaker since he is driving.)

Sister-in-law: “First of all, I don’t think I can look at you guys in the eye again until new years. Secondly, my husband says thank you for dessert.”

(My aunt and grandmother have moved out of state a few months ago. They are notorious for being out of touch, even while they are here. I’m 19, and my brother is 17.)

Aunt: “So, we’ll be coming in for the holidays. We may or may not come to Christmas dinner. But we’ll be staying at the hotel! The kids can come and throw on their swimsuits and jump in the pool!”

Mom: *laughing* “How old does she think you guys are?”

(My dad and brother are both roaring with laughter.)

Mom: “She’s lucky if you guys even make an appearance!”

Brother: *stops laughing* “That’s an option?”

(My boyfriend has just proposed, and he is driving us home. We have given up a lot of things for each other, including moving to a different hemisphere and being partially disowned. We’re also huge math geeks. I have been running my fingers over the ring over and over. I notice that there is something engraved on the inside of the ring: 3.1415926535897.)

Me: “Babe, why does this ring have Pi engraved on it?”

Fiancé: “I was waiting for you to ask. I asked for that because our love is like Pi – spontaneous, somewhat irrational, and never-ending.”

(My eyes water a little.)

Me: “That is the sweetest, most nerdy thing anyone’s ever done.”