Elizabeth Chennamchetty
Life Happens. Sometimes you just have to write about it.

I dropped Malik and Isabella off at school on Tuesday and headed for Black Market. It’s a local coffee shop that’s become a mid-week indulgence. I order a latte and breakfast sandwich every time and I like it so much I’ve never moved on to any other menu options.

Blu likes the gooey, warm cinnamon rolls the best. As soon as we swing the door open, the aroma invites us to gorge on an insane amount of butter and sugar. On the days they don’t sell out of cinnamon rolls before we get there, Blu jumps up and down in front of the display case with her arms raised above her head shouting, “Hurray! Hurray!”


She usually starts running out of steam about half way through her roll, which was the case on Tuesday. “Look at my fingers Mama. Dey are sooo stickee.” She spreads her fingers apart letting the gooey frosting drip between them.  “I bedder warsh dem mama.”

“Okay. Let’s go to the bathroom.” I agree, grabbing a napkin to wipe off the excess before she drips all over the floor.

We enter the restroom. It’s big and bright and stuff is automated, the soap dispenser, the hand dryer…

“Okay mommy, I caan do it all by myself. I’m tree now!” She holds up her last three fingers so I can have a visual and then sticks her hand under the soap dispenser which squirts out a perfect amount of pre-frothed soap onto her palm. “I don need help.” She shakes her head at me standing at the sink. “You sshou go sit down on da potty mommy.”

“No, that’s okay. I don’t need to go potty right now.”

“You should go potty mommy. Try to go.” She points at the toilet. “You don know unwess you try Mama.”

“Okay.” I hear my own advice come out of my three year olds mouth and sit down on the toilet.

Mommy? Are you going potty now?” She shrugs.


“Maybe you need to sing the potty song?” She encourages with a smile.

“I’m good. I am going potty Blu.”

“Yes!” She’s in front of me now, finished with the hand washing, her arms start rotating in a giant circular motion. “Sing the potty song REALLY REALLY loud.” Her arm circles around with each emphasized REALLY.

“Not really loud Blu.”

 “But it will help eveyting come out.” She squats down and whispers to my butt, “It’s a magic song.

 “I think I’m all done sweetie. There isn’t any more.”

She jumps up and down excited to sing, “Mommy’s going potty, potty, potty. Mommy’s going potty. You can too.”

I hum softly.

She sings the verse again. “Louder mommy!” she says, ear to the toilet, listening for pee. “Mommy’s going potty, potty, potty. Come on! Everybody sings it!” she squeals hands raised over her head in victory.

I finish up and button my pants.

“Okay mommy. Are you all done now?”

“Yep, all done.”

“Okay. Don’t foeget to warsh your hands Mama! Wait! Wait a second!” … she scrambles to get between me and the sink. “I can show you.”

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