Son of Granny Nanny

We’ve started using a Granny Nanny for Mom.  Lately it’s been a very nice young woman named Rebecca who comes to the house a couple of times a month to stay with Mom for two hours while Bill and I go out to dinner.  It gives Mom someone else to talk to besides us and we can have a worry-free meal that neither of us has to cook or clean up after.

As Rebecca was leaving from her last visit, she mentioned that she was going to take her 7-year-old son out for pizza and ice cream.  It was a special treat because the next day he had to get four vaccination shots for school.  We closed the door behind her and Bill wandered down the hall into our bedroom to change out of his ‘grownup’ clothes and I went into the living room to see how Mom’s evening went.

“Did you have a nice time with Rebecca?” I asked, settling down on the recliner next to her loveseat.

“Yes, I did.  She’s very nice,” Mom replied.  “But I’m wondering how you’re going to be able to do that.  I thought only family members could.”

I stared at her for a couple of beats, trying to figure out what she meant before I finally asked, “Only family members can do what?”

“Take her son to the doctor tomorrow,” she said.

“I’m not taking him to the doctor,” I said.  “Rebecca is.  He’s going out for pizza tonight.”

“But aren’t you full?” she asked, looking almost as confused as I felt.

“Full?  Do you mean full from dinner?  Yes, I’m stuffed,” I said.

“Then why would you take her son out for pizza tonight?” she asked, reaching into her candy dish for a handful of M&Ms.  “You just finished having dinner.”

“I’m not taking him for pizza.  Rebecca’s taking him because he has to get a bunch of shots tomorrow for school.”

“Oh… so you’re taking him to school instead,” she responded, nodding and munching candy as though that cleared everything up.

“No, I’m not taking him to school, Rebecca is,” I said, rubbing my forehead as a dull throb started pulsing between my temples.  “I have no idea where he goes to school.  I don’t even know where Rebecca lives.”

“Then where are you taking him?” she asked.

“Nowhere!” I said, rising abruptly from the recliner.  “Why do you think I’m taking her son anywhere?  I don’t even know him.”

“Because when Rebecca left she said thank you for taking her son.”

“No, Mom, she said thank you for coming home a little early because she was taking her son for pizza,” I said, heading back to the bathroom to find a couple of aspirins.

“Oh,” she muttered softly, turning up the volume on the TV.  “Well that certainly makes more sense.”

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