(My daughter is running around with a rubber knife from her kitchen playset.)

Daughter: “Mama, come here! I want to tell you something.”

(I go over and kneel down in front of her.)

Me: “What is it, sweetie?”

(My daughter gets up close, and talks in the creepiest whisper imaginable.)

Daughter: “Mama, the Lannisters send their regards…”

(She leans in and starts poking me in the chest with her knife.)

Daughter: “Now you die! Die! Die!”

Me: “Was Daddy letting you watch Game of Thrones?”

(My daughter nods. I turn to my husband.)

Me: “You. Explain this. Now.”

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(My dad’s aunt is visiting from Texas, and she wants to visit NYC, about two and a half hours away. My aunt, my grandmother, my mom, and I take a day trip up there. After walking a lot, my aunt stops and leans against a building with her hands on her knees, breathing heavily.)

Mom: “Are you okay?”

Great-Aunt: “Oh, I’m fine, just a little winded because of the altitude. I’m not used to being this far above sea level.”

(Another sister of theirs lives in Colorado, so I assume that’s how she got it in her head that being out of breath in another state is the same as thinner air.)

Me: “But we’re at sea level, on an island. The ocean is right over there.”

Great-Aunt: “Oh, no, honey; we’re much higher up here than at home.”

Grandmother: *totally serious* “Right, because if you look at a map, Texas is down here, and New York is way up here!”

(When we get home, I look up the actual altitudes just for kicks. According to Google, New York City is 33 feet above sea level. Houston? 43 feet.)

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(My eight-year-old son has high-functioning autism, and loves to discuss science, math, Greek mythology, and other facts considered boring by the other kids his age. Most of his discussions happen on the backseat of our car with his little audience being his five-year-old brother, who couldn’t care less about the world outside his Nintendo DS.)

Eight-Year-Old Son: “What are clouds?”

Five-Year-Old Son: “White cottony stuff in the sky?”

Eight-Year-Old Son: “Clouds are drops of water…”

(My eight-year old goes yapping about clouds while his audience rolls his eyes and huffs in boredom.)

Eight-Year-Old Son: “…the highest clouds are called cirrus…”

Five-Year-Old Son: “Oh my God! This is killing me!”

Eight-Year-Old Son: “You need to read and learn. Now the lowest clouds are—”

Five-Year-Old Son: “I know I know! Lowest cloud is the FOG!”

Eight-Year-Old Son: “Nope!”

Five-Year-Old Son: “Yes it is! Don’t you see it? Fog is right in your face. Please, I don’t need any reading to know that!”

(I work part-time at the local convenience store that sells school supplies, snacks, basic clothing, and other things. A customer walks in smelling heavily of marijuana.)

Customer: “Can I get some pens?”

Me: “Umm, sure.”

(I show the customer over to the area where we keep pens and pencils.)

Customer: “Whoa… YOU GUYS HAVE PINK PENS?!”

Me: “Yes, why?”

Customer: “I didn’t know they made pink pens!”

Me: “Umm… they make pens in every color, sir.”

Customer: “Even… ORANGE?!”

Me: “Yes, even orange.”

Customer: “Even YELLOW?! Oh, wait, that’d just be a highlighter.”

Me: *points at yellow gel pens* “No, they make yellow pens, too.”

Customer: “WOW!”

(The customer buys his pens and leaves. Good to know I may have changed someone’s life.)

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(I mentor high-school students for FIRST Robotics. I’ve noticed one of the mentees standing in front of a table saw that’s running, just staring at the spinning blade.)

Me: “[Student], what are you doing?”

Student: “I’m just watching the blade. It’s beautiful. I just keep looking at it and wonder if I’m fast enough to touch the blade without getting cut.”

(The student does a little hand lift and finger twitch, as if he is poking something.)

Me: “Okay, well, why don’t we turn the saw off…”