Yesterday Maren and I joined several friends in a make-shift parking lot to view the Thunderbird show that follows the Air Force Academy commencement. It's quite a spectacular event to witness, and I'm glad we went.
That being said, allow me to share of a series of events that left me thoroughly aware of this journey of 'motherhood' I have been thrust into, and desperate to add two items of great value to my arsenal of mothering utilities for said journey. (Most willingly, I might add!)
To protect those innocent souls acting only in the best interest of their offspring, I will change all names.
My dear friend, Gertrude, arrived at the site early to procure the perfect vista from which to view the show. Moments before the show was to begin, and as we were all gathering around Gertrude's minivan, her daughter announced a need to use the restroom. Now, her daughter is 3, which invokes a relative urgency when it come to matters of 'relief'. Surely, she wasn't going to last through an air show, one that would inevitably include plenty of noise and opportunities for 3-year-old-pants to be wet. Lovingly, Gertrude looked across the expanse of parking-lot towards the nearest restroom, and agreed to accompany little-girl, knowing all the while they would indeed miss a portion of the show.
Before Gertrude even had a chance to stand up, another friend (who is obviously pregnant), cheerfully volunteered to retrieve a small potty from her own car a few rows over. Within a matter of moments, Elaine came bouncing towards us with a tiny, red, portable toilet in hand. This was the point at which I became acutely aware of the onlookers, yet didn't care one bit about the embarrassment factor, as my motherly instinct kicked in. I thought to myself, 'What a brilliant thing to keep a toilet in you car! I must remember to carry one with me (in the car, of course) at all times once my own girl reaches potty-training-age.'
Elaine passed the 'throne' onto Gertrude (it really is worthy of a royal title), who swiftly set up a perfect little 'bathroom' right there in the rear of her minivan. Once little-girl 'A' was finished on the potty, little-girl 'B' quickly decided that she, too, was in need of a bathroom break. Now, you're probably wondering what happens to the contents of little, red, potty upon completion of it's duty. This is where the lone DAD of the group came in. I watched in amazement as he (without being asked, nagged, prodded, begged) gingerly collected little, red, potty and proceeded to walk like one of those women-in-other-countries-who-carry-mounds-of-produce-on-top-of-their-noggins all the way across the parking lot to a place where no foot had trod, in order to dispose of the contents of two small bladders.
Now, the air show was truly amazing, but to me, the most impressive spectacle of the day was the teamwork displayed by Gertrude, Elaine, and one brave DAD in efforts to make the afternoon enjoyable for two small girls. Upon further reflection of my day, I became aware of the truly bizarre feat that had happened that afternoon, and the even more preposterous observation that not one person in our party thought it anything out of the ordinary. I also feel desperate to own both a minivan and a tiny, red, potty by the time my own sweet girl reaches potty-training-age.