Seriously, God, just go ahead and suck out the remainder of my soul that pottytraining hasn't sapped

All right, I know. I know. That subject line is a tiny bit over the top. But seriously, is there anything in the world worse than potty-training (I mean, other than genocide and certain Sci-Fi channel movies that a certain significant other of mine watches, and other things along those general lines)?

I had decided that today was the day. I'm tired of pussyfooting around with this business, and so I decided that TODAY WAS THE DAY THAT WILDER WOULD POOP IN THE TOILET. Like it was some kind of decree that I had drawn up in gold-leaf and unrolled next to the toilet paper, a mama-mandated ultimatum that Wilder could not, would not deny.

And, like most things that I've decided I would do or would never do when it came to being a mom, that has gone right down the drain. Pun intended, though I swear I'm not even close to laughing.

Today we have cried on the potty. We've hugged and said supportive words. We played catch with a football (and yes, my FACE caught it more often than not), we pasted temporary tattoos all over our body, we read one VERY enthusiastic and, if I do say so myself, appropriately dramatic version of "Horton Hatches An Egg," and I've spent more than my fair share of time tackling an almost-walking Hunter while Wilder stared emptily into space, no doubt willing his sphincter not to release the precious poo inside of it. Oh, hey, we even played a game of "Poke Your Brother's Penis Because You're Not Sure What the Hell It Is While He Hollers His Head Off To Quit TOUCHINGGGGGGGG His Penis." (The boys didn't need me for this one.)

Sigh ...

I've been on Poop Stalk for hours. That's where I have the distinct pleasure of following Wilder everywhere he goes watching for signs of grunting, face-reddening, stomach-muscle tightening, etc. etc. and I swear if I had $20 for every time I said "Are you pooping?" or "Is it time to poop?" today I would be able to pay off my car note.

I image-googled "ice cream" and pointed out all the delicious frozen combinations that Wilder could have if he just deigned to have ONE flippin' BM in the potty. I printed out a copy of his favorite of the photos and let him carry it around the house as a reminder of the deliciousness that awaited him if only, if only ...

So, sure, you can see where this is going. The boys are FINALLY down for naps and of course nary a bowel movement has occurred here today. Not only that, but I have not showered, brushed my teeth, brushed my hair, hardly cleaned (I DID vacuum, because I -- no kidding -- thought the sound of the vacuum might relax Wilder enough to poop), etc. All available minutes have been devoted to this.

It is 83 degrees outside today. The sun is shining. Why, WHY do I plan these things so poorly?

OK, I feel better. And lest anyone think me the Idi Amin of potty-training, I swear we have had our fair share of fun today. For instance, I've taught Wilder how to catch a football (eyes open!) and he will be the next Brett Favre. Of course, he'll be wearing Depends in the locker room, but who cares when you make that kind of money, right?