So Darlin' Save the Last Flush For Me...

The toilet gurgled and the toddler giggled. It was the classic soundtrack for mischief.

I stomped up the stairs ready to set the record straight AGAIN about the appropriate use of that fascinating chrome lever.  Flushing is a potty training privilege.  In THIS house, you've got to fill it up to flush it down.  (And by fill it up, I do not mean with wash cloths, toys or toilet paper.  Credit to Sheridan, for prompting me by her past behavior to clarify this particular point.)

But before I opened my mouth, Caed came running out of the bathroom.  "Mom, guess what I did for Dani?  After I went poopy, I let her flush it as a reward.  Because I just know how she loves flushing toilets!"

"Wasn't that kind of me, Mom?  Wasn't it!?"

I've got to hand it to that kid.  This may be the only context in which I could possibly dole out kindness and generosity points for bequeathing floaties to someone else.