The Albano-ness of Samson

I'd bet fewer than one in three Cheerios on young Samson's tray actually makes it to the final destination. Walking around in our dining room has a kind of "minesweeper" quality to it, as you never know when your next footfall will yield the low and familiar crunch of an O underfoot.

Those that avoid the floor and the mouth can be found in the corners of the highchair, the folds of his shirt and/or shorts, and --- rarely --- the bib pocket. But an even rarer group (and my favorite) of the renegade Cheerios are the ones that get stuck around his chin, literally millimeters from the mark and fastened like little whole-grain barnacles.

Sitting in his highchair, Os stuck to his chin tonight, Sam looks sort of like a mini Capt. Lou. Minus the beard (and staples), of course.