While I was at the gym early this morning, Randy was awakened by an MJ who was completely soaked from the waist down. "I peed, Daddy," she told him -- which is really the way you want to start your day: being notified of preschooler potty activities gone awry. And then she handed him one of her clean shirts and a clean pair of underwear. Which is resourceful if not entirely correct.

The mystery was: Where was the rest of the pee? Her bed was dry, so that wasn't the scene of the crime. No carpet puddles were discovered in the upstairs jurisdiction. Hmmm...

So, when I got home shortly after "the incident," I asked her , "MJ, where were you when you went?"

"Nothing," she said, which has become her go-to answer for every question. (Which I kind of love, if it weren't so obviously incriminating.) And then she said, "In there," pointing to the bathroom next to the laundry room, into which I had just walked to get a clothes basket. And then I heard a splash.

"If you peed in the bathroom," I asked, staring down at my bare feet, "what am I standing in right now?"

As it turns out, the puddle extended across two rooms, from the one in which she had just missed making it to the potty in time, to the one where she opened up the dryer to get that clean shirt and undies out for Randy to change her.

At least she knows her way around a laundry room. This gives me hope that she'll be able to take care of herself when she's an adult ... well, if she can find the bathroom in time.

For the most part, giving MJ a little bribe for going on the potty has worked wonders: She's really responded to getting a reward and didn't complain when we cut out "special surprises" for peeing once she had that task down.

Only one problem. She's turned into a regular consumer. If she sees something she wants, she heads into bargaining mode. It's a little like living on a used car lot. "What's it going to take to get me into that ice cream cone today, Mom?"

• "Mommy, can I have that Charlie and Lola book?"
• "No dear."
• "If I pee? Can I have it if I pee?"

Or ...

• "Mommy, I need a TV."
• "You need a what?"
• "MJ needs a TV. For my dollhouse. For peeing?"

But my favorite request by far was this one, from the other night: We were reading a book at bedtime, and one of the illustrations was a nighttime sky with little stars twinkling in it.

"Mommy," she said, "could we get a star? For going on the potty."

"A star? You mean like a sticker?" I asked.

"No," she said, pointing to the ceiling of her room, "like a real star from up in the sky. MJ wants one of those. For peeing."

It reminded me of that scene from It's a Wonderful Life, the "George Lassos the Moon" bit. At least she knows how to dream big.

     

When I went out to get the paper yesterday morning, someone had left us a surprise on our mailbox post: a Target bag filled with an unopened package of Pull-Ups. That someone clearly reads this blog, including my last post about the "broken" Pull-Ups. I'm pretty sure that someone also has a 3-year-old girl (the pull-ups were pink), and I thank her. This is one of the things I love about living in a neighborhood where so many people have kids the same age: We're all kind of in it together. Even when it comes to potty training.

And let's talk potty for a minute, shall we? It's a great subject, after all, especially when you're talking about Naked Friday. Yep, we went old school to start the weekend, potty boot camp, a full day (well, minus mealtimes, naptime and bedtime ... that's where the Pull-Ups come in) of a t-shirt and no diapers -- a dangerous but, it turns out, highly effective, method of potty training. It seems kids really don't like even the idea of peeing down their legs. Go figure. Not one accident, people. Not one. The Royal Potty Chair was a-singin' all weekend. I wouldn't say we're there just yet, but things did go well enough that we broke out the toddler underwear that we've been hoarding for months now and gave it a spin. I haven't been this excited since she learned how to walk.

MJ walked into the bathroom yesterday without pants, holding a suspicious soggy something between her thumb and forefinger -- which she then gave to me inside out, even though I had just washed my hands.

Nice.

"Here Mommy," she said when she handed me the most ridiculously soaked Pull-Up ever, "it's broken."

And with that, she breezed past me and plopped herself down on her potty.

So there's a little insight into this potty-training toddler's mind: She seems to believe one uses the potty only as a last resort, when you've run out of room in your pants. Awesome.

Still, it's progress. I'll take it.

For the past few weeks, I've been locked in fierce battle with the stepdog over control of our backyard. I'm a gardener the way I'm a chef: I love to eat; I stress over cooking. So whenever I take the time to put a little something into the ground or tucked into a pot of dirt, I watch over it like a newborn baby. That's not to say I raise it well; just that I watch it. Waiting for something to happen. A bloom, a new leaf, etc.

Molson, however, has a different idea about lawn-and-garden care. It goes something like this: "I will pee wherever I feel like it, whenever I feel like it, and you can't stop it. P.S. Scratch my belly."

And this is why the little tree we planted for Little L almost two months ago now looks like this:



No hope for this one. Still hope for the other flowers and shrubbery, though. So whenever Molson trots his way toward the beds in the back, I'm on alert. Yesterday, I didn't make it in time. But I went out to dump a bucket of water on the offended plant, and returned to hear this:

"Mommy! Mommy! I want to use the potty."

"I'm sorry? You what?"

"Need to use the potty," said MJ from the powder room, for the first time ever, while trying in vain to pull her pants off.

So we sat together and waited for something to happen, but really, it already had: a bloom, a new leaf, etc.: My wee girl growing up.