Our children are not ready for potty training. Neither are we. I can’t read their "I’m making now" faces yet, and Phil can’t handle any of us going to the bathroom with the door open."But they need to watch us. It helps them learn."

"They can watch you," he grumbles. "Meaning you can take them in there with you, and close the door!"

"Dude, you have issues."

I’m a big believer in letting things take their own natural course, without interfering. Basically, I’m a laissez-faire potty promoter, trusting that business will be taken care of, eventually. It’s why we have no intention of pushing the taters into anything prematurely. However, I receive emails apprising me of the latest and greatest information, age-appropriate toys, that sort of spam. The excrement experts suggest putting the potty out, in clear sight, so the kids get accustomed to seeing it there. Where exactly am I supposed to set this thing? If it were up to Abigail, she’d sit cross-legged on it while reading her baby bear Goodnight Gorilla. Whereas Lucas might prefer adding a secondary meaning to his dump truck. Their bathroom is such that the actual toilet is in its own enclosed room, with nothing more than a toilet and a narrow sink and step-stool. It’s not the kind of place you want to hang out and build Lego towers. Do I set the plastic potty near the bathtub? This strikes me as a terribly contradictory proposition. Oh, this is going to be good fun.

We’ve run into one other snag. Abigail refers to her vagina as "poo poo." So each and every time she says it, I rush over to check her, to administer praise if she actually is communicating something. Dry every time. I feel so deflated each time I’m psyched out. Must align with Norma and get our girl and guy gadgetry lingo in sync.