My mom wants me to name my kids after people in our family.

So I’m naming my firstborn Uncle Karl.

My sister is a know-it-all who bristles at anyone’s well-intentioned advice. But when our older sister gave her several clever tips, she was impressed.

"I have to hand it to Pat," she told me. "She really is smart. Not Jeopardy smart, more like Wheel of Fortune smart."

To keep their active two-year-old from roaming onto the busy street in front of their home, my sister and brother-in-law decided to put a gate across the driveway.

After working over two weekends on the project, Robert was ready to attach the lock to complete the job. He was working on the yard side of the gate, with his daughter nearby, when he dropped the screwdriver he was using and it rolled under the gate, out of his reach.

"I’ll get it, Daddy," Lauren called, nimbly crawling under the newly erected barrier.

I was halfway through a meeting with a photocopy salesman, when he suddenly mentioned his wife and children, and how content and happy he was.

I was puzzled, but let him continue. It was only when I glanced down that I understood his reason for imparting this personal information. The table leg against which I had been rubbing my itchy foot wasn’t a table leg at all.