Samuel and Nana

courtesy of Bing.com

Samuel relived the day from the confines of his crib.  A tent had been installed onto the crib.  It prevented any escapes, despite Samuel’s thorough examination of the installation.

The Mommy went out for something about her nails, and Nana had come to watch him.  Nana, Samuel decided, is one tough old bird. 

Nana had raised The Daddy and four Uncles.  Nana anticipated his every move.  How is that possible?  Samuel himself was making things up as he went.

Nana had put Samuel in the useless play-pen, and parked her rocking chair right by it.  Every time Samuel lifted his foot to the bar, Nana grabbed it and put it down, “NO, you will not TRY that one!”

Oh, Samuel had tried all his maneuvers, everyone in his arsenal.  Nana foiled each one.  When The Mommy came, Nana let down her watch.  The iron oppression lifted, the thrill of the chase began.

Nana’s purse was on the coffee table.  While Nana sipped coffee and laughed with The Mommy, Samuel slinked off with the purse.  Plopping down behind the curtains, Samuel dumped the contents.  Ah ha!  Red Fire lipstick!  The game is a-foot. 

Samuel started small and worked large.  He massaged Red Fire lines into the carpet, onto his face, and wiped his hands on the drape.  Magnificent.  Lipstick is my true medium.

Then there was the screaming, the retribution, and the sounds of scrubbing.  Nana put him in the tub and he did not come out until every hint of Red Fire was gone.   

When Nana put him into his crib, and none too gently, their eyes met and their minds connected.  As Nana left the room, Samuel smiled.  His Red Fire hand prints were all over her butt.  Well played, young man.  Well played.

Samuel: The Introduction

The door swung open to the restored old church, the home to Samuel and the adults. The Mommy dropped the groceries on the table and tossed Samuel into the playpen. “Be right back!” Mommy whisked out the door.

Samuel waited, listened. He had the time, the strength, and he could do this. Throwing the blue pacifier over the railing, Samuel hoisted his pwesuss whittl waygeess over the railing and did a practiced roll. With his hands up for balance, Samuel began the newly discovered walking power: stagger-stagger-wobble. 

‘Focus, man, focus!’ The words hammered in his 14 month brain. ‘Ignore the Cheerios under the couch!”

Samuel reached the spot where he nailed Grammie with projectile vomit. She was saying, “Gwamma wuvs dose pwessus whittle wegees…” Blaaaagh, and she stopped. Good times.

Almost there, Samuel pictured the freedom:  chase the kitty, taste the flowers, squish  mud. Such fine adventures, and he was almost there.

The Mommy swooped through the door and knocked over Samuel. She swept him up. “Mommy wuvs dose pwessus whittle waygees…”

Samuel tried to say, “Dammit woman! Can’t you speak the King’s English?” All that came out was a cry and some spit-up. The door swung shut.

Samuel and his followers: Can you be one?

This is a new place to find Samuel.

As readers discover this active brilliant boy, there are a lot of questions about his origins.  So this blog was created to answer those questions and give new readers back story.

Here is hoping you can enjoy this.  Here is hoping that I can figure out the technology aspects that so often elude me.