I’m trying to stimulate my daughter’s mnemonic ability with trivia and quizzes. Thanks to a recent accident that painted the bathroom tiles silver, we now know that modern thermometer tips contain a gallium, indium, and tin alloy called Galinstan. My daughter is now taking her temperature.

Me: “Do you remember what’s in the tip?”

Daughter: “Uh. Tin and… gallium and… indium.”

Me: “Very good. What’s the name?”

Daughter: “Tin… Sta… Sta… In… Gal… STALINGRAD!”

After my third child, I don’t go back to work. Three kids with various after-school activities keep me busy enough, and it’s just so much easier to just be there for school breaks or illnesses or any unexpected event.

Apparently, this sends the wrong message to my eight-year-old son, who one day makes a remark amounting to, “Dads work; moms don’t.”

Me: “Are you saying that only men work and women don’t? That women don’t have jobs?”

Son: “Erm, yes? I mean, Dad goes to work every morning and you just stay home.”

Me: “Well, first of all, I do work at home, thank you very much. I may not get paid for it, but I do all of the cleaning, and the cooking, and the mowing, and the fixing. If I wasn’t home, we would have to do all of this work on the weekend, or we would have to pay someone to come and help us.”

Son: “Okay?”

Me: “Second of all, of course, women can have jobs. You know it. You’ve seen it. What do you think your teacher is doing at school? She’s working. This is her job.”

Son: “Oh.”

Me: “Last week, we went to the doctor and to the dentist. Didn’t you notice that they were women? What about the cashiers in the supermarket? You’ve seen plenty of women working.”

Son: “That’s true.”

Me: “Do you remember when you went to [Caregiver] after school? That was her job, too. It’s not just for fun that she took care of your sister all day. I paid her.”

Son: “That’s a job? Okay.”

Me: “And just why do you think you were going to [Caregiver]? Why wasn’t I home to take care of you? WELL, I WAS AT WORK.”

Son: “Ohhh.”

I am currently working from home. I’m near the end of an online chat with my supervisor.

Supervisor: “Oooh, I can smell cake from the kitchen.”

Me: “Yum, sounds nice. I’m not very good with cake.”

Then, my son yells out:

Son: “You are amazing with cake, Mum. Two seconds and it’s gone.”

Cheeky little bugger.

When my son is seven, he starts telling my husband and me that he wants a baby brother or sister. One day, we are at a rather large family gathering. My sister is there with my niece, who is suffering due to teething and just having had vaccines yesterday, and she makes this suffering well known by screaming at the top of her lungs.

One of my relatives approaches my son and says she’s heard that he wants a little baby brother or sister. With a look of utter disdain that I think only kids can manage, he looks at my crying niece and then back to my relative.

Son: “Not if they sound like that, I don’t!”

I have been seriously threatening to learn to drive for most of my four-year-old daughter’s life. I tell her that I will be going out to practice driving with her daddy after she goes to bed this evening.

Daughter: “You don’t need to go with Daddy! I can teach you driving!”

Me: “I know, but I need to go in the car to learn.”

Daughter: “No, you don’t! You just get in the car, put on your seat belt, and go—” *runs around and mimes steering* “—’VROOOOOOM!’”

She has “taught” me like this before. I’m glad to say it always starts with putting on the seat belt.