Poetry to my ears.

Many of you have already seen the post over at Rocks in My Dryer on potty training. Many of you haven't. But it is truly one of the most moving and beautiful works of art I have read recently. And this has nothing to do, of course, with the fact that Miriam is still only partially there. After eighteen months. Of. Potty. Training. She has convinced us that we won't even try to train Isabella until the child is at least 3. Or begs us on her knees to be given use of the potty. Ave, crux!