Must make it to Sam’s next Halloween: when I couldn’t sleep this morning, I got up and opened all the bags of candy Kris bought yesterday so I could mix ‘em all up. Survey says: six bags is not as much candy as you’d think.
Kris woke up early, too, so he went ahead and started the chili. It will be crock-pot-alicious after simmering all day. Also, it’s weird to smell chili while you eat an Eggo for breakfast.
GJ is 92 years young today. We took her birthday present by last night. She’s a Thomas Kinkade fan (as nonagenarians are allowed to be), so we bought her a Kinkade nightlight in Gatlinburg. She knows just how to ooo and ahh over a present.
She also knows how to make me sound like the bestest, most smartest, talentedess artistic wunderkind around. She only does this when Kris is there. (I guess she reasons I already know how absolutely wonderful I am.)
Last night, she showed us a drawing I did of her when I was seven. It was exactly as you’d expect (terrible), but it segued her into talking about how I used to write stories and poems. She said I wrote things in the third grade that she never could have written. I rolled my eyes. It only made her go on. That I wrote something in third grade that caused my teacher to go ask my second grade teacher “do you think a third grader could write this?” And the response was “Laura Bentley could.”
You can imagine that stories like this were embarrassing when my mom and GJ would start them in front of people. I mean, I see the statements for what they are: of course they thought I was a genius. That was their job.
Now, however, when GJ says something like “I always told your mother that if she had another child, one who was normal, that she would think it was retarded because you’re so smart,” I smile not in embarrassment but in loss. Because my mom isn’t there to join in the chorus.
I think I will try to write down these glowing assessments of my glory, cause when they are both gone, all I will have left is the voice inside my head. And it sounds a lot more like Ani DiFranco in “Swing” as she sings to herself “you suck! What did you do that for?”
But while I no longer have mom and GJ sitting around telling me how smart I am, I do have many good friends who are willing to sit around and tell me what a smart ass I am.
And that’s all good.
