Sometimes I wonder if I’m cut out for this whole motherhood thing. We’re finally giving potty training a valiant effort and just as I suspected, I hate it. I feel like we’re in jail. A jail where there’s a little boy that runs around bare bottomed, pooping in closets the second I have to divert my attention elsewhere. Unfortunately, the only common thread in every potty training method is not to get upset. I think my efforts in this regard have been quite impressive. I’m pretty sure if we all get through this alive, I will be in the running for a Nobel Peace Prize.*
We fed our local missionaries dinner the other night and they asked if there was anything special they could pray about for our family. We joked that they could pray for Cooper to be potty-trained. You better believe that was an awkwardly funny prayer. I’m still waiting for an answer to it though.
Maybe at least by the time we’re done with this, my hardwood floors will gleam since I’ll likely have been given the “opportunity” to thoroughly clean every square inch . . .*Seriously though, there is much the nations of the world can learn from a mother about promoting peace, choosing your battles carefully, and the art of negotiation.