Sam went to Grandma's yesterday afternoon. She picked him up after work and they had a nice walk down to her house at the beach.

I took advantage of the break to finish up some work, then do some one-on-one with Cj that we don't get enough opportunities for on most days, as at three plus, Big Brother is not fond of being out of the attention loop for long.

Grandma's house is all about one-on-one and she rarely takes more than one grandchild at a time. Mark's sister's two rotate their visits, always have, and although there are arguments over whose turn it should be, both are happy to be the only apple of Grandma's eye for a day when they can.

Cj's not far from demanding a turn herself, but since she can't talk her demands to be included are pretty easily brushed aside as general grumpiness or evidence of the need for a nap.

With Grandma so focused on whichever one of her little granddarlings is underfoot, I have few concerns about supervision when Sam is with her. With the Indian Ocean literally on her doorstep, she's accustomed to putting in her Eagle Eye when there are kids around. Sam's floaties appropriately encase his upper arms anytime he's in spitting distance of the water, and any tourists that may show interest in him are treated kindly enough, but kept out of his personal space.

Knowing all this, I was more than a bit surprised to get a call from my MIL after Mark picked Sam up on his way home from work.

"They're on their way," she said.

Okay ... that means they'll be home in about four minutes.

"But ..."

The hesitation made me nervous.

What?

"Sam's done something, and I'm afraid to tell you."

(Yes, I am THAT sort of mother... one who brings fear to the hearts of others who deal with my kids. Such fear that they would rather chew up their own eyebrows than have to confess their attention wavered for even a second, allowing something untoward to occur. So, sue me.)

Seems that while she was cooking him a favorite snack, he took the scissors he was happily trimming pictures from a magazine with and hacked off a handful of hair from the back of his head ... right at the scalp.

She insisted that punishment for such foolishness had been swift and complete, that he was appropriately contrite, and that any subsequent chastisement would be overkill.

Well ...

I know my mother-in-law. Her idea of punishment for Sam usually consists of four cookies instead of five, so I questioned him today on the events after the chop-chop.

Did Grandma get angry?

No.

Did Grandma shout or smack your hand?

No.

Did Grandma take the scissors away?

No.

The most telling answer rather sums up the climate that surrounds him when he spends time in the bosom of his father's parents' world.

Did Grandma give you a time-out?

He laughed ... laughed ... then said, "There are no time-outs at Grandma's!"