May this be the last entry I type on this laptop.

May tomorrow bring a new computer to this desk.

May Sam continue today's "accident-free" streak of clean underwear.

May the new-to-us exersaucer we bought today continue to give Gabe many pleasant, fun times.

May Gabe's three-month growth spurt end soon and return him to his former good sleeping habits.

(May his current bout of night-waking be due, indeed, to the growth spurt and not simply be the way things are going to be from now on.)

May the weathermen be wrong about the eight new inches of snow they're predicting for us.

May the city realize that the people of my street don't wish to live on a freaking skating rink.

May the three pounds I've lost multiply and turn into a veritable weight-loss extravaganza.

May pork chops suddenly be discovered to contain vast quantities of weight-loss-inducing chemicals.

May the same happen for ground beef. And chocolate.

May Sam keep entertaining me with weird proclamations (like today, at the drive-through pharmacy, when I told him that this wasn't a bank and they wouldn't have lollipops, and he stated, "But this is the Pleasure Place!" I have no idea what that means, but it's what I'm calling Walgreens from now on).

May Amtrak suddenly start giving away free passes to northwest Ohio, to southern West Virginia, and to western Maryland.

May dinner cook itself tonight.

May both boys sleep for at least another half-hour.

...May I stop cursing myself like that. Shhhhh, Gabe...

Okay, he's back out. I don't know what woke him, but it was something unpleasant; he went straight to crying loudly, which he hasn't done since his early weeks.

Potty-training with Sam is going very well. We've had only a couple of accidents, and he seems to be starting to understand the real necessity of using the potty now that he's not wearing a diaper. He hates the fact that it means he has to interrupt what he's doing every so often, but that's understandable. I think I heard a comedian once joking about using Depends so that he never had to get out of his chair during a football game.

Rewards feel a little silly, too. Once he's made a successful trip to the potty, he's usually so proud of himself that it doesn't occur to him that we could or would reward him. I give him stickers to put on a sticker chart, but if I forget, or if he makes a couple of back-to-back trips, he never remembers to ask for one.

I'm not assuming that the end is in sight. We have yet to have a successful "number two" venture since forgoing diapers, and he usually has to be asked to go to the potty when he starts dancing and holding himself. Today, though, he's gone successfully three times (and once for a wee bit that didn't make it out a few minutes before that), and two of those trips were of his own volition. Hurrah for independence!

(Footnote to the previous section of this entry: may Sam potty-train quickly so that this journal doesn't turn into The Chronicle of My Son's Bladder Development.)

There's something to be said for ready-to-assemble furniture. Sure, it's cheap, looks flimsy, and it won't hold up through repeated moves. It also gives people like me, who don't do much building, a chance to feel accomplished and like a real carpenter (sort of the way Sam felt like a real doctor when Andrea let him play with her fetoscope).

I assembled a bookcase headboard and nightstand for Sam this week. He loves them, and now he spends time sitting on his bed (door closed, often), reading and relaxing. It's giving me a little taste of what it will be like to have a really Big Boy. Kind of scary, kind of awe-filling.

Now, if only he'd be inclined to do his solitary reading routine on weekend mornings. Not that Gabe would let me sleep in, of course, but it would be a start.