Playdates? What is a playdate?

What does eating a sandwich tell about you?

 

Anxiety vibrated in the air as Samuel’s mother knocked on a red door.  The door was opened by an equally anxious, smiling nervously mother.   Ah.  So this is the ‘play-date’.  Interesting…

Two more mothers called out, and Samuel was dragged into the tv room where three other bewildered children sat.  Legos and action figures lay scattered around them.  An offering of some sort, obviously.

“Now, let’s have lunch!”  Someone announced, and the four children were plopped down at a child’s table in their colorful chairs.  IKEA…

Plates of sandwiches and potato chips were slid in front of each, and juice boxes (straws inserted) were set down.

Silence, long and drawn out, echoed as each child sized the other up for reference.    

So much can be learned by the way one holds a juice box, how one sucks on the deadly straw.  How the sandwich is held speaks a world of information.  Blue iced cupcakes are not meant for just eating.

By lunch’s end, it was clear:  Samuel was the Alpha, Charlie the Omega.  Clarisse—sassy deceptive girl—was a she-devil.  Buddy was easily manipulated.  The game is afoot, friends.

 

And then....

When the front door closed amid tears and apologies after the play-date concluded, much had happened.  The leather sofa had been stabbed to death with the plastic juice box straws.  The blood red juice stained the carpet in big drops.  The dog cowered beneath the sofa, shivering in his blue icing stripes.

 

A good time was had by all.... 

 

 

 

This is from 2012 from Samuel Chronicles.  

 

 

Freedom! Freedom almost.

 

The door swung open to Samuel's home, where his parents also lived. 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 shwweet whittle laygees 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 shwweeet whittle legees…” Blaaaagh, and she was 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 laygees…”

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.

Written 2012. Chronicles of Samuel blog site. 

Oh, how I love writing the unexpected.

 

Okay. Play date. Let the games begin.

 

What does eating a sandwich tell about you?

 

Anxiety vibrated in the air as Samuel’s mother knocked on a red door.  The door was opened by an equally anxious, smiling nervously mother.   Ah.  So this is the ‘play-date’.  Interesting…

Two more mothers called out, and Samuel was dragged into the tv room where three other bewildered children sat.  Legos and action figures lay scattered around them.  An offering of some sort, obviously.

“Now, let’s have lunch!”  Someone announced, and the four children were plopped down at a child’s table in their colorful chairs.  IKEA…

Plates of sandwiches and potato chips were slid in front of each, and juice boxes (straws inserted) were set down.

Silence, long and drawn out, echoed as each child sized the other up for reference.    

So much can be learned by the way one holds a juice box, how one sucks on the deadly straw.  How the sandwich is held speaks a world of information.  Blue iced cupcakes are not meant for just eating.

By lunch’s end, it was clear:  Samuel was the Alpha, Charlie the Omega.  Clarisse—sassy deceptive girl—was a she-devil.  Buddy was easily manipulated.  The game is afoot, friends.

And then....

When the front door closed amid tears and apologies after the play-date concluded, much had happened.  The leather sofa had been stabbed to death with the plastic juice box straws.  The blood red juice stained the carpet in big drops.  The dog cowered beneath the sofa, shivering in his blue icing stripes.

 

 

 

This is from 2012 from Samuel Chronicles.  

 

The Battle Begins: Samuel and Ginger

 

Thanks Pam and Dawn! See*Photo*Write

 

Heavy rain pelted the old church door and Samuel coughed.  It was a wet cough followed by yellow goo from his nose.  Misery was running high.

The Mommy had cleaned him up, wiping his nose again.  ‘Just let it flow, woman!’  Samuel had already found the sofa and chairs useful enough. 

The doorbell rang, and Aunt Tammy came whooshing through the door.  An irritatingly cheerful woman, “Oh, whittle Sammie Whammy has duh sniffuls?” as she scooped him up.  “Oh, who’s duh cutest…” 

Samuel let loose with a full-bodied snotty sneeze right into her open mouth.  ‘Just for you, Tammy Whammy!’

The Mommy carried in a gift from Tammy’s car:  a round fish bowl with a deep-red fish swirling around, its fins fluttering in clear water.  Setting it on the table, she wiped Samuel’s nose again and took him from the retching Aunt Tammy.

Putting Samuel down by the table, the Mommy called, “Here’s some tea!”  Tammy stumbled, retching all the way to the kitchen, leaving Samuel.  Eye level with the fish bowl, Samuel considered it.

Ginger-the-old-fat-tabby appeared on a chair next to Samuel.  Their eyes met, thoughts were exchanged, and challenges made.  Who is faster?  Who is better?  Who will win this battle?

Samuel saw only one way. Giving it his all, Samuel screamed and cried, “Whaaaa!  Mommmmmmammmmmmaaa…”

The Mommy came, saw the crying child pointing at the cat, and grabbed the Ginger.  She scolded the old cat all the way to the front door.  Ginger and Samuel exchanged looks.  ‘So this is the way it is to be,’ Ginger glared through slotted eyes.

Time enough.  Just time enough.  Samuel grabbed the fish bowl between snotty hands, pulling it to the edge.  ‘Be free, my friend.  Be free.’  The bowl dropped.

 

I created a series in which Samuel is a rambunctious, clever toddler. This is from 2011.   Fun write.

Samuel: the introduction

 

 

 

The door swung opened for Samuel and one of his parents. 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 weggees 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 wehgees…” 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.

This is from one of my blogs, the Chronicles of Samuel. This from 2011 or so.  I really loved Samuel's character. 

Hand of the Law

 

Samuel stared through the bars as he groaned at this unjust incarceration.  What had he done?  Just the usual stuff, but this time?  I got caught big time.

He coughed up a ball of green-yellow phlegm, spitting it on the floor beyond the bars.  Heh, heh, heh… Samuel had been charged with disturbing the peace, marking graffiti on public walls, and destruction of property.

That last one gave him joy.  With just a plastic knife, Samuel had stabbed a piece of furniture, tossing foam and stuffing everywhere.  Good times.

Samuel then realized that his diaper was beyond damp, it was dripping.  “MAMA!” he cried, with big tears.  Sometimes being the not-yet-potty-trained was a blessing.

This is from 2014 (Nine years?) and the underlined words are from Delores who set up a writing challenge for every writer, Wednesday Words. Delores retired from this and handed it over to some very talented bloggers Drifting through life  and Elephant's Child. Please head on over to those sites, and see what other bloggers are creating.

Be Free, my Friend.

 

Thanks Pam and Dawn! See*Photo*Write

 

Heavy rain pelted the door and Samuel coughed.  It was a wet cough followed by yellow goo from his nose.  Misery was running high.

The Mommy had cleaned him up, wiping his nose again.  ‘Just let it flow, woman!’  Samuel had already found the sofa and chairs useful enough. 

The doorbell rang, and Aunt Tammy came whooshing through the door.  An irritatingly cheerful woman, “Oh, whittle Sammie Whammy has duh sniffuls?” as she scooped him up.  “Oh, who’s duh cutest…” 

Samuel let loose with a full-bodied sneeze right into her open mouth.  ‘Just for you, Tammy Whammy!’

The Mommy carried in a gift from Tammy’s car:  a round fish bowl with a deep-red fish swirling around, its fins fluttering in clear water.  Setting it on the table, she wiped Samuel’s nose again and took him from the retching Aunt Tammy.

Putting Samuel down by the table, the Mommy called, “Here’s some tea!”  Tammy stumbled, retching all the way to the kitchen, leaving Samuel.  Eye level with the fish bowl, Samuel considered it.

Ginger-the-old-fat-tabby appeared on a chair next to Samuel.  Their eyes met, thoughts were exchanged, and challenges made.  Who is faster?  Who is better?  Who will win this battle?

Samuel saw only one way. Giving it his all, Samuel screamed and cried, “Whaaaa!  Mommmmmmammmmmmaaa…”

The Mommy came, saw the crying child pointing at the cat, and grabbed the Ginger.  She scolded the old cat all the way to the front door.  Ginger and Samuel exchanged looks.  ‘So this is the way it is to be,’ Ginger glared through slitted eyes.

Time enough.  Just time enough.  Samuel grabbed the fish bowl between snotty hands, pulling it to the edge.  ‘Be free, my friend.  Be free.’  The bowl dropped.

A post from 2011. I had written several posts about Samuel. We all know some boy like Samuel.

 

Samuel through the Open Door

https://www.control4.com/

The door swung open to Samuel's home, where his parents also lived. 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 shwweet whittle weggies 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 shwweeet whittle legees…” 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 laygees…”

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.

Written 2012. Chronicles of Samuel blog site. 

Oh, how I love writing the unexpected.

Minor Level Destruction

Wikipedia

Samuel stared through the bars of the playpen as he groaned at just another incarceration.  What had he done?  Just the usual stuff, but this time?  

First, he had coughed up a ball of green-yellow phlegm, and spit it on a really old carpet beyond the bars, one that had been in great-grandma's house.  Heh, heh, heh. Then, Samuel had been charged with screaming loudly, marking graffiti on public walls in a diaper medium, and randomly destroying stuff. Good times.

But last one? It was epic.  With just a plastic knife, Samuel had repeatedly stabbed the arm of the couch, tossing foam and stuffing wherever they fell.  It did not end well. 

It was a reach for him, Samuel realized.  "Keep it simple" he reminded himself. Next time.

Samuel then realized that his diaper was beyond damp, and had begun  dripping.  With strong lungs only a two year-old toddler possesses, Samuel cried and sobbed. Mommy, mommy!  Sometimes being one who is not-yet-potty-trained is a blessing.  

A lot is forgiven when a diaper is full. 

This a post from 2014, using words from Wednesday Words. As always, great fun was had by all.

Samuel vs. Santa Clause

The above photo was taken by RW Linder at http://rgbstock.com.  My computer is struggling with hacking into Google.

Samuel leapt from his bed, his entire body filled with anticipation.  Today!  Today we will meet again, Santa!  He and Nana were heading to the Mall for the annual tell-Santa-what-you-want visit.

However, Santa was his equal in every way.  The game is afoot, jolly fat man!

The preliminaries of the day over and his winter gear zipped up, Samuel noted The Mother at her cluttered craft table, painting last minute projects in acrylic paints of all colors.  Samuel gifted his mom with a spontaneous hug.  “I love you, Mommy!”  

Then he was off.  Off to see Santa.

No side trips for them—Nana wanted to eliminate collateral damage.  She remembered the last Hallmark debacle.  After shattered snow globes, Samuel had moved on with a red Sharpie© marker and signed twenty sympathy cards with hearts and “Nana”.  Not again, little man.

There he was: The Jolly Fat Man himself.  Samuel gave him a shy smile, accompanying cold blue eyes.  Bring it on, do your best…

Then Samuel stood at the bottom of the red carpet stairs.  Santa smiled, acknowledging his old adversary.  Samuel wriggled up onto the red velvet lap with the difficulty a three-and-a-half year old child.

“So, Samuel!  What will it be this year?  What do you want?” Santa added, “Ho, Ho, Ho!”

Have I been naughty or nice?  Samuel smiled the smile of the innocent. Then Santa whispered into Samuel's ear, accounting the sins of the entire year.
 

How did he know about the car oil?  And the screw driver?  Mommy’s brush?  Samuel sighed in admission...confession given. 

Samuel squirmed uncomfortably.  ”So, Samuel, I will visit your fireplace again.  Sugar cookies this time.”  Santa laid a finger aside his nose.  “Ho, Ho…”

Samuel suddenly hugged Santa tightly, patting his back and long hair, before climbing down.  Later, dude.

As Samuel raced to the exit door, Nana ran to catch him.  Pretty spry, Nana!

Then the shouting and assorted obscenities began.  Samuel turned to see Santa in his new improved suit, white acrylic paint streaming down Santa’s pant leg and onto his black boot; his back plastered with black handprints and flowing stripes of yellow.

Samuel tossed the acrylic bottles into the trash bins, and Nana grabbed him.  They escaped, Samuel and Nana. She was smiling.

What to do next?!

Source: TACLUDA

One of the curses of a migraine life is that it must be lived indoors, away from the light, in nearly complete silence.

The only joy of such a life is a focused expression.  Whether it is writing or some other creation, the scope is narrowed and intense.

Think of a funnel.  Pour a liquid in the broad end and forcing it to condense, collapse in order to exit a narrow port.  Kinda sounds like giving birth, which I guess in a sense it is.

Writing is one joy, when I can retrieve the words from a reluctant brain that hurts intensely.  Samuel and Adventures in the Sock Drawer are part of that joy.

For Benjamin

Colors and color combination.  Working with shapes.  Putting them in a pleasing, exciting pattern is the reward. Sewing and quilting is that reward.

For Eli (still in progress)

For Aimee

For Benjamin

Wall hanging for Erin (unfinished when photo was taken)

Obviously, I have had many migraines.

For me

But I have much joy.

P.S.  There are other quilts, but could not locate my photos. Dang.

Samuel and the Test: Part Two

Source: mommyknows.com

Part 1 was  Samuel Takes the Test  at this site 

Samuel hopped off the table and dragged it over by the viewing mirror, followed by the chair placed on top the table. 

What is he doing…Oh, he is establishing contact…Wait…What is he REALLY doing??

Samuel had selected a variety of primary color squirt bottles and placed those on the table.  Climbing onto the chair with squirt bottles in each hand, Samuel thought.  These are on the tables of restaurants but never touched them.  Let us see what these babies can do…

Source

The last thing the observers observed were wild sprays of colors hitting the mirror.  Circles. Arcs. All dripping and running down from the top of the mirror to the bottom in primary, secondary, and tertiary bold colors. Dripping and running until the mirror was obscured.

What kind of paint is that, tempura?….No, we used acrylic this time…WHY?...We got a good deal on it…

The cameras were in clear view and an easy shot.  Samuel aimed easily.

At least he did not see the cameras in the vents…No…How…Dammit!....

Samuel had dumped the crayons on the hard floor and was stomping them to pieces, almost powder.  Cheap things, aren’t they? Must be budget cuts.  Always stick with Crayola is my motto…

He dumped the tubs of thick paste and kneaded the crayon into it, forming a clay, a clay of all colors.  The heat vents were waiting for him, and he covered the clay over the vents, a beautiful paste that melted and hardened.  Lovely.  I must remember this…

What will happen next?  Now that Samuel has eliminated adult observation?  What will he do?

The third and final part of this adventure in the test is scheduled for Friday, September 13.  Is that significant in any way...or is it by accident...I just don't know for sure.

Samuel Takes the Test

Source: xymonau

It is time. Nana stewed the day after the Baptist Church incident. 

Nana realized that Samuel was ready to go to the school, EDUCATION FOR THE GIFTED AND CREATIVE.  His father Nathan had done well there, after all. 

Samuel recognized the school immediately and swallowed the gall of panic.  Think, man, think!  But events moved too quickly once the doors closed and Samuel was in the company of Nana and her friend, Dr. Anna. 

Source: SeeVee

After brief introductions to a saccharine insipid Miss Bethany, Samuel was given instructions: Create as many colors as he could with the materials provided.

Samuel found himself in a pleasant circular room, softly illuminated overhead, with white board walls and tan seamless flooring.  He noted a large mirror curving around part way…Oh, seriously?  One way mirrors?!  So old school....  

Source

Walking slowly around the room and running his hands along the white board, Samuel observed several things:  the walls had no seams; he could just reach the one way mirror if he stretched enough; and, there were three floor level heating vents with no screws and a metal mesh covers.

In the center of the room was a solid round white table made of some strong resin in one piece.  There was a similar chair, again with no seams, screws, or nails.

Next to the table were five cardboard boxes, filled with supplies.  Samuel squatted down by them, eyeing them carefully.  He began to remove each item one by one, making mental notes.

Boxes large kindergarten-type crayons in red, blue, and yellow?  Do they think I need this many?

Chalk, lots of yellow, blue, and red chalk?   Hmmm…an interesting choice of medium…

Now, let’s see what else: Empty cups, jars of thick peppermint paste, boxes of tongue depressors, Elmer’s glue, tempura paint in primary colors…Don’t they realize what I can do with all of this? 

Source: ba1969

Samuel began pacing around the supplies and glancing at spots in the circular room.  He climbed up on the table, standing tall over the room.  Then he looked directly into the one-way mirror.

Miss Bethany cleared her throat.  “Clearly he is overwhelmed.  Look at his stillness, at the lack of expression.  Let’s get him out of there…”

Dr. Anna spoke quietly, “No, I think we need to give him time.”  Another doctor concurred, followed by murmurs of consent.  “Samuel is, after all Nathan’s son, Dr. Nana’s grandson.”

Nana said not a word, keeping eye contact with Samuel.  ‘Oh, Samuel, they do not know what you can do…’

Source: bies

Samuel smiled, a sweet 3 ½ year old smile.  Let the games begin…

He jumped off the table.

What will Samuel do next?  What do you think will happen?  Where will Samuel go from here?

Nana Moves In

Source

A dull day, that is what this is,dull gray.  Samuel thought as he looked up from a coloring project to The Mother.  She was making a cake for Nana, who was moving in with them. 

Grammy had moved in with Aunt Tammy Whammy when she decided she was ‘out of her depth’ with Samuel.  Out of her depth?  Samuel smiled at the words.  The old lady was drowning in the deep-end.  He continued working on a “Welcome, Nana!” sign.  The mother had written the words, although Samuel believed he could have conveyed the message better with his fiery bombs and flaming people.  Oh, well, whatever.

The mother had just poured the batter into the 8 ½ x 11 pan when the doorbell rang.  Jehovah Witnesses or young Mormon men?  She would prefer the young Mormons.  When she didn’t return right away, Samuel nodded.  The men.  Well, then. 

Samuel climbed down from his chair and ran to the opposite side of the table to peer into the cake better.  Oh, Fun-Fetti.  This is perfect. 

Thinking on the fly was one of his many gifts.  Scooping up some bits of broken crayons, Samuel carefully placed and pushed them into the cake.  Maybe a few more on this side?  After effectively burying the crayon shreds, Samuel returned to the sign, innocent by all accounts.

The Mother returned to the table, smiling and blushing.  Nothing like religion to make one happy.  She placed the cake into the preheated oven, and cleaned up the kitchen, humming happily.  Every now and then, she gave Samuel a nervous smile.

Samuel returned her smile.  “You okay there, Buddy?  Wanta play a video game?”  Okay?  I am juuuust fine. 

The timer rang and The Mother carefully removed the cake from the oven and placed it on the high counter.  Leaving the oven door open just enough to let the oven cool, The Mother ran to the bathroom.  The bathroom door closed.

Oh, woman.  Do you even think about the possibilities?  Samuel peered at the partially open door, and silently lowered it down.  Still hot, but not dangerous.  Grabbing some broken crayons, Samuel tossed them onto the oven shelves and bottom.  Oh, how lovely.  Samuel watched at the colored pieces spread out and pool in rainbow glory.  Silently Samuel closed the oven door, knowing The Mother would never notice.

The Mother returned.  “Nap time, young man.  For you and me both.” 

Samuel acquiesced, holding her hand lovingly.  The Mother was confused, but accepted this new step in Samuel’s life:  possible obedience.

In his room, Samuel listened for new sounds.  When the front door slammed and happy voices sounded, he knew Nana had arrived.  He listened as Nana spoke about the big roast she had ready to cook.  The oven will be heated up next.  He felt a tickle of anticipation.

Source

The smell of scorched crayon filled the house.  Oh, glory!

“SAMUEL!”  A dull gray day transformed into one of joyful color. 

Source

Samuel Faces the Enemy

Since his third birthday and the big blow-out-up party, Samuel sensed a shift in his world.  It was sudden and seemingly permanent.  Gone were the cavalier parenting practices advocated by Grammy and his mother.  Ignorance had been their blinders, and now the blinders were off.  Dang it all.  I thought the party to be a great success…

Nana gave Grammy and his parents a crash course in dealing with Samuel.  After all, Nana had raised five sons (his father being one of them), and reportedly all were varieties of Samuel.  So that’s why Uncle Henry and Uncle Dave are never here at Christmas…Joliet Prison…hmmm.

Samuel did not like the way the future was shaping up as he observed Nana from his hiding places.  Except there were no more hiding places; they were known to everyone. It used to be so easy.  They were more malleable in those days.  Oh, if only…

Samuel detected an undercurrent of something major in the snatches of whispers he caught while feigning nap time with his favorite dump truck.  “…it would be five mornings a week…too much for one person…small number of children…all my sons went there…juvenile hall…posting bail…”

The next morning in the car seat with the Father driving and Nana in attendance, Samuel tried to squelch his unease.  I just need more information.  Then I will work out my plans, lock ideas down…

The van stopped, and both adults grasped each of Samuel’s hands.  Firmly.  They approached the door and Nana punched the electronic entry button.  She whispered into a mic and the door whooshed open.  Another door.  Same thing.

Reaching their destination, the emblazoned sign over the complex read, Education for the Gifted and creative, Jones & Richland, LTD.

A woman greeted them kindly and Samuel gulped.  She could have been Nana’s twin.  Where am I?  Who is this woman?  What is happening?

For once in his life, Samuel felt the spiraling loss of domination.