I just got finished reading another hilarious post over at Dooce. This time it was a post in response to one of the most judgmental letters I have ever seen to her about why she hasn't yet potty trained her daughter.
I must have been A. J. Jacobs in a previous life, and gotten beat up on the playground for it, because Know-It-Alls make me nuts.
Speaking of which, yesterday, Six, talking from another room, tells BioMom and I that she knows how to potty train Big.
As an aside, because of the near insanity-rendering effects that potty training her (I write this as though it is in the distant past when, still, even at 11/12 of the way toward her seven year mark, I am not sure I'd say we've fully cleared that particular hurdle.) had on BioMom and I, we've agreed to not even mention the subject to Big. I don't care if he IS walking down the isle in diapers, it'll be him-led this time.
BioMom and I looked at each other the way that Amy Poehler sometimes looks at Seth Meyers during a particularly ridiculous moment in Weekend Update, scrunching up their lips, and holding in their cheeks. . . Everything they can do to not burst out laughing.
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