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When I was a kid, my dad used to call me "Potty Patrol". It seems I liked to hang around the bathroom and when a family member came out, quiz him or her about what had gone on in there. Okay, that's weird, but don't forget, we didn't have cable TV back in the day. I also used to like to check out bathrooms at restaurants and stores, even if I didn't need to use the facilities. Truth be told, I still like to do that - I think you can tell a lot about a place by the kind of bathroom it keeps.

But these days, I'm a whole new kind of potty patrol: the training kind. I wouldn't say we're actively training Nicholas, but he's been interested and we've been encouraging it. For the most part, that means heading to the little potty a few times a day and then having nothing happen. "Uh-oh," Nicholas says.

But last night, I came home to hear my husband saying, "Did you go in the potty?" I went rushing in the bathroom and found out that he'd done the deed. (Actually, it was more a case of Joe grabbing the little bowl and getting it into the right place. But we're taking it!)

Oh, the celebration that ensued. Cheering, clapping, phone calls to Grandma and Grandpa, sisters. Joe talked me out of calling the White House. And Nicholas got a dime for his piggy bank (another thing that goes back in my family).

So far we haven't replicated this mighty feat, but we'll keep at it. I'm getting my dimes ready. Potty Patrol is on the job.