(My mom and I are walking home. It has been a long day, and we are both tired. My mom has started whining, and in doing so she sounds somewhat childish.)

Mom: “Are we there yet?”

Me: “We’ll be there soon.”

Mom: “That’s what you always say!”

(This continues, and it becomes a bit of a joke.)

Mom: “Daddy, when will we get there?”

Me: “NO! NO! This conversation just crossed a line. NO!”

(My nine-year-old daughter and I are out for a walk.)

Daughter: “That is a really cool jacket you’re wearing today. Is it new? Where did you get it?”

Me: “Second-hand store, so not much chance of finding you something similar.”

Daughter: “Oh. So, can I have it when it gets too small for you?”

Me: “I’m full-grown, you know, and I’m certainly not intending to gain any more weight!”

Daughter: “Oh. So, can I have it when you’re dead?”

(I’m at a bike rally with my uncle, who is a big, scary, biker guy. I’m a lesbian, and I’ve been trying to find a way to come out to him.)

Uncle: “Would you look at the rack on that one!”

Me: “What a waste.”

Uncle: “What do you mean?”

Me: “They’re too big.”

Uncle: “You are not my niece! There is no such thing as too much boob!”

Me: “Yes there is. You’re just a glutton.”

(A few days later…)

Uncle: “Were you trying to tell me something the other day?”

Me: “I’m gay?”

Uncle: “Well, you’re a lousy gay! There’s no such thing as too much boob!”

(My 4-year-old son has been a flirt and a ladies man since he was born. He’s already developed a soft-spot for cute 20somethings. He, his dad and I are walking down the street carrying groceries to the bus stop when he sees a blonde 19- or 20-year-old bombshell walking towards us.)

Son: *adorably childlike, waving* “Hi!”

Woman: *smiling wide and waving back* “Hi there!”

(Suddenly, my son adopts the smoothest swagger I’ve ever seen, and uses a suave, deep voice I wasn’t aware he was capable of.)

Son: “Heeey!”

(The woman walks by giggling.)

Me: *to my husband* “Did he really just successfully hit on her?”

(There is a park near the town library where the local teenagers tend to hang out. My 9-year-old daughter and I are walking past one day when we see a group of teenage boys smoking, swearing, and spitting on the ground.)

Daughter: *rolling her eyes* “Ugh, teenagers!”

Me: “I have taught you well.”