My sister-in-law is trans. She introduced herself at a small family dinner at my house, after telling me and my husband what she wanted to do. There were some mixed emotions, some confusion, a lot of loud words, and many, many tears. [Mother-In-Law] was the loudest, screaming about the sin [Sister-In-Law] had committed, about how she was a man, and about how no one would accept her as she is. [Sister-In-Law] got kicked out of her house and came to live with my husband and me.

A few weeks after [Sister-In-Law] moved in, [Mother-In-Law] dropped by unannounced with a box of things belonging to [Sister-In-Law]. They were damaged and, judging by the smug look on her face, [Mother-In-Law] was responsible. [Sister-In-Law] asked if we could say she was out so she didn’t have to deal with any of it right away.

Mother-In-Law: “Where is [Sister-In-Law’s Dead Name]? I have his stuff.”

Husband: “Who? Oh, [Sister-In-Law] is—”

Mother-In-Law: “[Sister-In-Law] isn’t real. I gave birth to [Sister-In-Law’s Dead Name]. Is he upstairs?”

She walked toward the stairs but I blocked her.

Me: “[Sister-In-Law] isn’t here. If that’s all, I’ll walk you out.”

Mother-In-Law: “I have a right to see my son!”

Husband: “I’m right here.”

Mother-In-Law: “No, you know I mean [Sister-In-Law’s Dead Name].”

Me: “[Sister-In-Law] isn’t available. You can leave now.”

Mother-In-Law: “Sinners!”

She took a swing at me and connected, scratching the side of my face and grabbing my hair. It took everything in me not to hit her back. [Husband] intervened and pulled us apart. He had a firm grip on his mother’s arm as he escorted her out the door. 

Husband: “You can accept your family or you can be alone. The choice is yours.”

He shut the door in her face as she tried to come back in. I think I actually heard her connect with the door. I suffered no long-term effects from her attack. [Sister-In-Law] still lives with us but we haven’t heard a peep from her mother.

Back in the 1990s, when only the police and 911 dispatch had caller ID, one of the most popular ways teenagers and adults with no lives would annoy strangers would be to call them and either sit and not say anything, ask for someone who didn’t live there, or call and immediately hang up.

At one point in time, these calls seriously became a nuisance to our home where every day, at 7:00 am sharp, someone would call and say nothing, and then at 4:30 pm sharp, they would call and ask for a “Sherry Slone.” Every… freaking… day. Picking up the phone and yelling, “F*** OFF!” did nothing but tickle the person pink and encourage them to call more often.

Then, my dad found a rather interesting solution.

Caller: “Hello, is Sherry Slone there?”

My dad pulled my science book out of my lap.

Dad: “Mitosis, a process of cell duplication, or reproduction, during which one cell gives rise to two genetically identical daughter cells. Strictly applied, the term mitosis is used to describe the duplication…”

The caller hung up. The next morning, they called again and my mother answered. They were silent.

Mom: “Oil painting is a hobby that requires both skill and patience. The supplies that I prefer using is a standard X size brush made out of—”

The caller hung up.

And surprise, all the calls stopped.

It’s late in the evening and I want to go outside to catch a digital pocket monster on my phone. My wife is quite the anxious type, who always triple-checks locks before heading to bed. It’s raining quite heavily. 

Wife: “Great, I just locked everything!”

Me: *With quite some sass* “That’s the great thing about locks: they can open and close again!”

I go outside and catch my monster. I come back and… the door is locked. I dig up my keys and unlock the door.

Me: “Why did you lock the door?!”

Wife: “Locks are a funny thing, you know? They can open and they can close again!”

I deserved that one.

My mum comes round to see our new flat.

Mum: “Why do all your candles have these little lids?”

Me: “Oh, I never really realised. I guess it’s to stop things getting on the candle, catching fire. I never really thought about it before.”

Mum: “Seems daft to me.”

Me: “Maybe. I just like them because they smell nice.”

Mum: “They do, they really do.”

I end up buying her one of the candles she likes the most, and the next time I visit her:

Me: “Smells nice in here. Do I smell your new candle?”

Mum: “Hmm, yes, it’s really nice. But have you noticed it smells a bit when you first light it?”

Me: “No? What of?”

Mum: “Well, burnt hair.”

Me: “Hmmm, do you check if Morris (the cat) gets his hair on it?”

Mum: “Oh, I was dusting the other day, and I saw hairs in there. I didn’t even think. They should make something to stop that.”

Me: “Yeah, I think they do, you know. Maybe you have one already?”

She figured it out pretty quickly; the little kids are no longer as “daft” as she thought.

My friend has been doing self-weaning, letting her daughter decide when she is done breastfeeding. That means she is still breastfeeding the girl at nearly three years old.

I’ve been babysitting the girl and we have just done a lot of heavy physical activity outside. When we come in, she asks to watch cartoons and, wanting an excuse to let her sit down and rehydrate, I agree to one show. She often nurses when watching cartoons, which I suppose she is used to because not long after the show starts:

Girl: “I want milk.”

She starts leaning over as if to nurse from me before realizing I’m not her mom.

Me: “Sorry, I don’t have any mom milk.”

Girl: “Oh, I forgot! You’re a boy; you don’t have nipples!”