Not Since The Parting Of The Red Sea

I have been laying low the past few days, venturing out less than usual now that CB's summer program is over and four girls are home all day long.  Daunted by the idea of managing CB on errands and libraries and social events, I've edited down our running around to all but the necessary outings or the ones that CB enjoys, such as going to the pool.

Yet it is unavoidable that we will drain our supply of milk, juice, and dishwasher soap which makes a grocery store trip a must.  Pushing the gigantic cart with the God forsaken plastic car on the front and 70 pounds of kids inside, I hurry through the store with CB's arm linked in mine, fast and focused, throwing pounds of pepperoni, cheese, and bacon in the cart for her - the only thing she'll eat right now - along with the basic staples.  At one point she breaks free, when I am distracted by the thrill of a sale item for which I also have a coupon, and pulls a Usain Bolt across the entire length of the ShopRite with me chasing after her, unsuccessful in catching her until we reach the sliding exit doors.

I turn to find my children back by the produce, laughing hysterically, amused by the whole incident, so I laugh too.  The kind of laugh as free as CB's mad dash, impulsive and liberating. We will break into spasms of laughter the rest of the day when conjuring images of CB running, like a inebriated gazelle, through the cantaloupes and tomatoes and me dodging and weaving the confused shoppers, trying to remain as inconspicuous as a pink elephant blaring a trumpet.

Later that evening, CB barrels into the powder room, lifts the toilet seat and stands in front of the bowl looking at me expectantly.  Stunned by her initiation of toileting for the first time, like, EVER in the 17 years of her life I quickly free her from her diaper and she sits and embarks upon her first, deliberate, self-initiated bowel movement on the actual real life toilet! I shriek in delight and dance and we share a moment.  She got it, got that I was so happy and proud of her.  She looks into my eyes with a big smile, a loud hum, wildly flapping her hands.  I think I saw pride in her face... I really think I did.

We've been toilet training since she was 4 years old, people.  THIRTEEN YEARS of the least successful toilet training on the planet.  Like, I can't explain....

She proceeds to initiate using the restroom 2 more times that day, and though she had already started doing her business in her diaper, she at least knew to finish up on the toilet so this was major.  MAJOR!

This is a bona fide miracle, as far as I'm concerned, akin to the parting of the Red Sea.

Now, that's what I call a good day.  Halle-freakin'-lujah!