(Due to unfortunate circumstances, I’m forced to live with my sister and my nephew. He is three and has a set of lungs that must be the size of beach balls. They also have a cat, who avoids him, as well. One time, I’m talking baby talk to the cat and petting it, and my sister hears me.)

Sister: “Why don’t you talk that way to my son? Why don’t you give him attention, too? You’re so mean.”

Me: “He may be cute, but I don’t like noise. Cats are cute and they don’t make noise.”

Sister: “You crazy cat lady!” *huffs away*

(I don’t even own a cat! Is it really that hard to understand that people don’t like screeching, even if it’s from a kid? Not all of them are angels!)

([Nephew #1] is the recent big brother to two adorable twins. [Nephew #2] is his cousin. Both are four years old.)

Nephew #1: “[Baby #1] and [Baby #2] are so cute I could just eat them up.”

Nephew #2: “Yeah, I could eat them up! Except that we can’t because they are full of blood.”

Nephew #1: “No! It’s because they are full of bones and we would choke!”

(They fit in so well with our family.)

(My sister is trying to help my six-year-old nephew write a Christmas list.)

Sister: “Okay, [Nephew], what’s something that you need?”

Nephew: “A toothbrush and toothpaste?”

Sister: “I meant, what do you want for Christmas?”

Nephew: “Oh, presents.”

Sister: *laughing to herself a little* “Yes, but what presents?”

Nephew: “I don’t know. A square one, maybe?”

(It’s Christmas time. My extended family is holding a get-together, and my sister and I are carpooling there. I end up in the backseat with my nieces, who are four and two. This year, my older niece is old enough to “get” the idea of Santa Claus, and she is excited to tell me what she hopes Santa will bring her. She alternates gift ideas with bits of Christmas songs, sung off-key and missing words. It’s when she switches to singing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” that I realize that maybe she doesn’t “get” Santa like we thought she did.)

Niece: *singing* “You better not run, you better not cry. Santa Claus is coming… for you.”

(Clearly, further discussion is needed.)

I went to visit my dying aunt. We talked for a long time, and I mentioned that I still had the embroidered plaque she’d made for my birth. I was ashamed; I hadn’t taken the best care of it and it was quite dirty. I thought she might be able to tell me how to clean it.

My aunt started crying, and I apologized for my actions.

“It’s not that,” she sobbed. “My children threw theirs away. You’re the only one who kept it.”

I honestly didn’t know what to say to that, but I made sure I visited her as much as possible before she passed. I have an entire drawer dedicated to her letters, and a wall dedicated to her embroidery. It’s not going in a box or in the trash.