This arrived in the mail this evening, as our 2-year-old boy has to learn to use the shitter this week, or we’re out a few thousand dollars in preschool tuition that we started paying this summer.
I tried to pawn the task off on my mother before dropping the kids off at their house before we left for BlogHer. She laughed out loud and said something about “just desserts.”
Me: What? What does that even mean? My younger brother and I piss in the correct place most of the time. I figure you can help us out with our only boy, who has showed zero interest in refraining from soiling himself.
Mom: I didn’t train you! I dumped you at my parents’ house and let my mother do it when you were about to start preschool!
Me: So…you don’t know how to potty train a boy, either, then?
Mom: Nope. But I guess we can try while y’all are gone…
Me: Forget it. I’d rather give him an intense, structured few days of instruction instead of a half ass few days with y’all, in between afternoons of watching more TV that we’d allow and eating questionable food products we wouldn’t allow.
And so it begins. Tomorrow morning.
*FCC disclosure: I didn’t get jack shit for free; this program cost over $100! But if it works, I’ll gladly type its praises.