The brown diaries -- volume 2

Oh, how I wish there wasn't a volume two...  But there it is. Here's where I confess that we abandoned Project Poo a while back, mainly because there was too much going on in the lead up to Project 2nd Birthday.  Now I'm here to report and mull over the fact that there is never a 'good' time for potty training.  Maybe a 'quasi ready' time but never a right time.  Our lives, let's face it, are always busy.  Especially when they orbit a pint-sized dictator.

And my, how the pint-sized dictate! 
Mine is so clever, so astute in so many respects. He can recite books I haven't read in months, songs I sang maybe once -- unlike his pre-senile ma, he actually remembers the lyrics...  Yet ask him if he needs to poop and he fixes you with a look like you've asked him to recite Pi in its entirety.  (As a matter of fact, he probably could recite Pi, but I'm so not going there.)  Nope, when it comes to the brown stuff, it's a mutiny.  Does he sense my desperation?  Does he deliberately play dumb?  Or does he genuinely not mind the squidgy pasty feeling of shit stuck to his rear end?  Beats me.  Is there method to this madness?  You tell me. 

So far our 'training' methodology is largely hit and miss: 
The large being miss with the occasional hit.  When I remember, I sit him on the potty. He obliges, reads a few books.  If the urge takes him, he'll piss and poo there, too, but mostly he's content enough to do so whenever, wherever.  Does this mean he's not ready?  Is he ready when he's able to signal me?  The little grunting face he pulls is fine and dandy, except that it only lasts for a split second and by then, the damage -- in a manner of speaking -- is done. 

I know he won't be 24 and still crapping his pants
(Ok, so maybe after a big night out he will probably, on occasion, still wet himself -- I'm a realist, after all).  But I feel I'm missing some crucial something here...  I'd rather wait it out and put him through the rigors of 'poop camp' for, say, one (intense) week than drag out the process for months.  Call me crazy.

To those who made it through the trenches
Just how did you do it?  Was it as gory as all that?  Are pull-ups really worth the money?  And, finally, how did you keep your precious sanity in one tidy piece?  Loonie for your thoughts...