Dear Samantha Joy,: *Insert the "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly" Theme Song Here*

My favorite picture of "us" at the moment.
You call your black Converse "Momma shoes."

Dearest Sammie Girl,

*Cough, cough*. So, uh, it's been a while. For nineteen months, my saving grace for not having your baby book was being able to say, "Well, at least I've got her BLOG (still hate that word) updated."

Then January hit. And with January came the mad push to get the school play ready to go and left me with absolutely no spare time. Then February steamrolled over me because the play was up and running. Then I got sick. Really sick. Like-I-need-my-mommy-sick.

Apparently I pushed myself too hard between being a mother, teacher and student (oh, yeah--your mother decided to be SUPER crazy and take a sign language class that meets twice a week).

But today, I'm feeling better. Sort of. No more excuses. Time to blaaaahhhh-guh (seriously, can't there be a better name for it other than blah-guh? What about "Electronic Journal for All the World to See"? Yeah, I like that better. EJFATWTS it is).

Before I get to the in-depth details and amusing tales of the past few months, I'll give you the Cliff's Notes version. You know, in case you ~~get bored~~ don't have time for all of my amusing anecdotes.

Word Explosion. Your vocabulary now consists of more than forty words. Yay you!
You don't walk anymore. You RUN.
You like to eat. A lot. If it's sweet or involves chocolate, it makes your heart particularly happy.
Potty training is on the horizon (cue the dramatic music).
You're getting taller by the nanosecond.
Animals don't have names anymore.
Books are quite enjoyable.
Elmo is still the center of your world.
You're a neat freak.
"The Sammies" are gone...for now.

And now for the longer than a novel version:

Word Explosion
A switch went off a few weeks ago and you're parroting just about everything we say. If you can't repeat what we say, you just look at us and solemnly say "Dadda." Apparently "Dadda" is code for any random thing you can't say. It goes something like this:

Momma: Can you say Elmo, Sammie?
Sammie: EL-ma.
Momma: Good talking, Sammie! Can you say Big Bird?
Sammie: Rakes brain for how to say it, then proudly spouts out Dadda!
Momma: BIG-GUH BERRRRRRRD.
Sammie: DAAAAAD-DDDUH!
Momma: How about Cookie Monster, Sammie? Can you say Cookie Monster?
Sammie: Rakes brain once more. Dadda!

You made me particularly proud last week when you said your first (semi-complete) sentence: "Mama eat orange." I was peeling an orange over the sink and you were sitting in your high chair. I don't know if you were telling me to eat it or if you were narrating what I you thought I was going to do next. Whatever the case, we celebrated this milestone by sharing the orange. Then I called everyone I knew and proudly told them of your latest accomplishment. This included boasting about it on Facebook. For the record, seven of my friends "liked" it and six others commented on it.

My favorite thing to hear you say, hands down, is "yes," because you don't say "yes." You say "Es" and nod your head in the cutest way. I need to get it on videotape. But it really is adorable. Your Nonni and Poppa stopped saying "yes" and started saying "es"--even when you're not around. Your proud Poppa even got his whole 7th and 8th grade class saying "es." No one ever said you weren't a trendsetter!

RUNning
Walking is so eighteen months. You're past that now. RUNning is the way to go.

Demonstrating your mad running skills at a recent trip to the zoo.

Preferrably, you RUN while chasing the dogs. The dogs don't enjoy this part so much. You think their running away is a part of a game. They beg to digress. While they scamper away from you to find yet another place to hide, you giggle and shriek like a hyena on helium. The sentimental momma in me wishes I could bottle up your giggles and laughter and keep it in my heart forever and ever. The overprotective momma in me is raking my brain for ways to creatively keep both child and mutts happy. The ~~lazy butt~~ overexhausted momma in me wonders why I don't have that kind of energy anymore.

You like to eat.
A lot. With all of the RUNning you do, it's understandable that you've got to eat to keep your energy levels up. Your favorite food is most anything that's in front of you. If it's sweet or involves chocolate, it makes your heart particularly happy. Your heart actually has a special place for M&M's, which you've taken to calling "Amys." If no Amys are to be found, then you'll gladly settle for fruit or carbs.

Unfortunately, like most other toddlers out there, vegetables are taking some coaxing to eat--save for green beans, sweet potatoes and brocolli. Those three are totally doable. All other vegetables won't be eaten unless you can dip it in something like ketchup or barbeque sauce, then yumm-o and game on!

Enjoying some sweet chocolate while "helping" Poppa make Nonni's birthday cake.

Your beverage of choice remains water. We never really got into the juice habit because our pediatrician (STBPITW) warned us a year ago that "juice was the gateway drug to SODA." Heaven forbid we should be the parents giving our child the bad juice, so we stuck to two options: water or milk. Fortunately, you take after your momma in that you love to quench your thirst with a fresh cup of water. Since Christmas, however, another choice has been added: Elmo water. Elmo water is water that you drink from your special Elmo cup with a straw. Elmo water reigns supreme in this household. Milk has been relegated to breakfast and dinner. On the rare occasion, you'll get "Ohch Jich:" fresh squeezed orange juice cut with water. I'd like to think that fresh squeezed orange juice isn't as evil as the gateway drug because it was in a healthy orange seconds before you consumed it.

Potty training is on the horizon (cue the dramatic music).
Then cue some more dramatic music, because apparently this is a very difficult thing to do when you're ~~the mother of an~~ almost two ~~year old~~. We started this process several months ago with the purchase of a PRINCESS! potty chair. Truth be told, I really am not on the princess boat just yet. I don't get it. I wasn't a girly girl and to be the mother of a girly girl is just something that I'm having to take one day at a time. Regardless, when it came time to buy a potty chair, all Target had for me was a PRINCESS! potty chair or this cheap plastic thing that didn't really catch my eye.

I should've read the box more thoroughly before buying it. And then I should've read the box again and used my momma brain. Because this PRINCESS! potty chair plays royal music each time a child pees in it. Yup. Royal music. As in the sound of trumpets blaring "duh duh duh DUUUUUUUUUUH!!!"

We thought we would do the whole casual approach to training, as in "There's the potty chair, it's next to momma and dadda's big potty chair. You can use it if you want. Or not. No big hurry here--no sirree." We thought we were making big headway when you would proudly follow us into the bathroom and sit on it (fully clothed), asking for toilet paper to wipe yourself. Wiping yourself, apparently, is very important. Because you were oh so proud of yourself each time you got a spare square (Side note to all those who get the Seinfeld reference--I owe you a virtual black and white cookie).

Pardon me? Can you spare a square?

Then you started *ahem* tinkling on the floor whenever we got the bath ready for you. One night, we got the bright idea to plop you on the potty when the *ahem* tinkling action started.

Then the music blared. "Duh duh duh DUUUUUUUUUUH!!!"

Stupid PRINCESS! potty chair.

Cue the freaked out beyond consolation child.

That's when we had to resort to using Amys. Not that we're the strict "you must use your potty chair NOW parents or anything." Nope. Still trying the what I like to call "whatever" approach. Only now it's more like "whatever, but I'd really like this to happen by this summer, but you know, whatever." So we use ~~M&M's~~ Amys. Yup. You got your parents and everyone else in the family calling them "Amys." Last night, however, it dawned on me that we may have raised a wheeler-dealer of a child.

Momma: Ready for your bath, Sammie?
Sammie: Es. El-ma bubbles.
Momma: Do you want to sit on your potty chair without your diaper?
Sammie: Thinks for a moment, then holds out her hand solemnly: Amy.
Momma: You're right, you can have an Amy if you sit on the potty without your diaper.
Sammie: Adamant that nothing is happening until you receive your reward first. AMY.

Yup. If I ever need anyone to bargain on my behalf, I'm sending in you--my almost two year old, because you're a girl who knows what she's worth and isn't going to stop until you get it. For the record, you got your Amys and calmly sat on the potty without your diaper while the bath was getting ready for five whole minutes. You didn't *ahem* potty this time, but that's okay, because, you know, whatever. And I forgot to take the stinkin' batteries out of the PRINCESS! potty chair so had you actually done your business further emotional scarring probably would've ensued.

You're getting taller by the nanosecond.
You're still in the 50th percentile for height, but to this 4'11" momma, you're gigantor baby. At the moment, you are taller than half of my height. When I carry you on my hip, your feet go past my knees and your head is level with mine. This must make for quite the comic sight. You're using your newfound height to your advantage, reaching for anything and everything we try to keep out of your hands. Regardless, if you keep getting taller, you'll be the first person in our family to be able to decorate the top of the Christmas tree without a chair.

Animals don't have names anymore.

They're known by their sounds. It's not a monkey, it's an "ooh ahh." It's not a cow, it's a "moo moo." It's not a kitty, it's a "Meow Meow." You get the idea. We’re trying to teach you how to say the animals’ names instead of their respective sounds, but the point is lost on you.

Case in point: your favorite blanket that your Aunt Diane made you for your first birthday. Last spring, she borrowed one of your robeys and took it with her to the fabric store, holding the robey in one hand and feeling each piece of fleece until she found something that had the same feel. The “winner” was a fleecy fabric with monkeys all over it. The monkey blanket quickly became a favorite and you now refuse to go to sleep without your “ooh ah” blanket.

We’ve tried setting you straight.

Momma: Do you want your monkey blanket?
Sammie: Es.
Momma: Can you say “monkey”?
Sammie: Oooh Ahh.
Momma: Mon-KEY.
Sammie: Oooh Ahh.
Momma: Monkey is the name of the animal. “Oooh ahh” is what the MONKEY says. Monkey.
Sammie: Looks at me quizzically, before proudly spouting, Dadda!

You pulled the same thing on your Nonni when she watched you a few weeks ago. As a special treat, she pulled out your favorite Elmo DVD to sacrificially watch it with you (I say sacrificially because it truly is annoying, even if it does have Mandy Patinkin and Vanessa Williams). You shook your head at the DVD and said “Oooh aahh.” The monkey noises didn’t stop until silly Nonni realized you’d had enough of Elmo in Grouchland and you’d prefer Curious George, thankyouverymuch.

Books are quite enjoyable.

Taking in a book with Nonni and cousin Benji. Note the prized Elmo shirt that you're wearing.

You consistently pick out the longest storybook in the bookshelf and when my throat is raw from reading that one, you get up and get the second longest storybook from its perch. Favorite books at the moment include anything with monkeys. You love monkeys. Curious George, Five Little Monkeys...I'd list more but can't think of any more books off the top of my head that have monkeys in them. Other favorites include books that require me to sing: Lady With the Alligator Purse, Old MacDonald (you call this book "moo moo" because of the cows that go moo--took me a while to get what you were talking about on this one), Love You Forever, Jesus Loves Me, and the list goes on. I do hope for your sake that we can get you exposed to people who sing better than I, because the only key I'm capable of singing in is the key of "z"--in other words, quite off key. Sidenotes and ramblings aside, I really am proud and astonished with how much you love being read to and the length of time in which you're able to pay attention to lengthy books. Methinks you're a bookworm, and I, for one, couldn't be more proud.

Elmo is still the center of your world.
Seriously, if I told you that Elmo wanted you to do something, you would stop whatever you were doing and do what he wanted immediately. Because Elmo said so. If I ask you want you want to wear, you will look at me and say "Elmo" as if I was insane for thinking you should wear anything else. The other day you literally wore Elmo from head to toe. Elmo bows, Elmo shirt and Elmo socks. If you had Elmo pants and Elmo shoes, you probably would've been begging to wear those, too. As it is, our house currently has an Elmo toothbrush, Elmo ball, three Elmo dolls (baby, normal, and Deranged/Borderline Maniacal), Elmo slippers, Elmo etch a sketch, and countless other Elmo items that I currently have forgotten.

Elmo is also a favorite topic of bedtime chatter. Once we've put you to bed this is what we hear through the baby monitor each night: "baby Elmo," "Elmo bubbles," "Elmo water," "Elmo dirty" (you picked up that one after you tried unsuccessfully to convince me to let you wear your Elmo shirt two days in a row)...the list goes on. Apparently, Elmo is not just a noun in your world, he's also an adjective.

Waking up from today's nap with two of your favorite things: Baby Elmo and your "ooh ahh" blanket.

I'm just grateful you haven't fallen in love with something less endearing...like princesses, or Dora, or *shudder* The Wiggles. I've already told you why princess aren't my favorite--they're too girly and also they haven't looked the same since Disney started putting them on EVERYTHING and yes I realize it's completely hypocritical for me to say this because I'm fully aware that Sesame Street brand has been putting Elmo on EVERYTHING as is evidenced by my earlier list of household items we currently own that have Elmo's red furry face blazened on them. Dora, well, Dora just bugs me. I don't know why. Grown men who jump around and sing songs for the pre-school set is just plain creepy. Show of hands for anyone who agrees with me on that one?

You're a neat freak.
We had lunch today with Nonni, and I was telling her this cute story of something you did last night, and her eyes just got real big and she got a worried expression on her face. Apparently what you did last night isn't, um, normal. What was your crime? You cried in your crib because the drawers on your dresser weren't shut and your Elmo slippers were on the floor and not in the shoe basket. I appeased you by shutting your drawers and putting the slippers away and asked you if that made it all better.

"Es." Nod, nod, sigh of relief.

It's not just limited to bedtime for bouts of OCD. You are also taking to "helping" me with laundry. You pick up the clothes and move them from one laundry basket to another. Last month, after a long rehearsal, I changed into my pajamas and carelessly left my jeans on the floor. You gave me a look of horror and opened the bottom drawer of my dresser, carefully put my jeans in the drawer and shut it. Life was good in your world again.

Trying your hand at the dishes. Everyone's got to start somewhere!

SOAPBOX MOMENT: As a mother, I'm trying really hard to instill in you the value of hard work. A pet peeve of mine is when parents do everything for their kids and their kids go off to college not knowing how to do laundry, cook, or anything that's self-sufficient because their mothers did everything for them. Trust me, I was shocked at the amount of dorm-mates who had no clue how to sort their laundry in those first few months of college. Granted, you may not appreciate me for it when you have to do *GASP* chores, but someway down the road, you will love me for it. I know I love my parents for instilling in me good work ethic.

Gets off of soapbox to resume ~~normally~~ randomly scheduled EJFATWTS

"The Sammies" are gone...for now.
In the place of the random crying out to the high heavens is this delightful toddler who truly does live up to her middle name.

Sharing the love with George and Makayla on a recent visit. You probably know this by now, but you got your middle name from their momma. You both live up to your middle name "Joy"

I know we're on the brink of the terrible twos and the terrifying threes, but for now I'm relishing this sweet little girl who calls me momma. You give me unlimited amounts of hugs and kisses and giggle and laugh to no end when something pleases you. It's the highlight of my day when your two adorable dimples make their appearance known on each of your chubby cheeks. You know the meaning of the word "joy" and you are a living testimony for all that it is.