I’m certain that potty training is not for me. Abby has not gotten it after two weeks, so we may try for a third week, or we may put things off until after Becky’s wedding. I’m going to have to have a meeting with the secretary of the interior, Jessica, who is in charge of determining if the interior of our house can handle being peed on all over (I am so glad poop rolls down hill, but not down Abby’s legs). However, this post may be somewhat premature as I haven’t talked with the secretary of motherhood, Jessica, who will tell me all of the intelligence she’s collected from her sources. We’re certain that Abby-Quaeda does not have weapons of mass destruction, but that she is capable of terrorizing whole houses with WMD (Weapons of Mass Defecation).

We’re waiting for Abby’s bowels (AKA Ibaqi’s [get it, baqi = backy = back side?]) to come under self-rule where members of her own body will be able to vote when it is potty time. Where citizens of the free world (Us, Mom and Dad) will be able to travel freely without an entourage (a diaper bag with more stuff than I care to admit to). If you know of the whereabouts of Usami-bin-Pottyin, please report it to us so that we may stop this evil deed.

Thank you citizens of America,
The Resident