Almost doesn't count in potty training......

Naomi is potty trained, she really is. She knows where the potty is. She knows what it is for. She knows how to use it, wipe, all that stuff. So why is it so hard to get there?

Is our house really that interesting? The kids whine that there is nothing to do, yet they are so wholly occupied with other things that they apparently cannot take the time to go to the bathroom until the dam has sprung a leak. From ages 2 to 7, the last minute seems to be the order of the day. It is true that in our house, with this particular thing, without the last minute, it might never get done.

Maybe she likes to dance, because nothing brings our the wiggles, hopping, and Michael Jackson impersonations like a call of nature put on hold and forgotten about. Nature can only listen to elevator music for so long before it lets you know that this is one call that cannot be delayed. When we spot her interpretive dance moves we can usher her in, but it seems that like most entertainers she requires an audience. She says she cant turn on the light, or move the stool to the porcelain throne. And maybe she is right, maybe she can't, because if she stops to do anything else other than what she is doing right now, she will go from hip hop to Riverdance.

Its easy to get angry when an "accident" occurs. She is dancing, and doesn't make it. Apparently she has been holding it since her birthday last March, and proceeds to make a lake on the bathroom floor, where it will rush to seep through gaps in the cheap tile singing "Give said the little stream". She has the presence of mind to hike up her nightdress, which doubles as a dancing skirt, but finds herself in a dilemma. Now she is in the middle of the lake, and the tile floor is slick. She takes a step, and goes down, still trying to hold up her skirt to keep it from getting wet. This means by the time she struggles back to her feet, in tears, she is still holding her skirt above her belly, while her shirt, and pants, and socks, and anything else she might be wearing, is thoroughly soaked.

Mom hears her go down. She goes in to see what has transpired, and is faced with two choices....to laugh...or to cry. Naomi is already crying, so the laugh wins out. Off come the clothes, Naomi mops the floor, into the bath. Almost. So close. Maybe next time. (While this draft was old, and far past due, it was worth the publishing)