Friday Sara woke up, stood up in her bed, stretched and exclaimed, “I’m Potty Trained!”

OK. Why not. Today. a trillion days of trying, why not today? After naps she refused to put her skirt back on. Just her tiny butt in a tiny pair of purple princess panties, running about the house in potty trained glee. She told me she’d be pee-pee’ing A LOT today, and that skirt was just in her way.

When she insisted on going to Sam’s Club SANS the pull up…Greg and I were oh so very doubtful. But one can’t win a war by staying home. So there we were…in Sam’s Club…no diaper. My goodness. I tried this less than 2 weeks ago at HOME and after 4 outfits in 3 hours, I gave up.

As we walked into Sam’s Club, she leaned over, right at the entrance, stuck her head in between her knees in a very Ashtanga yoga kind of way and yelled, “HEY! MY BOTTOM IS STILL DRY! I’D BETTER GO PEE!” Off to the bathrooms we trotted, where Sara popped her head UNDER the stall and into the next one. Which was occupied. Completely undeterred, Miss Sara simply said to what must have been one shocked woman, “Oh I’m sorry. This is PRIVATE. THIS IS A PRIVATE STALL.” Where does she learn this stuff?

We even made it to the fabric store before returning home…DRY. Wow. We celebrated with ice cream and as we jumped up and down by the kitchen sink, dancing out this victory…Sara pee’d down her leg. Luckily, she got my explanation that it was the OUT OF THE HOUSE that was the victory. Accidents in the house aren’t too big of a deal. She agreed. Stripped down naked and trotted upstairs, laughing the whole way. Leaving me with some grossy-gross clothes and the sweet, sweet joy of watching Sara grow up.