(My brother, two cousins and I have just returned from a shopping excursion.)

Me: “So, mom, I’ve got bad news and good news. Bad news is, [cousin] bought the wrong coffee instead of the one that fits your coffee maker.”

Mother: “Why weren’t you paying attention? It’s always the same with you!”

(I stay dutifully quiet.)

Mother: “Well, and the good news?”

(I leaves, and come back with a huge box.)

Me: “The good news is [brother] and me took care of that.”

(We show her, her brand new coffee maker.)

Me: “Happy mother’s day!”

(My sister and I are heading home. We swing through a drive-thru fast food place so she can grab some dinner. She has her fries on the bench seat between us, and is driving with one hand.)

Sister: “Hey, can you fish out one of the ketchups from the glove box?”

Me: “Sure!”

Sister: “Okay, your job is to ketchup me!”

(For the rest of the ride, she holds up a fry, and I apply ketchup.)

(I’m terrified of cockroaches. Unfortunately, they’re fairly common in my area, and will sometimes wind up inside the house. One night, paranoid after dealing with a roach in the bathroom, I find a second roach in the bedroom. I smash it with my sandal, but I can’t bring myself to get close enough to dispose of it. I leave my sandal on top of the dead roach, and eventually get to sleep at about 4am. The next day I post online about my dead cockroach dilemma.)

Me: “There is a dead roach under one of my sandals in the bedroom. I need my sandals. I do not know what to do about the dead roach; I don’t want to get close to it. Anybody wanna come over and dispose of a dead roach for me?”

Mom: “Cover him with a blob of wet paper towels. Put a zip-loc bag over your hand. With the bag on your hand, scoop up the blob of wet paper towels. Turn the bag inside out. Ta-daa!”

(I am about to thank my mom for the advice, when she continues.)

Mom: “Then toss the bag of wet paper towels out in the street as far as you can throw it, just in case the Reincarnation Fairy comes to your trash barrel and brings him back to life.”

Me: “OH, MY GOD! MOM! WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?!”

(My youngest niece is a nearly perfect clone of my sister. Given how annoying my sister was as a child, this makes a recent phone call quite interesting. While we are talking, I can hear my youngest niece raising a ruckus in the background. My sister starts admonishing my niece.)

Sister: “QUIET! I’M TRYING TO TALK TO YOUR AUNT!”

(She sighs, and returns to our conversation.)

Sister: “Honestly! That child drives me CRAZY. She is JUST. LIKE. ME!”

(I am eating lunch alone at a bakery/deli. A mother and her two sons, the youngest being about six years old, decide to sit next to me. The youngest one is being sassy about everything, and I’m trying really hard not to laugh.)

Mom: “You should try my pasta; I think you’ll really like it.”

Six-Year-Old Son: “Mmmm… no.”

Mom: “But it’s got all kinds of things you like. Fettuccine, cheese, basil—”

Six-Year-Old Son: “Basil? What the heck is basil?”

Mom: “I put it in tons of stuff. You like it; just try it.”

Six-Year-Old Son: “No.”

Mom: “I think you should. I might try to make this at home.”

Six-Year-Old Son: “No, you won’t.”

Mom: “Come on, try it. I promise you’ll like it.”

Six-Year-Old Son: “Well, mother, you also promised I’d like beets, and look where that got us.”

(As a surprise for me, my Dad got me tickets to Star Wars in Concert, where a live orchestra plays music from the movies, narrated live by the guy who played C-3PO. I’m in the second row, and in utter heaven. My mother, the person who made me watch all three movies in one day when I was 13, and is a professional musician, is sitting next to me. During one section, they play the ‘Luke and Leia’ theme from ‘Return of the Jedi’. She turns to me in horror.)

Mom: “When did we find out that they’re siblings?!”

Me: “1983, mom.”

Mom: “I swear that wasn’t in the movies before. Was that in the Special Editions?!”

(The ‘Lord of The Rings: Return of The King’ has just come out to theaters. My stepmom and I are big fans, so we see it together. After the film ends, we start to leave. A huge line has accumulated for the next screening. My stepmom, seeing this, smiles mischievously.)

Stepmom: *in a loud voice* “I can’t believe they killed Frodo!”

(The line erupts into hushed conversation at this fake tidbit.)

Me: “Mama!”

Stepmom: “What? They’re gonna see it anyway.”

Me: “Oh… good point!”

(I am seven years old, and there’s been a blizzard, so school is out for a week. My dad has taken my brother and me to the local sledding hill.)

Me: “Daddy! Can you push me down the hill?”

Stranger: “Would you like me to give you a push?”

Me: “No, you’re a stranger. I want my daddy to push me!”

Dad: “It’s okay, sweetie; he can give you a push. He’s the county sheriff!”

Stranger: “You’ve taught her well!”

(I am the youngest of six kids, and my mother has had glaucoma for 30 years. Her eyesight is not good at all. We are chatting on the phone, and she tells me that she has just renewed her driver’s license, but she prefaces it with this:)

Mom: “I have good news! Well, my kids don’t think it’s such good news, but you might.”

Me: “Gee thanks, mom. Is there something else you want to tell me?”

(My dad and I are notorious for making bad jokes. We’re each discussing our days.)

Brother: “—and so then she threw the rest of the owl pellet at me at the end of the dissection.”

(My dad’s face lights up like he’s about to make a joke. We all groan a little. I strike a pose.)

Me: “Everybody brace yourselves; a bad joke is coming.”

Dad: “Actually, no, I’ve decided not to make that one into a joke.”

(Mom turns to my brother.)

Mom: “ Affirmed, Agent J. The training has begun to succeed.”