The phone call found me in the newsroom, staring blankly at the empty screen of a computer and wondering if the time had arrived to think about a career change, possibly running a small deli.
"Big news," my wife said. "Your son just went on the potty."
"Don't tease me like that," I said.
"Really. He went on the potty."
Suddenly, the room was bathed in bright sunshine and I could hear birds singing. A rainbow appeared in the sky outside my window.
It was only 9:30 in the morning. But as I thought of the exciting life that lay ahead -- no more changing dirty diapers, no more hustling the dirty diaper out to the garbage at arms-length, as if it were toxic waste -- it was all I could do not to break out the champagne and party hats.
You people who have never had young children, you don't know what I'm talking about here, do you?
You're reading this and shaking your head and thinking: Big deal. So the kid went to the bathroom. Whoop-de-doo.
But you parents of young kids -- you know where this is going.
You know what a monumental occasion it is when a 3-year-old turns the corner in his potty training.
So you can appreciate why these are giddy times around my house, with my wife and I high-fiving each other and whispering "Yessss!" each time the little guy announces: "I have to go on the potty."
Let me tell you something, friend: it was a long time coming.
Regular readers of this column may recall a piece on this subject some months ago, in which I analyzed the 3-year-old's potty-training progress and basically concluded that, well, there was no progress.
In that earlier column, I mentioned that our two older kids had sailed through potty training with no problems. And I added that even though the 3-year-old was now closer to 3 1/2 and resisting all efforts to get him out of diapers, my wife and I weren't concerned at all.
This, of course, was a lie. (Oh, like you never lied. Please, spare me the sweaty hand-wringing and tedious moralizing. Besides, nobody died here -- it's just a column.)
Anyway, yeah, we were concerned that the boy didn't want to hear about the potty. And when another two months went by without any progress, and then another two months went by without progress, we moved out of the "concerned" stage and into the "Give it to me straight, doc. What's wrong with the boy?" stage.
I pictured the kid at 17, slumped in front of the TV in a Harley-Davidson T-shirt and Pampers yelling: "Dad, you gotta change me!"
This is how the mind works. Well, my mind, anyway.
The experts insist that the child will let you know when he or she is ready for potty-training, and that every kid takes to it at his or her own pace.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Well, I had some news for the experts: my wife and I were sick to death of changing diapers. That stuff gets real old after, oh, five minutes, never mind 3 1/2 years.
So we didn't give a rat's behind about the kid's "pace." He was nearly 4 years old. We wanted him out of diapers, period.
First we tried bribing him with M&M;'s to sit on the potty. This had worked with the other two kids. But this kid wouldn't sit for a $20 bill, never mind M&M;'s.
Then we bought him this really cool potty. It had its own toilet paper dispenser and a little rack for books -- honest. It even had a little bell you could ring to call Mom or Dad.
Anyway, the kid took one look at the new potty and said: "I hope that's not for me." Like it was an electric chair or something.
Then we bought him some cool Batman and Power Rangers underpants for "big boys." These things were so sharp-looking, I felt like slipping into a pair myself.
But the boy looked at them and said: "I don't know . . . there's something to be said for these Huggies."
So what made him suddenly take to potty training? We don't know. And you know what? We don't care, either.
One day the little guy walked into the kitchen and told my wife: "I want to go on the potty." And he did. And he did the same thing the next day, and the day after that.
So the long national nightmare is over. At my house, bells are pealing and people are smiling and hope is everywhere.
In fact, I see by the clock on the wall that it's time for cocktails.
Oh, look at that -- my wife is even wearing her party hat.