T.C.O.G.

The Crazy Old Grammaw has returned.  The Crazy Old Grammaw is Memmy’s greatest fear.  Any time that he is afraid of being alone it is because The Crazy Old Grammaw is close by.  Obviously no one but him is able to see The Crazy Old Grammaw.  Notice I do not shorten her name.  Mem always refers to her as “The Crazy Old Grammaw.” 

Here’s today’s The Crazy Old Grammaw story: 

“Mom, The hawks killed The Crazy Old Grammaw.  That’s good because I love hawks and I hate The Crazy Old Grammaw.”

The rest of the car ride consisted of pointing out every large flying bird (aka, hawks) in the sky. 

I alternate between pointing out that The Crazy Old Grammaw isn’t real (“Mom, you can’t see her because she is afraid of you.”) and buying in just a little while trying to add an upbeat.  The second was today’s tactic.  Upon hearing of her death I remarked, “It’s good that she’s gone.” 

Needless to say, my tactic was not successful.  “(matter-of-fact, resigned tone) Mom, she’ll just keep coming back to life.  (short pause) But, (obvious joy and satisfaction) those good ole hawks will just keep killing her!”

Go Hawks! 

(I’m starting to get just a little creeped out myself.)

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