"Wanna Be Startin' Something"

For all you germophobes — if you weren't already justifiably frightened enough to enter a house where small children live — allow me to impart a piece of advice to you: never, ever cross the threshold of the home in which children are being potty trained.

Although we've been saying that Connor is "potty aware" for more than a year now (he can pee on command, though he often refuses to perform, and makes a huge show when he's dropping a SCUD in his diaper), we've only recently begun to seriously make a stab at teaching him the finer points of being a grown-up, including the whole nose-blowing thing. (Tonight, I got a snotty kiss on the cheek that was nastier than a heavy make-out session with Barbara Walters.)

If, instead of drying basically clear, urine turned a garish shade of pink once it left the body, our house would look like the Barbie Dream House. I'm sure the stuff is everywhere. Now I know why we have that huge tub of hand sanitizer ever at the ready.

When Connor is sitting on his tiny toilet, tinkling away, he usually likes to dip his fingers in the cup between his legs and swirl the pee around a bit. He's even starting to threaten to then touch his fingers to his lips. I guess it's a two-year-old's version of sniffing the wine before drinking it — gotta make sure it's a good batch, I guess.

When he's done conducting his business, I'm left with a serious decision: do I immediately wash his hands, or tend to the open vat of urine in the den? Either way, I've got a two-year-old boy with a loose bladder and no diaper on running around the house. No matter which choice I make, there is always some pee on the floor, walls or both.

By the way, I hope none of you reading this blog are sitting on the fence about having kids, because I don't think I'm doing such a good job of selling the concept, huh?