I caught Sam with his hand in the jar of Cera Ve Cream. When I asked him what he was doing he said, "I'm just taking care of business!"

That Devilish Grin

John: "Sam, what are you doing?"

Sam: "I'm Lucifer playing with my milk."

John: "What?! You're who?"

Sam: "I'm Lucifer."

(Pause)

Here is where I took pity on my ash-faced husband and explained to him that Sam was not evil incarnate, he was simply pretending to be Cinderella's cat.

St. Francis He is Not

Sam just started getting allowance. We had read that it was time to give a kid an allowance once they started asking for things. Sam asks for things, so Sam gets an allowance.

We were at the store today when Sam exclaimed that he saw something he wanted—two Schleich animals (my mother’s heart rejoiced that he bypassed the plastic options). We went home, counted his money, and returned to the store to make the purchase. The whole way to the store I was preparing him for what was about to happen.

Me: “Sam, when you buy the toy, you’ll have to give the cashier your money.”

Sam: “I don’t want to.”

Me: “Well, you’re going to have to choose whether you want to keep your money or buy some animals.”

Sam: “I know, let’s give them your money.”

Me: “Nope. If you want the animals you have to spend your money.”

The purchasing transaction went surprisingly well.

When we got in the car I saw another learning opportunity present itself. Standing at the street's entrance to the store was a man with a sign asking for money. As we approached I told Sam that I wanted to give the man some money.

“Why?” Sam asked.

I explained that perhaps the man didn’t have a lot of food or was cold. I thought this would capture Sam’s sympathy because he regularly asks to pray for people who don’t have food before going to bed. We pulled up to the man, and as I rolled down the window my lovely son yelled, “DON’T GIVE HIM MY MONEY!”

Today’s lesson: budgeting. Tomorrow’s: compassion.

The Surgeon Sam's Warning

Using the potty has meant Sam has been exposed to all sorts of new experiences. A few days ago we went to Richard's Resturant for dinner where a trip to the bathroom requires a walk through the smoking section. Sam has spent most of his life in New Jersey where it's illegal to even think of nicotine and so the smell of smoke was a new experience for him.

As we walked through the crowded room Sam plugged his nose and yelled, yes yelled, "What's that smell? Why does it smell so bad in here? It stinks, Mommy. It stinks!"

In the stall I gave him a crash course in all things Marlboro. We left the bathroom and proceeded through the dining room where Sam continued to yell, "It still stinks, Mommy. It smells so bad! Where's the fire? Where's the fire?" Of course, this was all yelled whilst plugging his nose, so he had a lovely nasal tone.

Just say, "No", Sam. Just say, "No".

My Considerate Little Potty Trainee

Sam: Mommy, I peed on the floor.
Me: You did? Where?
Sam: Right there.
Me: Did you go on purpose or on accident?
Sam: I peed on the floor on purpose.
Me: Oh. Sam, why did you go pee-pee on the floor?
Sam: I didn't want to go in the bathroom.
Me: Why didn't you want to go pee-pee in the bathroom?

(Long pause as if he's trying to come up with an answer that will satisfy his perplexed Mother.)

Sam: I didn't want the loud flush to wake up the baby.

The Rolls Royce of Tidy Whiteys

I don't know what possessed me to think my epidermically-challenged son could handle an elastic waist band. You win once again, Hannah Andersson.