Smarty Pants

My son is smarter than me. I can’t admit that to him. I don’t want a mutiny. The truth is I was barely a B student in school. He is a high honor roll student. The only award I recall receiving was in my senior year. I won “Biggest Ego.” I guess it’s not normal to have your locker lined with mirrors? I am kidding. You’ve seen the pictures. I was a late bloomer and a very insecure teenager. I guess I didn’t have enough abortions to win any other title. Oh, no she didn’t! Yes. I went there. Bitter is my middle name.

My son had a 96 overall average this past marking period. I am beaming with pride. It is kind of a joke that I have to help him study. Last night he asked me to quiz him on key points of the Revolutionary War. Honey, facts about The Battle of Bunker Hill were replaced in my brain with information on warming bottles and double rinsing baby clothes. Besides, it’s not like The Revolutionary War comes up in everyday conversation. Thank God for Google.

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