“Kent Says There Are Fifty Ways To Win In Denver”

Silly me.

Did I REALLY think that once George turned three he was going to magically be potty-bound for life?

Um, yes, of course I did.

I will pause here for a moment so you can enjoy a few snickers at my expense.

It was a nice thought.  So far, we’re three for three.  I constructed George his very own bathroom out of an Amazon box to get him to sit still.  Yep, right in the middle of the kitchen.  He requested that we furnish his little space with Winnie the Pooh, an iPad, some Marvel figures and a remote control.  I was certain he’d never come out of that box…EVER.

I was proven wrong, yet again.  The allure of our brightly colored sled coupled with mounds and mounds of snow drew him from his cardboard commode.  Hot on the heels of his brother and sister, George couldn’t get suited up fast enough.  And for a blissful hour, they climbed up and sailed down the slopes alongside our house.

I spent that hour watching reruns of Veep and drinking mango martinis.

“Kent says there are fifty ways to win in Denver.”