kentucky fried potty

To my eldest, Lizzie, pottie training was an adventure, and she approached it in a most creative manner. We kept up with her creativity by keeping a potty on each floor of our house, one upstairs in the bathroom next to the main toilet, one on the main floor in the kitchen (we had no powder room on the main floor), and another potty in the basement. I even kept a potty in the car, for those occasional adventures in mobile creativity that Lizzie found so amusingly necessary.

One evening after having served my family a nutritious and tasty dinner of good old KFC, original, not extra crispy, I put the left-overs back into the box and put the box into the fridge. A while later I'm upstairs when I hear my husband calling me frantically to come down to the kitchen. So I come running, expecting murder and mayhem, or at least fire and a little blood. I come running around the corner to the kitchen and what do I see? My little 3 year old Lizzie, sitting on the potty with her pants around her knees, the KFC box on the floor at her side holding a drumstick to her mouth and munching away with neither a care in the world nor a piece of toilet paper in sight.

Potty training with an appetite.