Look behind you

Hey Caleb!

Yeah, I'm talking to you, tough guy, over there filling your sister's Easter basket with dirt and rocks.

You, the big boy with Lightning McQueen underpants peeking over your waistband.

I meant to thank you for potty training yourself the other day. You must have overheard me talking about what a miserable time I had teaching your sister to use the potty, so you spared me the trauma and drama and did it yourself.

I wish I could take credit for your success, but in all honesty, I had nothing to do with it. You just up and decided the other day that you'd like to use the toilet. (Coincidentally, you also decided that you should have a marshmallow every time you peed or pooped. I'm happy to oblige, little man.)

It took you a few days to warm up to the big boy underpants, but daddy says that if you're going to wear shorts and play outside in the dirt, you can't go commando anymore. He's right, you know. There are a lot of bugs in our yard.

Now that you'll actually wear them, you seem to really like your big boy underpants. You only have one complaint when you put them on.

"But I can't see the trucks anymore, Mommy," you tell me each morning as you hike up your undies. "The trucks are on my bottom."

Sorry buddy. Life only gets tougher as you get older.