Ghost stories . . . and potty training?

Tuesday night, I took Laura to Columbia to the Haunted State Museum--this is the second year we’ve gone. They turn the lights down in the Museum and set up storytelling stations throughout; a ghost (or ghoul, or whatever you call somebody dressed up in a black robe with a hood) takes your group to each stop, where storytellers tell ghost stories related to South Carolina somehow: Alice of the Hermitage, a Poe story outside the model of Fort Moultrie, the Gray Man. My favorite last year was the Lizard Man of Lee County; the Museum had an exhibit hanging with a piece representing the Lizard Man, a folk art sculpture/painting--it was wonderful. I wish I could remember the artist’s name; I’d love to have a photograph of the piece (since I know I couldn’t afford it). Each storyteller also has an accompanying ghost--the Lizard Man was the first stop, and last year Laura didn’t realize there would be stories and ghosts. When that Lizard Man ran out from the gallery shadows, you’d have thought Laura was going to hit the roof. Another ghost got her during the Gray Man--that girl has a classic horror movie scream. This year we had to sit on the front row for all the stories. She wasn’t about to get caught this time.

I can’t wait til Will’s old enough to do this kind of stuff. Right now we’d never be able to pry him off my head if we took him to something like this. I guess his fun for the week is going to be getting to carve the giant pumpkin at daycare--and they think he’s ready for potty training. He must be more interested in it at school than at home, is all I can think. But he’s had a couple of days where he really took the initiative on it, and so now Amanda and Monique want me to send in FIVE extra changes of clothes (per day?) and send him in underwear. This sounds like some obscure torture rite for him and us, if you ask me. What’s wrong with pull-ups? Anyhow, here I am again, taking Laura on fun outings and worrying about Will’s bodily functions. I guess with the two-year old you are much more likely to be concerned about this sort of mundane thing, but it really doesn’t seem fair, does it?