Butt, butt, butt, poopy butts, you little poopy butts. . . Tired of the potty talk yet? I am. It seems like every other word out of David's mouth is, well, you know. Most of the time it doesn't even seem conscious; it's just his default setting, a nervous tick. It was starting to really bother me when I'd stop him in front of Fred Meyer, look him deep in the eye, and say, "You can't do potty talk in here." And two steps in, he'd be busting out all over.

I tried dragging him to the bathroom. I considered whacking him upside the head. So, this morning we started the chart.

He's extremely excited about the chart idea, particularly the presents that wait at the end of each line. He drew the chart himself, and I explained that we were dividing the day into thirds: morning, afternoon, and evening. For each section that he spoke appropriately, he'd get a sticker. Oh by the way, appropriate isn't just eliminating scatological references from every utterance. It's also refraining from name calling. We've had a spate of that too, and I thought I'd tackle both at once.

The chart seems to be working. Not that his potty talk disappeared over night. He only got one sticker today. But, he's invested and he's self-policing. That's already a huge relief for me.