Our efforts go something like this:
Me: "When you're three, there will be no more pullups. Then you'll wear underpants all the time."
Mabel: "No, when I'm six, I'll wear underpants."
Mabel, this morning, from the other side of the room where she has barricaded herself behind a fence made of two small chairs, a baby stroller, a large toy car and some items of dollhouse furniture: "I'm just sitting here not doing a poo."
Mabel, just now, as she tripped lightly past me to wash her plastic horsie in the bathroom (she enjoys washing all her toys, frequently, wetly, using up all the soap): "Don't smell me, I'm not pooey."
So you can see how well that's going. She'll be three in a week. We're going away that weekend, but once we come back, will I stick to my guns, or will my carpet forever regret it?