Who, me? Meh.

My son, at three and not quite three quarters, is still toilet training. Well, rather, he has people trying to toilet train him. Brody has a rather cavalier attitude toward potty training. He can take it or leave it. We've tried: Bribing (a treat for using the potty). We've also tried reinforcing the idea with books. He loves hearing the book about Henry using the potty. Little man has about 42 pairs of new underwear and is proud to say he has peed in most of them.

It's not that he can't do it. He knows how. He'll walk up to me and announce he's just done his business in the toilet, and then ten minutes after I've finished praising him to the skies he'll take a slash in a corner somewhere. This is the kind of stuff that worries me even more than when his sisters are playing house with him and hand him a purse to carry. I'm getting lots of nosy questions lately about whether I've 'tried' to train Brody, and all I can say is that it's a work in progress, and if they don't like it they can 'piss' off. I just hate it when people offer unsolicited advice about my kids and look at me like I'm a Bad Mom.

A couple of weeks ago, Brody comes over to me and wrinkles his nose. "Something smells bad." I guess this was his way of dropping me a broad hint, or he honestly doesn't know he's the one responsible for creating the stench, or doesn't care. You see what I'm up against?

Other news. Gerry's parents are moving into their new house, are having a hard time selling their old house, and are contemplating renting it out for a while. I love that house. I WANT THAT HOUSE.

Poor Gerry. The man has been having a painful kidney stone attack all day. He thinks it's because he's dehydrated. He seems to think having a couple of beers with the neighbor down the street will help. Whatever works, baby.

A couple of pictures of my little man:
At a few months old

With his sister

Wearing my work boots