Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

Perfect Vision

By Driscoll

My twin daughters have finally reached the age of two. And this means

two

things. First, they have control over language. Second, they have control

over

their bladders. In light of these latest acquisitions, one of their

favorite

pastimes recently has been to insult each other employing a combination of

these

newfound skills.

My darling girls now run around shouting, or just stating

conversationally,

" I pee on you! " followed by an illustrative, higher pitched, " PEE! " I

honestly

don't know where the seed that sprouted into this less-than-charming

behavior

came from. (Unless it was the isolated incident where an undiapered baby

brother spritzed one of the girls in the head with, well, maybe you can

guess.

To say the least, it made quite an impression.)

Mostly, they say this to each other when they're bickering. Or

sometimes

when they're just plain bored. It is, happily, an idle threat unaccompanied

by

any action other than thrusting one's stomach out at the insulted party

during

the " PEE! " part.

In the privacy of our own home, and behind their backs, my husband and

I

are gently amused by our daughters' urinary shenanigans. However, this

isn't

exactly the type of conversation I'd say we encourage. Aside from the

obvious

objections, this one's got a high parental embarrassment factor. A public

exhibition is bound to raise a few questioning eyebrows.

But it seems as if there are many things that two-year-olds do that

don't

need a lot of encouragement, and in my experience, they are frequently the

very

things that you would rather not have your offspring doing or saying in

public.

And with two two-year-old daughters, plus a one-year-old son, being the

current

equation of my life, I have ample opportunity to experience this particular

phenomenon firsthand. Further, I'll have to admit that there are days when

it

feels as if the sum of this equation will be the loss of my desire to

venture

ever again into a public space.

Yes, with three kids under three years you greatly increase your odds

that

any given excursion into the public domain will involve loud conversations

about

bodily functions, declarations of nasal contents and the canvassing of total

strangers to ascertain their anatomical correctness. This verbal barrage

will

likely serenade the complete devastation of at least one display or teaser

table, and the attempted consumption of the (non-edible and expensive)

merchandise displayed thereon.

It is also extremely likely there will be whining, followed by a

smattering

of biting and hair-pulling, and a diaper by-pass (or two or three), which

will

then be combined with excessive trips to the potty, leading to the need for

new

" big girl " pants anyway. These will have been accidentally left at home by

yours truly. Hold the applause, please.

And that's all on a good day.

Believe me, I receive more than my fair share of stares, unhelpful

comments

and looks from passersby. So, my plate's full. And I try to limit the

accretion of potentially embarrassing additions to it, such as shouts about

voiding one's bladder on a sibling. But, of course, my kids have other

ideas.

And sometimes, it's these other ideas that teach me most about what being a

parent is really all about.

Take, for example, last week at the drug store. Busily engaged seeking

shampoo, it suddenly filters into my brain that my twins are once again

having

their little " conversation. " And have been for some time.

" I pee on you. Pee! " is countered by, " NO! I pee on you! Pee! "

They go back and forth and back and forth, as only two-year-olds can

manage. It was actually a quiet discussion, and relatively civil, but I

looked

around furtively to see if anyone was eavesdropping.

It was then that I noticed two little old ladies staring at me. Lovely

ladies, quintessential grandmotherly women, proper, upright pillars of the

community they were. Ladies you'd like to drink tea and eat crumpets with,

not

offend by exposure to your overly bladder-minded toddlers.

They started slowly walking toward us purposefully and I could tell

they

meant to say something. Oh great, I thought, inwardly cringing, just what I

need.

The oldest lady, a dear woman with a frail gray bun and a sturdy

walker,

reached me first. She bent over, peered at my daughters, and stuck a

crooked

finger out at them. My heart sank. Embarrassment aside, I rallied to

defend my

children from the onslaught of a stranger.

But she looked up, beaming. " I just wanted to tell you, " she said " you

have

the two most precious little girls in this stroller! They are just

beautiful,

and so well-behaved! "

Her friend was nodding in agreement.

It was then that I noticed their hearing aids.

I was actually blushing, thinking, Ladies, if you only knew what these

precious girls have been discussing for the past ten minutes. But then I

smiled, and agreed, and thanked her because, of course, what she had said

was

true. I thought of the many times that my own " deaf ear " would serve my

children and myself well.

" Oh, and look at the beautiful baby in the backpack! " They cooed over

my

son for a second.

Then one of them asked, " Are they all yours? "

I get this question a lot, but it is frequently worded more like " Are

all

these children yours? " and asked in a tone that implies that if the answer

is

" yes, " then I should have my head examined. I nodded my head in the

affirmative, or maybe my son nodded it for me, as he was, at that moment,

ripping out handfuls of my hair.

Both their faces lit up at my answer, " Oh! What a blessing to have

such a

beautiful family! " one said.

" Yes, you're very lucky indeed, " the other added.

They both smiled and sighed.

" Enjoy them. They grow up too fast. "

Despite the day I'd been having, I knew I had just experienced great

wisdom

from women who knew a thing or two; women with impaired hearing but perfect

vision. These women didn't need to see (or hear) the nitty-gritty

sometimes-

less-than-pretty details of life with toddlers. They had very likely been

there

themselves. And what they now saw was the forest, where I sometimes still

only

see the trees.

They saw the truth.

And that truth has become my four-sentence mantra, my reminder that the

" I

pee on you " days will not last forever. It's a bittersweet benediction.

" I am lucky. "

" I am blessed. "

" Enjoy them. "

" They grow up too fast. "