The other day, I was talking on the phone, when Peter starts yelling from the dining room, "Mama! Come here, look! I made a pee! I made a pee! "
I run over, and I'm starting to ream him out for peeing on the floor when he knows better, and it's hardwood, no less, and why didn't he get up and make it to the bathroom if he knew it was coming, etc. As I get to him, he has a very confused look on his face, and he hands me a piece of paper.
That he has drawn the letter P on.