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Archives from 2002-2006

Three days in a row, people. THREE DAYS IN A ROW. I promise to eventually shut up about this sudden and well-received turd turn of events, but I’ll be honest with you, I NEVER THOUGHT THIS DAY WOULD COME. I truly thought my kid would be the one with the adult-sized Pull-Up under his graduation gown, all because of our epic parental fail on the potty training front, but out of nowhere a flip has been switched and now we’re spending each night cheering him on like we’re spectators at the Pooperbowl.

As promised, we had ourselves a little celebration around here last night, complete with appropriately-colored cupcakes and everything:

And then a festive bout of dual coloring with Riley’s new crayons:

If you’re thinking all the fuss sounds silly, you don’t understand: the last time he pooped in the potty we bought him a bike. That was OVER A YEAR AGO.

I know it’s not like we’re totally done with this or anything, but man, it’s a load (HAR!) off my mind that we’re no longer mired in the Complete and Utter Refusal stage, because it was truly getting us all down in the dumps (HO!) on a nightly basis.

Ever since Dylan was born — unlike when Riley was an infant — I’ve been thinking about how pointless it is to get too wrapped up in milestones and hope that your kid will crawl/walk/talk early because in most cases kids eventually all end up in the same basic place and in the big picture it doesn’t really matter when they first started sitting unassisted or whatever. It all goes by so fast, you blink and they’re no longer babies, and those seemingly-oh-so-important stages are just a fond but fuzzy memory. Did you really want them to learn to walk so badly, now that they can run away from you?

However, I can’t believe this holds true for potty training. I mean, do you ever miss the diapers? Frankly, this is one stage I won’t mind seeing the tail end (HEE!) of.

Hopefully an incipient potty prodigy.

I’m back home again and I have all these things I’d like to talk about, like how fantastically great it was to see the kids (and then how instantly overwhelming and tiring it was, like being suddenly dropped back into the middle of some sort of triathlon-in-progress); how I’ll be daydreaming for weeks about the fries at Hotel Utah; how I’m mulling over the fact that all my female coworkers got hit on at Macworld but I didn’t, like not even a single solitary appreciative glance, much less an awkward proposition, and what the hell, have I . . . have I lost my geek appeal?; how surprisingly luxurious a first-class seat on Virgin Airlines is, so nice I actually sort of wished the flight was a bit longer just so I could more thoroughly enjoy all that leg room; and how after that freak snowfall Seattle is now in the midst of some sort of epic, disastrous flooding and it makes a person wonder what’s next, swarm of locusts or hail of toads or WHAT — but the thing that’s first and foremost on my mind is this: Riley has pooped on the toilet two days in a row now, once last night basically under Mom’s-not-here-to-save-you duress from his father and once tonight on his own with a grin on his face. Tomorrow? I’m throwing him a Poop Party, complete with cake (chocolate, natch) and ice cream and many rousing performances of Happy PoopDay to You, and boy oh boy, the thought that we might possibly be seeing the beginning of a new stage of life where only ONE kid routinely dumps in his pants makes me so giddy I can hardly stand it.

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