parenthood is like golf, with (slightly) less cussing

Before I got married, I took golf lessons with my sister and my friend, Liz. Every Tuesday one summer, we headed out to Fairfax and hit a bucket of balls on the driving range under the watchful eye of our slightly creepy golf instructor. We even played a round or two on a local Par 3 course.

I pretty much sucked at golf. I spent the majority of the driving range sessions hoping to actually make contact with the ball. There were a lot of swings and misses in my practice sessions. It was frustrating, as I like to think of myself as reasonably athletic and coordinated. But every so often, I would hit the ball perfectly, and it would sail to the 80 or 90 or 100 yards sign. It was euphoric, and I understood that was the precise feeling of why people kept coming back for more.

Yesterday, I realized that parenthood is a lot like golf...with things like discipline or potty training, it can be a lot frustration. But every now and again, things all come together and everything is right.

When it comes to potty training A, things have been pretty stagnant. She does awesome at school -- she stays dry at school all day long, and only really has accidents for her poops. But at home, she doesn't go on the potty at all. And while we were out on Saturday, she had gone so much she actually leaked through her pull-up all the while denying that she needed a change.

On Sunday, I put her in panties. She had two accidents within a hour. On Monday morning, she (and E) were all gung ho for her to wear panties to school. She pooped in those panties right as we were leaving for school. Swing and a miss. Swing and a miss. Swing and a miss.

When I picked A up from school yesterday, she was wearing panties. And the same outfit I had brought her in. Yes, she had stayed dry all day. We got home and things were going well. She played...she ate dinner. And then she yelled,

"I have to go potty!"

Into the bathroom we went. We pulled down her pants, dropped her on the toilet and waited. Sure enough, there was a little tinkle and the plop plop plop of a little toddler poop. Ah, the ecstacy.

And what made the victory so much sweeter was, while we were waiting the additional 15 minutes for A to say that she was ready to get off the toilet she turned to me and said, "Mommy, I lub you so much." Yep. Hit that one out of the park.