(I call my daughter at work in her sandwich shop, because I am buying Yule candy and want to know what kind she wants. However, I don’t identify myself, and apparently, she doesn’t recognize me so our conversation goes like this:)

Daughter: “Thanks for calling [Sandwich Shop], [Daughter] speaking.”

Me: “Hey ya. Are mint M&Ms better than peanut, or peanut better than mint?”

Daughter: “Umm, peanut is better? I like peanut better…” *confused silence*

Me: “Thanks. Bye!”

(An hour later, she gets her break and texts me back:)

Daughter: “DID YOU CALL ME AT WORK TO ASK ABOUT M&Ms?!”

(I totally lost my s*** in the grocery store that I’d moved on to.)

For eighth grade, I went to a Catholic school that babied the students. Every day, we were required to have our parents sign our notebooks. These notebooks held our daily grade, a little note about the day, and nothing else. If our parents didn’t sign it, the teacher would lecture us and call our parents. If the parents didn’t answer, they would hold us after school until our parents arrived to get us, even if you were a straight-A student with no discipline problems.

My mom knew I was an A and B student, and hated this policy. She did not care about signing the book at all. After the first few times, Mom just initialed it without reading it. My teacher seemed to accept the initials. I had As and Bs, after all.

I ended up forging mom’s initials half the time; we’d both forget and it was just easier.

One day, my mother received a nerve conduction study — the way I explained it, “the doctor shot electricity up her hand.” Her initials were super shaky that day. My teacher opened the book and accused me of forgery. “Of all the days,” I thought to myself. My teacher called the English/history and the math/science teacher, and they all had a loud whisper conversation where they discussed how “that wasn’t a real carpal tunnel test,” how weird it was that someone would initial the book, and how I’d been totally forging it from day one. They called my mother and told her that only a face-to-face meeting would suffice.

Mom was not happy. She explained the nerve conduction study better than I could, and told them how ridiculous their “nanny book” was for a good student. It became a rather heated affair.

In the end, the teachers demanded that she sign the book instead of just initialing, and I learned how to forge my mother’s full signature.

(I live in an area where air conditioning isn’t needed for the majority of the year, or even at all in cooler years. Most people don’t have it. There are usually one or two heatwaves a year that make for an uncomfortable few days without AC. We’re currently in one of those, and it’s been dragging on for over a week. My family is being careful not to do things that will heat up the house even more, like using the oven. One afternoon, my sister and I are in the kitchen when my mom walks in. She freezes and stares at the oven, which says 350. For those who use Celsius, this is the temperature that ovens are set to when turned on.)

Mom: “Who turned that oven on? How long has it been running? I’ve told you not to use it when it’s this hot out!”

Sister: “Uh… Mom…”

Mom: *frantically pressing the off button on the oven* “Why won’t this d*** thing turn off?”

Me: “Mom!”

Mom: “What?”

(I point to the oven display, which now reads 3:51, as in the time. My mom stops trying to turn off the oven, which is, of course, already off and cold.)

Mom: “Well, that was embarrassing. I’m blaming the heat.”

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(This event happens more than halfway through my junior year in high school. It’s important to note that prior to this, I have only missed about four or five days of school during my ENTIRE high school career, half of which were from when my grandmother died unexpectedly last year. This one particular morning, I wake up feeling like complete and utter crap. I also just so happen to have two major presentations today after lunch and my parents know about both of them. They basically have to fight to get me out of bed, accusing me of either lying or exaggerating to get out of my presentations. I manage to power through the first half of the day before breaking down at lunch and having my counselor essentially force my mother to come and get me. Naturally, she isn’t happy about it as she still thinks I’m purposefully trying to avoid my presentations.)

Mom: *in a very condescending tone* “I hope you’re prepared to go to the doctor. I’m bringing you back right after, too.”

(It’s very clear she’s trying to call my “bluff” and scare me into backing down, but I just quietly shrug. And just as she said, she brings me to a walk-in clinic near my school. After going through the standard procedure, the nurse seeing me takes a snot sample for a flu test.)

Mom: “I’m thinking it’s just a little cold at most.”

Nurse: “If that’s the case, we’ll probably just do a steroid shot, but let’s see the test results first.”

(She leaves and returns a few minutes later. To my mother’s surprise, the nurse is now wearing a procedure mask.)

Nurse: “So, he has the flu. We’re lucky y’all caught it within the first two days so we can write him a prescription for some Tamiflu that y’all can pick up at your preferred pharmacy. We’ll also give you a doctor’s note that says he can’t go to school until at least next Monday. Until then, make sure he gets plenty of rest and that he doesn’t have a fever for at least 48 hours prior to Monday.”

(My mother was horrified and ended up asking to have herself tested, too; she was negative. Although I feel bad for all my friends and classmates who sat by me that morning, I can’t help but gleefully remember my mom’s face when she realized that I wasn’t faking s***.)

(My dad, sister, and I are watching football on TV. One of my dad’s pet peeves is when a sportscaster describes someone as a “really physical player.”)

Dad: “A ‘physical player’? What else is he supposed to be, a chemical player?!”

Sister: “Well, if he throws a Hail Mary pass, he could be a spiritual player!”