300th post!

It's potty-training time around our house. Bethany's pretty much got it figured out. With a disciplined regimen of bribery (an M&M for every successful visit to the potty, which my mom says worked like a charm for me - and still does), she's mastered the basics.



But pooping is still cause for mild panic. When she realizes a poop is imminent, she gets an alarmed facial expression. "Mommy! Pick me up!" So we high-tail it to the bathroom, slap her small toilet seat onto the regular bowl and get her settled.



And we wait. The panic intensifies as the turtle head begins to peep in earnest. To distract her from the mechanics of the job, while also keeping Bethany on the toilet, I have begun to sing a song to her. As a parent, I've often been forced to create magic on the spot, and I have surprised myself with my ingenuity.



Everyone knows the song "Are You Sleeping, Brother John?" Well, try this on for size:







Where's the poopy, where's the poopy?

Here it comes! Here it comes!

Now it's in the toilet, now it's in the toilet.

Flush away, flush away.



Yes, thank you very much, I'll be here all week. She loves that song, and we sing it three, sometimes four songs, before the job is done. Poor Kyle - he's even had to learn the song because toddlers insist on consistency in everything. No matter who takes her to the potty, the song must be sung.



Now if you'll excuse me, I just smelled Bethany walk by, and that can't be good.