The ducks can stay.
The boys have to go.
After 4 days of cold, rainy “insideness” (spell check tried to convince me to correct it to “insaneness”), I am at the end of my nose - I mean rope - about many things, but most desperately concerning the most basic of natural processes. The way the ducks handle nature’s call is much less stress provoking (to me) than the sincere efforts of my aimless boys. Consequently, I have decided that Pieter and Martin will not be potty trained. Changing diapers is much less messy, more hygienic and
less labor intensive than the aftermath of
upright target practice.
So, if in 20 year’s time your precious, cute little girl/niece/cousin happens to fall in love with my then tall, dark(?) and handsome son, it will be up to her to potty train him – or not. Do all you can to warn her of the perils that a potty trained male will bring to her powder room, for I have a suspicion that aim does not necessarily improve with age…