(I am with my daughter and three-year-old granddaughter, taking her to a children’s store where you can build your own stuffed teddy bears. Part of the process is to pick the “heart” of your bear.)

Employee: *to Granddaughter* “This is the heart of your bear.”

Granddaughter: *eyes wide* “Ooh.”

Employee: “You need to give it a kiss, before we put it in your bear. That way your bear knows that you love him.”

(She kisses the “heart,” and then it’s placed into the stuffing in the bear’s chest. It’s then sent off to be made, with all the customised eyes, noses, clothes, etc. Later, we’re home, and my granddaughter comes over with her new bear.)

Granddaughter: “Heart.”

Me: “Yes, darling, your bear has a big heart.”

Granddaughter: “I want my heart.”

Me: “What do you mean, darling?”

Granddaughter: “It’s my heart.” *thrusts bear at me* “I want it.”

Me: “Oh, no, dear. The heart stays inside the bear. That’s how he knows you love him. He needs it to stay inside him.”

(My granddaughter ponders this for a moment, and then smiles.)

Granddaughter: “Okay!”

(She then wanders away. I follow her and see her looking around the kitchen.)

Me: *thinking she wants a snack* “What are you looking for, darling?”

Granddaughter: “Scissors.”

This story is part of our Creepy Kids roundup!

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After my grandfather won his battle with cancer, they were supposed to move. He decided to wait until he got the all-clear: three years of screening. I endorsed this decision. His health and safety came first, and after all, these doctors had beaten the cancer once before.

The three years pass, and he and Grandma move back to their hometown, in the mountains. About a year in, Grandma starts having breathing difficulties. The doctor says that she needs oxygen in the higher elevations. The mountains are bad for her. After plenty of trips to family who are all at sea level, we learn that she has no difficulty breathing in lower elevations.

I ask my grandfather if they’re going to move for her health and safety. He tells me it’s too much trouble.

My great, great grandmother was quite a character all her life. When she passed away, the family gathered for the funeral, and milled around, sharing stories in subdued voices about memories of her.

Shortly before everyone began to file into the room, the funeral director came in. He was looking very frazzled, and wringing his hands. He apologized profusely, and said that the funeral couldn’t start yet; her body wasn’t there!

Apparently, the morgue sent her to the wrong funeral parlor, in an entirely different city! The hearse was on its way to pick her up, but… well… the funeral was going to be delayed.

There was a beat of silence, and then the entire family managed to start laughing.

My great, great grandma had always told the family that she was always late, and would likely be late to her own funeral. She was! About two hours late to be exact.

The story is now family legend, of how great, great grandma was late to her own funeral, and it was the one family funeral that was conducted with snickers and giggling.

(My grandmother and I are lost and driving on a long, straight road. Because of this, she doesn’t really pay attention to the speed limit. Soon enough, a cop pulls us over.)

Policeman: “Ma’am, were you aware that you were going 78 miles per hour in a 55 mile per hour zone?”

Grandmother: “No, I wasn’t, officer. Say, do you know where the [Theater] is?”

Policeman: “Yes, I do, actually. Go down this road until you see a stoplight. Turn left there.”

Grandmother: “All right, thank you so much! Have a good day!”

Policeman: “You, too, ma’am.”

(He left, forgetting the reason why he pulled her over in the first place.)

I broke my phone, so I made a Facebook post letting my friends and family know that I would not be able to use my phone.

My best friend is pregnant, so she left a message telling me she would call my job when she went into labor so that I could get to the hospital. I replied to message me on Facebook first, and then call my job if I didn’t respond.

My grandma commented right under that, “Can I contact you through Facebook?”

…on Facebook.