Cindy pointed out that all this blogging about writing and birthdays and soforth has meant very little Sam on this here website. It just so happens that I have been sitting on a truly adorable Sam story for a couple months, so now seems a good time to share it.
Sam has been terrified of the vacuum cleaner from as near to birth as one can trace these things. (Show me a woman who remembers the first time she vacuumed post-partum and I will show you a woman who is either suffering PPD or at the very least OCD.) Any loud, sudden noises have always been a problem, but he slowly learned to live with his father sneezing (something that once sent him into hysterics the likes of which I had never seen), the coffee grinder, and pretty much every other noise he is likely to hear on a regular basis.
It has been speculated that he didn’t get over his vacuum cleaner fear because he was not exposed to the sound frequently enough. Don’t think I missed the thinly-veiled criticism of my housekeeping, either. (Never mind that the speculation was my own.)
Sometime this winter, Sam and Will made an arrangement wherein Will would vacuum while Sam sat on the sofa and watched, wrapped safely in a blanket. Sam was still terrified, but less than before.
We stalled right there until one day in April when Will brought the vacuum outside to clean up our porch. On that day, this happened: