At least his father was proud...

Well, after being potty trained for almost a month now, it happened. 

After school yesterday, Blake dropped his drawers on the school playground and piddled in the bark chips. Lovely. 

Kendall came running to tell me, breathless with mortification. Blake, on the other hand, was as proud as could be when I found him. "Mommy, I went potty!" 

And why wouldn't he be proud? Grandma just showed him how to go outside last week! (But in the privacy of her yard when they were gardening far from the house.) 

Some things are just tricky for a three year old to understand. Like when we were driving home from Safeway earlier in the day and he told me he had to go "weal bad!". I asked him if he could hold it and he instantly grabbed himself and held tight. 

I tried again. "No bud, I mean can you hold your muscles tight so your potty doesn't come out?"

He flexed his arms and made his he-man roar. "I'm doing it, Mom!" he grinned.

Okay, never mind. I laughed and told him good job and just prayed he'd make it. Which he did.

Next time I'll be a little more specific and pray he makes it TO A BATHROOM.