The time has come. Finally.

I was starting to think that something was wrong with ME! (I know, it is a ghastly concept.)

Here's why...

My boys were tough to potty train. Hell, they were relentless in their efforts to relinquish bladder and bowel control up to anyone else, but themselves. They were going to doody when they wanted, and where they wanted. No one was going to tell them how to do their business.

Good gravy, who am I kidding?

Pete still won't pause from his recreational endeavors to use the facilities. When the playin's good, it's good, what can I say?
And with Betsy, the goin's slow. She works at her own pace, but she's getting there. So, I can't really use her for a point of reference.

What I'm getting at is this; I was starting to, maybe, somewhat, kind of, take responsiblity for my lack of success in the potty training arena. Maybe, I didn't do the right kind of 'woo-hoo-you-went-pee-pee' dance, or, maybe, I didn't give them enough fiber, or I asked 'do you have to go?' too much. Maybe I waited too long to start, or they sensed my frustration and it was a battle of witts, or my 'hooray-you-poop-on-the-commode' cake wasn't the right flavor (no lie about the cake). Maybe the countless Toys-R-Us reward trips, made by my mother and me, were done so in vain, or, maybe, I just suck!

But then....
a miracle.

(I think I am past the point of jinxing myself, and hell, even if I do, it was bliss while it lasted, so I will tell you.)

Lil' Miss Rosie Kathleen Grebe, 22 months old, uses the toilet. For 5 days, we have had one, that's right, ONE, accident. And, in her defense, it was at Jill's house, when we first got there. A big number two in her skivvies.
I even put underpants on her when we go out, now. How 'bout that people?!?!

Whew, I am still the perfect mother.

That was a close one.

Too close.

Ta-ta.