I have many regrets. One is agreeing to do 30 burpies for 30 days. I've done 20 today and am not really interested in the ten more I am supposed to do today. However, there are a couple of family weddings on the horizon and I would prefer to present of pleasant image of the life awaiting the blushing brides. So toning and poundage loss is required. 

Today's post needs to be short and sweet. I need to clean and paint and do laundry and put kids to bed and and grade papers. And I really do need to blog because that's part of the weight loss contest I committed to. Not that every one has to blog, but this is my "good habit". Because I know ya'll want more and more of my streaming consciousness. 

I jumped the gun on hoping for a breakthrough on the whole potty training front. It seems like this is all I talk about, mostly because it's basically how I spend my day. 

X-Man slept in late today. Which meant I was upstairs cleaning the bathroom when he woke up. It was sweet, I got a big beaming smile, even kisses, and plenty of snuggle time. Of course I had to go ruin it. I know the X-Man, I know how he functions, and I knew he needed to use the bathroom.

So it all unfolded as you might imagine, having read countless accounts of X-Man and the potty. He screamed. I insisted. He tried to hit me. I put his hands in time out. He threw his head back and bellowed. I reminded him of candy. As we waited., I noticed him quieting down. Instead of thrashing, he crumpled, his head in his hands, weeping silently. I noticed as well that his body had failed him. Despite his best efforts, he was peeing in the potty. I began to clap. He cried harder. I reminded him he had candy coming. He wailed. 

I helped him off the potty and watched him toddle to his bedroom. Chin on his chest crying. He climbed up on his bed and laid face down, bare bum up, weeping into his pillow. When I returned with his foiled wrapped chocolate, he was still prostrate with grief. I offered his reward, which broke his focus, but not long. He sat up, took the chocolate, held it in the palm of his hand and began to weep again. As slightly forced sobs shook his shoulders, he took a bite, but then extended his arm to observe his personal 30 pieces of silver. And so the process repeated itself, bite after tiny bite. 

I stayed and observed the entire performance. I still don't quite know the message of this performance art. Was it to show me how cruel the whole process is? So horrific chocolate barely covers the pain? Was he distraught that his bladder did not have the patience he demanded? Is he just Italian? I don't know. But in over a decade of parenting, this was a show I hadn't seen before.