It looks like pickles

I am not awake today. The combination of my job, a sick, nursing infant, and a preschooler who is potty training has completely drained me. Fatigue started when the post doc nearly killed his computer by forcing it to function with all 30 gigabytes of memory full to the tippy tippy top (he has only been here 6 months, I have been here 4 years and have used 800 MB). I spent all of Mon am explaining to him that the 250 papers he was saving to his hard drive in super-rich-text complete-color-illustration format would definitely still exist in the medical database a month from now and he could trust the database to save them for him. This was followed by 3 hours of continuous nursing with Scoots as soon as I arrived home and that certainly contributed to my fatigue.
But, potty training really was the final blow. Manther absolutely must operate in extremes at all times. I found out last week that it took until the age of 3 years and 11 months to potty train her because she holds her pee for all 8 hours at daycare rather than use a potty that is not tucked away in a private room. I was more than a little shocked to find that she is (or is capable of) doing this and explained the importance finding and using a potty when the urge occurs rather than get sick with a UTI. So, I was woken up at 2:30 am, after two full hours of sleep, by a little voice telling me she had to go potty. More precisely, poo poo. I perched on the edge of the bathtub and fought to stay awake and keep my balance as we poo pooed and discussed Spiderman. Apparently, he was on TV last night and Manther really likes him and wanted to know the details of his existance: does he live in a house, does he have parents, does he come in the front door or down the chimney, will he come to my birthday party, if we were in trouble would he rush in to rescue us, and on and on and on. Finally, there was silence. I looked up from the doze I had fallen into to see Manther standing next to and staring into the potty. I asked if she was okay and she said, "I went poo poo." I congratulated her and asked why she looked concerned. "My poo poo looks like pickles." Funny? Yes, but not at 2:45am. After many assurances that everyone's poop looks something like what she saw in the potty, we returned to bed (praise God). From this point on, all fruits and fiber that are served in my household will be served at morning meals only.