Regardless, we've been trying to clean up the house, pick up the toys, and put away clothes. I'm not saying we're actually doing that, but hey, we are trying.
Earlier today Sammy was upstairs, and he came running down the stairs and said, "Mommy, I farted in my pants a little bit." WHAT? "I farted in my pants a little bit." Seriously? Come here, let me look. I peek in his pajama bottoms . . . sure enough . . . he sharted. He's 3 years old and he sharted. Are you kidding me?
You know the drill . . . remove pajamas, place pajamas in the washing machine . . . try not to gag . . . stick him in the bathtub . . . try not to gag thinking about it . . . get him cleaned up, get him a new pair of pajamas . . . try not to laugh at the fact that he sharted . . . try not to gag thinking about it . . . wonder where he learned the word "fart" from, and why he's not saying "toot?" . . .
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