and The Last Shall Be First – this is a verse in Mark. The Lord did NOT mean the words to refer in any way to potty training, but it was all I could think about when, last night, KB pooped on the potty for the second time. Our last child – our first to poop in the potty.

It was no accident either. She came and told us she needed to go. So, it’s potty time again at the Blue Hutch. Now, to find several days in a row when we are going to be home. . .

I will now post the cutest potty picture you have every seen. I know some folks (Bethany) don’t exactly love potty pictures being posted, but this had to be done. You’re gonna die it’s so cute. *wink* We call it “So Proud to Poop in the Potty”.

Today was a roller coaster of a day. Bubba started summer school. Little started camp. I had the morning alone with KB – our first extended time alone together since she was born (I’m pretty sure).

KB is so strong willed it is killing me. Consistency with discipline is a MUST right now and it is so hard. She is so cute and smiles so sweetly. . . as she directly defies each instruction given her.

Bubba came home from school in the strangest mood. He was ultra distracted. VERY non-compliant (if that’s not a word. . . it is now). VERY slow. VERY frustrating.

Little was so tired after camp that she was mostly no problem to anyone. She kept dozing off – while sitting, standing, eating. . . whatever. She finally said, “I want to go to bed.” (This was at 6:30PM) I do say mostly no problem because she did have a spell of yelling at everyone. KB walked up to her and Little yelled, “DON’T TOUCH ME! WALK AWAY!” Bubba went over to her and she yelled at him. I sent her to the yellow chair to sit until she could calm down (her second trip to the yellow chair in ten minutes).

Bubba’s approach of Little was during this second stint in the yellow chair. While Little is screaming I walk over, turn her face toward mine and begin to “explain” that we do not talk to others that way. We use kind words, a gentle tone, and love in our hearts (just like your mother is doing – right). Right as I got ready to say, “DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?” she looked up at me and said. . .

“Mom. I really do love your lips.”

My reply. . . “Thanks, honey.”
What else does one say to that?
usta!