Sammyisms - The PT Edition

On the first of the year, Sammy decided that maybe, just maybe, it is okay to pee somewhere other than his diaper or into a fan. It was actually a very easy process and even the issues we thought would be hard to overcome have been fairly easy. He had very few accidents since deciding he wanted to wear underwear.

Yesterday, I sat in the bathroom with Sammy while he did his business. We were in there for nearly 30 minutes. It was ridiculous. The entire time he narrated every little moment of his pooping experience. (I noticed his other Sammyism has to do with poop too. I'm seeing a trend.) "Mommy, that's my poophole. The poop goes down into that poophole. I'm pooping! The poop came out! *toots* My butt did that. Mommy, my butt pooped."

I can't believe just a couple months ago I was really concerned he'd never be potty trained. Now I'm concerned he'll never stop narrating his bodily functions. I'd say "life with boys" but Natalie is the one that said, "That's just the sound my butt makes" when she tooted once back when she was two. It's just kids. Kids are gross. And hilarious.

Sammyisms ~ The Kitty Edition

Sammy is obsessed with our cat, Abbey. I got Abbey when she was about a year old and she just recently turned 14, so she's been around for a long time. Lately he pretty much stalks the poor cat to the point that she has moved her living area to the basement. Don't worry, she's plenty warm. "Her" chair is under a heat vent and we moved the cat box down there for her.

Sam tries to carry her around, which displeases her greatly. He has battle wounds in the form of scratches from the many times he tries to pull her tail. During those rare moments when sunshine peeps through the windows in the living room, Abbey will pull up a spot on the rug and bathe herself. The other morning I caught Sam sitting in the sunshine, leg up in the air, pretending to bathe himself.

This morning he chased Abbey into the basement and I wanted him to come back upstairs, so I pretended to shut him in the basement. I heard him pitter-patter up the stairs to the door, where he started to meow to be let out. "Sammy kitty!" he said proudly.

A couple weeks ago, it was getting towards bedtime, so I sat at the table with Nat and Tim making necklaces and Sam ran into the corner of the dining room. It was quite obviously he was 'doing his business,' so I asked, "Sammy, are you pooping?"

"No. Sammy no pooping."

"Sammy IS pooping."

"No," he said, then he pointed to the cat. "Abbey pooping."

"Abbey is not pooping; Sammy is pooping."

"No, Abbey pooping in her pants."

Poor cat gets blamed for everything!

I tried to get a picture of Sam with Abbey, but with Abbey's obvious dislike of Sammy, it was next to impossible.