Grandma Gossip: Smarter Than Me

A while back, the two of us sat on the floor contemplating a puzzle of wild animals.

“Don’t help me!” “I can do it by myself!”

“OK, I won’t, but I’m right here if you need me. All you have to do is ask.”

She cocks her head, slyly looks at me, and declares, “I’m smarter than you, Grandma.”

I laughed, “Oh, you are? How so?”

“I can do this puzzle without your help.”

“I know you’re very very smart, so I believe that you can, but I will always be here if you need any help at all.”

A couple minutes go by as we work together to turn over all the puzzle pieces.

“I’m smarter than everybody.”

“Really?” I ask. “Everybody?”

“Oh yes.”

“Are you smarter than Daddy?” “Cos you know MY little boy is pretty smart, right?”

She thinks for a nanosecond.

“Yup, I’m smarter than Daddy.”

“How about Mommy? Are you smarter than Mommy?”

Another second goes by with a nod, “Yes, I am.”

“And what about Theo? Are you smarter than he is, too?”

First a sigh, than a shake of her head as she wistfully says, “No, I’m not smarter than Theo. He can do anything.”

My goodness. I was speechless. I could feel the deep love she has for her big brother.

“Theo IS smart and so are you, my Angel Girl.”

Laughing, she says, “We’re both smarter than YOU, little Grandma!”

I can’t really argue with THAT three-year-old, that’s for sure.

August Musings

This poem by Mary Oliver makes me think of the Pacific Northwest where blackberries grow freely on every fence and in every alley and all along the path we take to walk to the Salish Sea.

The Angel kids, as they carefully pick blackberries to avoid thorns, their faces and hands stained purple, turn now and again to share, “Here’s a nice big one for you, Grandma!”

August

When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.