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Ryan received another wool sweater from Nanny Genevieve, or Genie as her grandchildren and children liked to refer to her because it felt uncomfortable whenever they mispronounced their grandmother’s name. Isabelle got another pair of hand-knitted mittens. Nanny Genie knew they both lived in Louisiana and would rarely need any warm clothing since the swamps did a good job of staving off any chilliness that might try to brave into the vines, mud, trenches of La Troya, Louisiana before turning right back around.

Nonetheless, Ryan and Isabelle were tasked to write ‘Thank You’ letters to Nanny Genie as promptly as possible less they incur the wrath of their mother, whom loved Nanny Genie because she raised her and used to make her breakfast every day by making the food on her plate smile because Nanny Genie liked to say, ‘You should always wake up to a smile.’ 

‘Don’t half ass these thank you letters,’ their mother said.

‘We won’t,’ Ryan said.

‘That’s what you said last year.’

‘I promise, you have full editorial discretion to my letter.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Isabelle said. ‘I don’t want the government going through my mail.’

‘I’m not the government. I’m your mother.’

‘You work for them.’

‘Fine, if you don’t let me read it, then I’ll call Nanny Genie once she gets the letters and ask her what’s on them. And if she doesn’t say anything more than just thank you, then so help me, you’ll both be grounded until the next Christmas.’

‘Wait, will we both be punished if only one of us half asses the letter?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘Life’s not fair,’ Ryan said. ‘So, even if I put genuine effort into my letter to Nanny, if Izzy doesn’t then I get punished?’

‘Yeah.’

‘That’s bs.’

Ryan and Isabelle came to compromise, though it was mostly to ensure that Ryan wouldn’t get in trouble for Isabelle’s lack of effort to thank their grandmother for their lackluster gifts. They filmed themselves reciting a ‘thank you’ poem because they knew Nanny Genie studied Emily Dickinson when she was younger. But instead of using any thought or originality, they searched the web for an acrostic poem generator and came up with:

Time

Hearts

Assorted

Nobles

Knight

Youth

Overall

Unconventional umbrellas

‘It’s fine,’ Isabelle said, exasperated after the fourth take.

‘No, it’s not, Izzy, and you know it’s not. I don’t know why you continuously do this, but mom will watch this video, or nanny will tell her about it, and it’ll mean we’re both grounded.’

‘So, what? We’re grounded for a few days. Why should I care?’

‘You might not have a social life, but I do.’

‘How noble. You’re not wanting to make this thank you genuine out of any general good will you have for Nanny Genie. You just don’t want mom to be pissed.’

‘So? It’s not like you ever liked the gifts she gives. You’d be happy just not responding to her at all.’

‘Then she’d at least know that her gifts are useless.’

‘You can be such a cold hearted bitch sometimes.’

After they sent the final version of the two of them reciting their acrostic poem to their grandmother, they waited for a week or so before their mother would call Nanny Genie and ask general questions like how she’s doing, what the weather’s like, whether or not she’s getting any exercise, the occasional poking and prodding about her love life ever since Pop-pop Mikey died a couple years back. Around New Year’s, Ryan and Isabelle’s mother would get the update on how Nanny Genie liked her thank you letter.

‘It was so creative,’ Nanny Genie said.

‘You liked it.’

‘It was wonderful.’

‘You didn’t watch it.’

‘I just couldn’t. I don’t mean to offend your kids, but everything they send me is so boring.’

‘I tried to scare them into thinking that if they didn’t send you a sentimental note with genuine feeling that they’d be grounded for the year.’

‘How’d they take that?’

‘I think Ryan took it a lot harder than Izzy.’

‘He was always a bit weaker in spirit than Izzy. Izzy, on the other hand, reminds me of you.’

‘Me? I was never as strong willed as Izzy.’

‘Please. You constantly talked back and questioned every adults’ authority. You used to question everything that came out of your teachers’ mouths. I once even got back a report card from your fourth grade teacher that they were passing you so they wouldn’t have to listen to any more of your incessant questions.’

‘They did not!’

‘I mean, they essentially said that.’

‘So, when are you going to give the kids real gifts.’

‘When I die.’

‘You’re going to make them think that you’re some old fogey with no lick of sense.’

‘You don’t think they’ll resent me for it.’

‘I dunno, they might. I know I never liked your prank gifts.’

‘But you grew to enjoy them, in a small way.’

‘I was never going to tell my own mother that I hated the gifts she got me. I’m not that kind of person.’

‘Good, I raised you right. If you can show appreciation for some of the crappiest gifts the world has to offer, then it’s not that hard to show even more appreciation when you get something great.’

‘Like a new Ferrari?’

‘You keep asking each year, when you know I’m just going to buy you new clothing with a Ferrari printed on it.’

Nanny Genie enjoyed her time as the matriarch of the family curtailing the various stereotypes that came along with being a grandmother, with being old, with somehow always being thought of as old fashioned. Yet she enjoyed hearing stories of her grandchildren suffer over the various hand-knitted, heavy wool fashion blotches she gave out so that she could then go and visit her daughter’s family in July and watch them uncomfortably navigate the week wearing whatever mess of apparel she pawned off on them from the past winter. It made the lessons she endured as a child learning how to knit from her own mother while being told that she would only get a man to love her if she knew how to clean, cook, and make clothes almost worth it, though not quite.