The things you do for love

Now that Addison is spending more time (see here, here, here and here) on the potty -- you know, crocheting sweaters and choreographing sit-down dances -- it's probably inevitable that every once in a while something falls in. The other day it was two crayons. She looked at me with anguish.

My crayons!

And I looked at her with sympathy, but firmly said,

That's what happens when you drop things. Now let's not let that happen again.

Her lips quivered, but I was proud of the way she kept it together as I flushed the vivid color-makers away. It's a lesson that we all have to learn.

Unfortunately, not everything can be flushed. Like this Rapunzel domino.

I cringe every time she asks for something to play with on the potty. Because I know something's gonna make a splashdown sooner or later. And if it's big, and if Lindsay's not around, I'll have to go after it myself.

But there's not much choice, is there? If I want her to stop leaving me fragrant surprises in her pantaloons, I've gotta do what it takes to keep her on the pot. I just know that if we ever have another kid, I'm going to lobby for an industrial strength airline toilet. Something that seals around the edges for a massive suction effect. I don't know why it kills me so much; I spent years cleaning this kid's poo off of my hands with every other diaper change. But reaching into a toilet to retrieve something is about the most terrifying thing I do these days. I'm a real hero.