OUTDOOR POTTY TRAINING

My husband and I walk to work.  It's 1.1 miles (never underestimate that .1), and takes 20 minutes.  

En route, we see the typical things:  people walking their dogs, children on their way to school, and plenty of people in their gardens.  But today we entered a whole new dimension.  

It started out just like any other day.  Down the hill, across the street, around the corner.  When we hit the long stretch of sidewalk near the old convenience store, however, something was different.  There was a toddler saddled up to the side of her house, standing, barefoot, on rough gravel.  Her sundress was lifted up over her head, and she looked really confused.   I couldn't connect what I was seeing to any prior life experience.  I thought maybe I should look away, but this was just too good.  Then I heard her call, "Daddy!"  

As her father walked over to her, his gaze met ours.  Waving, apologetically, he gave a slight shrug of his shoulders and, smiling, said, "potty training."  Aha!  Yes, of course!  Now it all made sense.

Ask yourself this:  What would you do next?

I immediately praised her, gushing about what a "big girl" she was.  Duncan told me I was way over the top, and he kept walking.  I think I handled it just right.  Someday that little girl will remember the wild-eyed stranger who stared at her while she had her dress up over her head, trying to do as nature intended.  No scars there.  

I didn't have the heart to tell her that, in the years to come, when she had "the urge" in public, she would find herself in a cramped metal stall, staring at strangers' feet.  Worse yet, she might have to use a porta-potty.  No amount of Purell ever makes that OK.

Two blocks later, I started to smile.  The little girl was really onto something with her outdoor potty training.  No pretense; no inhibition.  She was just learning the basics of life, in the summer sunshine, guided and guarded by her dad, who she knew would protect her.   It was a simple moment, but it was priceless.  I envied her innocence; her freedom.  

While I was walking to work today, a two year old taught me an important lesson.   She reminded me that even the most ordinary moments can be extraordinary.  Especially if you're outside, bare-bottomed, and in the sunshine.