On My Own

I love words. Very rarely am I at a loss for them, and there is so much to be conveyed with words. Who couldn't love a word like onomatopoeia. Or when doesn't a good "gosh friggin' dang it" make you feel better? Over the years I have become particularly fond of the words squishy, zen, serendipity, clandestine, smoky, and a few others which shall remain nameless in this here family oriented blog.

But the greatest words to be heard in the house lately have been, "Momma, I gotta go potty." After the initial frenzy to get the wee one to the pot before any accidents occur, there is a moment I have standing there in the bathroom, resting one arm against the marble sink, that I swear I hear the sound of a cash register spinning and the click of coins rolling to a stop in their bowl at the edge of the machine.

Upon completion of potty duties and the "atta girl, way to go, you're such a big girl, I'm so proud of you," congratulatory speech, the corners of my mouth turn ever so slightly in the upward position as I mentally erase diapers from the grocery list, and convert their monetary value into a good book or a pack of chocolate covered strawberries.

Now, about that forth one...