Saga of the Potty

It is 9:14 A.M. My husband left for work almost an hour and a half ago, and from the time his car disappeared down the road until just a couple minutes ago, I have been at the mercy of a potty-training three-year-old.

He spent nearly an hour sitting on the potty, trying his very best to poop. I provided him with special potty-pooping-only toys, including a little chalkboard and chalk I found in my parents' basement cleanout. He drew, he erased, he dropped the eraser into the toilet. He moved from the big toilet to his little potty and back again. He asked for privacy, he begged for company. He tried it all. And we were so close. So very close. Just one grunt away from victory, and he bailed out. He pulled up the pull-up and finished that way.

I hid my disappointment fairly well. As I changed him, I praised his effort, said we were so very close and surely one day very soon he would poop on the potty. I then calmly went about the business of cleaning up the bathroom -- sorting and putting away all the, shall we say, accoutrements de poopage -- the chalkboard, the wet eraser, the books, the Kandoo wipes, the little bits of toilet paper ripped up and tossed about like confetti. At last it was all cleaned up. With a sweet smile, I checked on the kids, who were reading a book together in my son's room, and then I logged into blogger, where I now weep bitterly into the keyboard, using all my self-restraint to keep from screaming, "JUST POOP ON THE FRICKIN' POTTY! YOU SIT, YOU POOP! HOW HARD CAN IT BE?!!?!"

Ahem. Okay, I feel better. I shall now return to a morning of kind and patient parenting.