I am quarantined at home with my family, given the current health situation. It’s pretty boring after a while, so I decide to rearrange the house. My daughter keeps me company with her laptop while I sort through the liquor cabinet.

Me: “Hey, baby, look! We have some [Expensive Wine]! We should open it one of these days, don’t you think?”

Daughter: “Hmm? Yeah, sure…”

Me: “I’m serious! Can’t let it go to waste; it’s pretty good.”

My daughter looks up from the screen, smirking.

Daughter: “Mama, that’s what you said when you got it. Every time we get a wine bottle, we just stick it in that cabinet for a couple of years and then regift it to someone. Face it; we’re pretty boring people.”

I can’t be mad at her. She’s right.

My brother and I are kids, about eight and six, and we just finished watching “Mary Poppins” on TV. We liked it and we’re going around imitating her and her songs.

Dad: “Why are they singing?”

Mom: “Oh, they just finished watching something.”

Dad: “What?”

Mom: “It’s called Mary Poppings I think.”

Dad: “Poppings? What?”

I dance by, singing in a bad British accent.

Me: “Just a spoonful of sugaaa makes da medicine go dowonnnn!“

Dad: “Why are you singing weirdly like that?”

Me: “I dunno. It’s how she sings!”

Mom: “They have British accents.”

Dad: “Ohh.”

Me: “Mom, what’s ‘British’?”

She just shook her head, and much later I learned about it. It’s funny to picture little me going around singing in a bad British accent before I even knew what it was. And before Brits get upset, I did and still like it; otherwise, I wouldn’t have tried to copy them, so no hate here.

When I am in college, I am still living at home. I am also working but share a car with my parents — that is, I get it if neither of them needs it. This particular day, my dad is picking me up from work. We are in the car on the freeway during rush hour.

I have a horrible migraine that isn’t being helped by the stop and go of the semi next to us; sunlight is hitting between the cab and the load the driver is carrying and I am just not feeling well. I’ve started trying to turn to the best of my ability, closing my eyes as I am leaning against the window. I am very single.

Dad: *Side-eyeing me* “Are you all right?

Me: “Yeah, just a headache. Semi isn’t helping.”

Dad: *Still side-eyeing me* “You sure you’re okay?”

Me: *Opening my eyes* “Yeah, why?”

Dad: “It’s just… you’re not… you’re not pregnant, are you?”

Me: “No!”

Dad: “Okay, okay. Do you know how that works, though?”

Me: “Yeah, do you?”

Dad: “Of course, I do!”

Me: “Well, I’m missing one very key part of that equation!”

I started laughing at the look of shock on his face. Really, even if I had been pregnant, he would have been fine, but I think he was more surprised by my response.

My brother and sister-in-law taught their three-year-old daughter her last names and their respective names. They are showing what she learned in front of the family. In Belgium, it is not customary to take the name of your husband.

Sister-In-Law: “[Niece], what is your name?”

Niece: “[Niece’s Full Name].”

Brother: “Who is that?”

He points to his wife.

Niece: “Mum.”

Brother: “And what is Mum called?”

Niece: “[Sister-in-Law’s Full Name].”

Sister-In-Law: “Very good, honey. And who is that?”

She points to my brother. My niece speaks after a second’s delay, very upbeat.

Niece: “Daddy [Brother].”

We erupt in laughter.

Brother: *Fake insulted* “Daddy [Brother]? What other daddies do you have?”

I guess my niece considered her last name belonging to her and could not see how she shared it with her dad.

I am folding shirts in the girls’ clothing section. A mother is picking out dresses and showing them to her daughter for approval. Her daughter is maybe five years old. She holds up a white, ruffled dress to show her.

Mother: “Oh, this is so pretty! What do you think?”

The daughter thinks for a bit and then wrinkles her nose in disapproval.

Daughter: “But Mommy, it’s too… angel-y.”

Suddenly, the daughter narrows her eyes, bares her teeth like fangs, and lets out a death growl that would rival a metal vocalist while pumping her fist in the air. 

Daughter: “I WANNA LOOK LIKE THE DEVIL!”