Well, the potty training's going great as long as we don't leave the house. If we do, you'll see me hauling a twenty pound bag of extra pants and underwear. It's the sort of thing that gets you wondering what your grownups did to keep you dry long enough to make it to the playground and back. I'm pretty sure that my own mother stopped giving me liquids. To this day I can go for an entire workday without peeing. I store that morning cup of coffee like a camel. Of course, by the end of the day my kidneys have cottonmouth. But that's what beer is for.

I think Jackson's getting annoyed with me asking every ten minutes if he needs to pee, because now if I even look at him he cuts me off by yelling, "No, I do NOT want to visit the potty right now!" Later, I'll be doing something interesting like picking mushy peas out of the sink strainer, and suddenly he'll be standing there with no pants on, tugging on my leg and saying, "You have to wipe my butt." But it was a shining moment in our lives when he showed up at my bedside this morning with a dry diaper. Then we talked about our dreams. He dreamt that he rawred at a dinosaur and saw a sheep under a leaf. I dreamed that my sheets were tickling me. Then we ate waffles. Then I didn't post for another week because I was too busy washing peed-on king-size bed quilts in the bathtub.