(A father and daughter walk into the library with an armful of books.)

Father: “Hi. You accept donations, right?”

Me: “Sure, as long as they are in good condition and are not textbooks or phone books.”

(I go through the small stack, sorting them into children’s, adult fiction, etc, as well as pulling out a tablet case.)

Father: “You can just sell that or something.”

Me: “Sure.”

Me: *jokingly to the daughter as I pull a Madeline picture book out of the stack* “Are you sure you wanted to give this to us?”

Daughter: *alarmed* “NO! Nobody said we were going to give this to you!”

(She grabbed it from my hand and bolted for the doors. I apologized to her father, waited until they were out of sight, and only then began laughing.)

(My eighteen-month-old son has found out about how doors open. He loves to slam the garage door, and he likes to hold the refrigerator door open. He glares at me whenever I close it, usually a few seconds later, as I like to follow him when he’s headed to the kitchen. One day, I ask his sister to keep her eye on him while I run to the bathroom, but I don’t say anything about following him around to prevent mischief. When I finish in the bathroom, I go into the kitchen to grab something super quick, because I assume the kids are in their playroom, but I find my son in the kitchen with the fridge open. He’s sitting in the middle of what looks like a tiny yellow island, grinning from ear to ear, squeezing mustard out of its container. He looks at me and starts drinking the mustard.)

Me: “[Son]! Mustard is not a drink!”

Son: *stops squeezing the mustard container, and looks at me* “But it’s good, Mama!”

Me: “You may like it, but I don’t think the floor likes it very much.”

(My daughter hears the commotion, and runs out of the playroom.)

Daughter: “Uh… What? Oh, Mommy, he was playing and then I didn’t see him. I thought he was in the tent playing sleepy night-night time.”

Me: “That… That’s not a game. Please help me clean this. And remind me to text Daddy to tell him we need a fridge lock.”

(After cleaning the mess thoroughly, and bathing my son, I sent a text to my husband asking him to pick up a fridge lock on his way home, and I installed it that night. Seven years later, we still tease our son that mustard is not a drink.)

(I’m having brunch with my dad when my phone alarm goes off to remind me to take my pill. I reach into my purse, keep my hands below the level of the table, and quietly pop a pill out of the pack. I palm the pill and raise it to my mouth.)

Dad: *cringes* “You shouldn’t take birth control in front of your father.”

Me: *annoyed because I tried to be subtle enough for him to ignore it, and also because I’m in my twenties* “Sorry. Would you rather I wait, miss taking it at the same time every day, and increase my chances of getting pregnant?”

Dad: *cringes harder* “No!”

(I’m working on an art project for my friend’s birthday. I have spent two days sketching out everything, and I’m ready to start inking it. It should be mentioned that I have liked art for a long time and have done my own research on how to make a presentable piece. Because I have spent so long sketching my poster, I am scared to start inking the poster, in fear of messing up all my hard work. My dad thinks he has better ideas, and suggests a few as he is walking by:)

Dad: “Just colour it in as-is! Then just add black paint and make it artistic or something.”

Dad: “Just scan it! Then colour it in on your laptop and print it out!”

(We only have an A4 printer and scanner, and we have very little coloured ink left.)

Dad: *as I’m finding a new fine-liner because the one I’m using is running out* “Why are you wasting your time? Just use this pen!” *holds out a dollar store pen that isn’t even black*

(Once I finish inking and start to rub out the lines and colour things in:)

Dad: “Why are you wasting the eraser? It’s fine; STOP RUBBING OUT THE LINES!”

Dad: “Why don’t you just give it to her in black and white?”

Dad: *as I’m doing characters from my friend’s favourite animes on the poster, the eye colour and outfits can’t be changed or they would be unrecognizable* “Eww, why are the eyes blue? Why can’t you make them brown?”

Dad: *snatches pencil and starts stabbing some scrap paper, effectively destroying the pencil* “You need to colour it in like this! Why are you making all of this so light?!”

Dad: *watching me draw a Pokémon* “Why is that so ugly!? Why is there a flower growing out its back?!”

(Thankfully, I was able to finish the poster without my dad destroying the poster.)

(My mom is a children’s librarian and is in charge of creating read-along programs for the kids. As she has partial hearing loss, she is not a big music fan, save for her kids’ songs she learns for her programs. I am visiting her at work one day when I see a picture book by Pharrell Williams with the words to his song “Happy.”)

Me: “Hey, Mom, did you see this? I know you’ve heard the song somewhere along the way. That’d be kind of cool for one of your programs!”

(I flip through the book, kind of humming the tune, while my mom tries to place it. She also flips through the book, mulling the idea over.)

Mom: “I don’t know who Pharrell Williams is. Is he popular in today’s music? Would the kids recognize the song?”

Me: *laughing* “I definitely think the kids would recognize the song. And yes, he is pretty popular, or at least some of his songs are. About as well-known as Adele.”

Mom: *blank stare* “Adele? Who’s he?”