Bubba, the gang and I were at dinner with Mower's family, all 458 of them or so it seems when we try to figure out who is sitting where, Sunday night. I took Bubba to the restroom, and as per usual, she gets to sit down first. I could be snorkling in my own urine and she would demand I move my air tube so it doesn't make her right knee cold while she sits down first.

While listening to a hilarious and very correct CD over the speakers of a woman translating country-speak, because we were at a great BBQ restaurant, Bubba got that look on her face. That look of straining, slightly panicked that it just won't come out and partly of annoyance that she has to poop with an audience. And not an audience of people who would make the process more fun by giggling uncontrollably at every noise and smell, like her cousins, but an audience of her MOTHER, who gets irritated that she is forced to dance around and frown for an extra couple minutes. The frown holds the liquid in, you see. Frowning is very important when waiting on a 7-yr-old to poop.

I also got that look of annoyance and remarked that she always needed to poop in public restrooms, and what was up with that? Bubba pushed a little, smiled sweetly, and said in a smug, self-satisfied and yet incredibly honorable way, like she was conveying a gift to me,

"I've been saving some since Thursday."

I laughed so hard I almost wet my pants. It reminded me of how far we've come, me and Bubba, from the day when she was 2 weeks old and I took her into the post office with me on a busy day before the holidays. She was so quiet and serene, and in the midst of the quiet of many people waiting in line before the majority of them had cell phones and ways to entertain themselves while waiting in a boring long line, she did her usual "Three squirts and you're OUT!" poop, which filled up the room with more than just noise. I was so mortified that I could not say a word or move a muscle, just stood there with my hand on the carrier, wondering if I could just have the floor swallow me whole. Now, we celebrate the poops and laugh hysterically when Honey poops in inappropriate situations. And enjoy the gift of a good quip while waiting for my sweet daughter to finish pooping on Mother's Day.

Life is good. My nose hairs might be burning with the rancidness of my three kids and the pollution they call bodily functions, but life is good.