(My three-year-old son likes to blame things on his 6-month-old brother. He routinely tells me that the baby spilled the milk, broke something, etc.)
Family friend: “What do you like best about your baby brother, sweetie?”
Son: “That he can’t talk.”
(It is a week before the 2012 Superbowl. My mother in-law is from Massachusetts, and a huge Patriots fan. We’re visiting with our eight month-old baby, who is always learning new ways her body works.)
Mother-in-law: *to baby* “Are you a Patriots fan?”
Baby: *shakes her head frantically and lets out a little shriek*
(I have a relatively severe peanut allergy. I puff up and get itchy when I eat peanuts. Earlier in my life, I would just turn red and get a stomach ache. My mom insisted on feeding me peanuts at this time so I would build up an immunity, which my grandmother was somehow able to do with shellfish. I come across a chocolate turtle that I don’t know has peanuts inside. I take a bite, realize, spit it out, and then run to my mom.)
Me: “Mom, I ate peanuts.”
Mom: “Good for you! I didn’t have to tell you this time!”
Me: “But, mom, I feel funny.”
Mom: “You’ll be fine, honey.”
Me: “But mom, I’m not turning red but I still feel funny.”
Mom: “That may mean that you finally built up an immunity! It’s past your bedtime. Go to bed, honey.”
Me: *sadly* “Yes, mom.”
(I lie in bed for about an hour, when I get extremely itchy. I notice I have welts all over me. I come downstairs to my dad.)
Me: *groggily* “Dad?”
Dad: *sees me* “Argh! OH, MY GOD!”
Me: “Daddy, I feel funny.”
Dad: “No kidding!”
Mom: *comes out* “What’s with all the screaming?” *sees me* “OH, MY GOD!”
Me: “Mommy, I told you I feel funny.”
Dad: “He looks like The Thing!”
(The next day, my mom apologizes for not believing me…)
Me: “It’s okay. I love you.”
Mom: “I love you, too.” *pauses* “But you really did look like The Thing.”
(My sister and I stop off at my grandmother’s house to drop off a birthday card from our younger cousins. One of them has just been born, and her name is inside the card. My grandmother is Chinese, and cannot speak English very well, but she can read basic English.)
Grandma: *reads card very slowly* “Happy…birthday…uhh…”
Sister: *in Chinese* “What is it?”
Grandma: *in Chinese* “What’s the new baby’s name?”
Sister: *points* “There.”
(Grandma has a shocked look.)
Me: *in Chinese* “What?”
Grandma: *in Chinese* “How, how do you pronounce this?”
Me: *in Chinese* “Sydney.”
(She doesn’t hear me. She starts spelling it out.)
Grandma: “X-O-X-O?”
(My sister’s jaw drops.)
Grandma: *in English* “How pronounce? So-So?”
Sister: *now hysterical, and speaking in Chinese* “No! XOXO means hugs and kisses!”
(Everyone is now on the floor laughing. My grandma finally recovers.)
Grandma: *in Chinese* “Oh my gosh! I was going to ask, what on earth is wrong with my grandchildren for naming their kids such a confusing name! Sydney, right? Oh my, that’s much better!”
(I have a lot of moles all over my body, quite a few of which are pronounced bumps.)
Girlfriend: *stroking my back* “You know, your back would be perfect for reading Braille.”
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