MoMENts: Don’t Cry Over Spilled Grits

MoMENts: Don’t Cry Over Spilled Grits

My 12-year-old daughter, Jessie, hates shots but somehow made it through all her vaccinations. Dad, on the other hand, is still recovering from her office visits.

I sat down to write this month’s column at the end of a grueling week.  Little did I realize that a shot my mother-in-law received for bronchitis would be one of the week’s highlights.

Like any other week, there were a few inconveniences I could have done without.  I returned from my morning walk to find dog poop smashed to the bottom of my sneaker.  Then, I dropped my favorite pair of sunglasses on the bathroom floor, breaking the frames.  I needed a haircut and stopped at the barbershop.  When I got home and looked in the mirror, I noticed the hair was about an inch longer over one ear than the other.  To get both sides even I had to return to the shop the next day.  Then there’s my aging computer that crashes daily, which is not a good thing for a writer.  But, in the whole scheme of life, these were minor inconveniences.

A spilled 24-ounce carton of grits is a slightly bigger deal. For readers who are unfamiliar, grits are ground corn and have the consistency of coarse sand. While putting away groceries, I lifted the round cardboard container from the top shelf of the pantry and it slipped from my fingers. Grits sprayed over everything–the food on two pantry shelves, the clothes in the laundry basket, and under the washer and dryer. The minuscule particles even covered the vacuum cleaner I needed for cleanup. But even this paled in comparison to the next challenge.

A lump appeared near my wife’s left ear in December.

To read more, pick up a copy of the June 2017 issue at any of these locations, or view the digital archive copy here.

Patrick Hempfing had a 20-year professional career in banking, accounting, and auditing before he became a father at age 44. He is now a full-time husband, stay-at-home dad, and writer.

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