Hello and ahoy, dear readers. Did you take the time to read my grandson Max’s guest Blog for this here “lifestyle column” yesterday? Well, you should have. He talked all about his art. If he keeps up his pace, he’s going to become the new Jackson Polanski. You know, the one who splattered paint all over the walls and called it art, because it was…regular people just needed to be told it was for them to realize it.
As Max told you, I had to go to the store yesterday morning. I had to pick up some kibble for Hannah Montana, a tube of Dr. Rembrandt’s Tooth Paste, a box of oatmeal, and a few other sundries. Did I tell you that my groatmeal I ordered over the Internet came in the mail the other day? It did. Turns out, it was bird feed. I gave the rest of it to the birds outside, but that left meal without a meal! That’s why I had to pick up the oatmeal. It might be a while before I give groatmeal another try.
Well, no sooner did I walk in the door than I heard my grandniece Tricia making all kinds of a ruckus. Now, I’ve gotten used to Tricia and her friends making noise around the house, but this took the cake! She was screaming that the baby’s coming! When we got her to the clinic, the good doctor told us she was having what are known in medical circles as “Braxton Hicks Contractions” and that she wasn’t really having the baby. It was all in her mind. She must get that from her mother’s side of the family…that mother of hers has always been a touch on the nervous side. After that, I was so relieved that I went to get the car while Tricia finished up with the doctor. I believe that it was only the contractions that she was imagining, not the entire pregnancy. I’m going to ask her to guest Blog for you again tomorrow to tell her side of the story.
Until next time!