The chin.

The chin.  While to some, (maybe most), it might appear grotesquely disproportionate; to me, it is a nugget of gold chiseled to perfection by the very hand of God.  My mama, his Nina, hopes his chin is just in a "phase" and will grow away from the Jay Leno look.  Haha.  She kids, but with a grain of truth I don't mind at all.  If his chin doesn't end up working out, at least he has an opportunity to grow a beard.

Lately, Sam has taken to spontaneously going limp as a bone fish when he's playing with his daddy.  We figured out that he likes to play dead so we can poke, prod and eventually resuscitate him as he rises up into a growling beast.

Here, Zander took advantage of Sam's game and  swaddled him with no chance of escape.  He did eventually find freedom, but I forget how. I think I was supposed to help him unravel.  At least I said "I'll be right there, Sam!  I need to load the dryer!"  Zander moved on with this day and Sam lay there helpless, happy, but waiting for someone.  Its a good thing Sam is hardy because I'm not firing on all cylinders.