Chronicles of Samuel continue

 

Thanks Pam and Dawn! See*Photo*Write

 

Heavy rain pelted the sliding glass door. 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.

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.

 

Irish Children have the gift of gab.

 

                                                                        quality of life

Ireland. Ireland, oh you are magnificent.  The country, the green, music, literature, and, most of all, its people are magnificent. 

Our time in Ireland was only a few scant years where our memories are still are vivid. Our planned visit this year was shelved until the world heals and recovers.

No matter what might be passing in all countries, Irish children have a grasp of language that is peculiar to their country. These ginger haired children have a way of refocusing what is important comparatively.

So, that given, let's all go to the pub, sing some songs, take off pj's and put on clothes, argue with parents, and above all, be amazed at what a child can do at such a young age.