I got caught behind what was obviously an extremely novice dump-truck driver on my way to work this morning. Specifically, I got caught behind him on an on-ramp for an overpass.

The truck had a very full load (the backup tires that usually dangle a few inches over the pavement were, in this case, fully engaged) and the poor driver couldn't seem to find a gear that would get the thing moving. Three times, he came to a complete stop, rolled backwards a bit, and then finally inched forward for a few feet.

I did call down curses upon the impatient SUV in front of me, who zipped around the dump-truck on the extreme edge of the shoulder while the dump-truck was stuck. That's just rude. If the dump-truck's hazard lights were on, maybe it would've been reasonable. Maybe.

But that doesn't mean that I was happy to be stuck behind the damn thing. And once we got to the top of the ramp, despite the fact that there were no cars whatsoever coming towards us, the dump-truck driver waited until the last possible second to merge. (Which annoyed me primarily because I don't merge; I just stay in the on-ramp lane until it becomes the off-ramp lane.)

As I finally passed him, I yelled, with great glee, "I've driven a truck better than that!"

(Because I have.)

I was giving Penny her bath last night when she started chanting, "Peepoo! Peepoo! Peepoo!"

I had no idea what that meant. "People?"

Penny frowned and shook her head. "Peepoo!"

"Paper?"

"No! Peepoo!"

"Bubbles?"

"Peepoo!"

"Purple?"

Irritably, Penny stood up and grabbed her crotch. (Elvis would've been proud.) "Peepoo!"

I blinked at her. "You want to use the potty?"

She nodded emphatically. "Yes!"

Oh. Pee. And poo. Well. I guess being transitioned to the two-year-old room at daycare has done her some good, after all.

Penny's usually so utterly unaware of anything happening in her diaper area that I've been assuming she'd be a late trainer. So Matt and I haven't even talked about approach, or thought of buying any of the necessary supplies. But I wasn't about to discourage her, either.

I lifted her out of the tub and balanced her on the edge of the toilet seat.

"Cold!" she told me.

"Yes, the potty's sometimes cold. Are you going to pee?"

"Yeah," she informed me confidently.

She didn't. I suspect she'd already gone when she started telling me about it, but as I said, I don't want to discourage her. I gave her a little wad of toilet paper, just to see if she knew what to do with it. She sort of did - she didn't wipe herself, but she did shove it between her legs and drop it into the toilet.

And I helped her flush and let her watch the water go down the drain. (Holding both her arms tightly and explaining that potty water is yucky and we don't touch it.)

I don't know if this counts as a milestone. She didn't actually go potty. And she showed no interest whatsoever in the toilet this morning, while she was running around as Matt and I were getting dressed, so it might've just been an isolated incident.

But I reckon it's time Matt and I got some potty-training stuff in the house.

--Liz