Honey Pie

I think it was Saturday evening when Reilly came up to me in the kitchen and told me that she had to go poopy. (Yes, that’s what she calls it: “poopy.”) She’s been using my bathroom lately, so I walked her over to the toilet, set up her stool (no pun intended) and closed the door. She likes her privacy.

A few minutes later, we heard a call from behind the closed door: “Mommy! Daddy! I went poopy!” Shawn and I rushed over to the bathroom and were greeted by a certain scent which let us know that Reilly had indeed been successful. We helped her wipe up and then gave her hearty applause and congratulations (positive reinforcement, positive reinforcement, positive reinforcement).

To further celebrate, Shawn gave her not one, not two, but three Special Treats (M&M’s). Since she normally maxes out at two, three Special Treats was indeed a momentous occasion.

After the excitement died down, Reilly joined us in the kitchen, where we were cooking dinner. Reilly approached me right away and told me that it was time for me to go poopy. I told her that I didn’t currently have to go poopy. But she insisted, explaining to me that I could get three Special Treats. Though her encouragement was tempting, I tried to explain to her that as much as I might try, there was no poopy in my plans until sometime the next day.

She then said, “Come on, honey.”
I said, “What?”
“Come on, honey, it’s time to go poopy!”

Shawn and I started to die laughing, not because of her insistence, but because of her use of the word ‘honey’ which was so clearly an appropriation of Shawn always calling her by that same word.