The Great Debaters

"But, Mom.  I really don’t think that’s a good idea."

"I don’t care if you think it’s a good idea, you’re going to do it."

"But.  Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooom."

"No buts."

"Fine."

"Whatever."

Reminiscing about adolescent angst?  Try again.  This is a conversation I had with a certain three year old legume the other day when I told her to do something that was just a tad bit more exciting than watching me clip my under-groomed toenails.  My pediatrician calls it advanced language skills.  I call it a pain in the butt I had hoped to stave for at least another eight years. 

Both girls are exceptional at communicating exactly what they think, feel, dream of and hope for.  It’s both a blessing and a curse.  On the one hand, it is so easy to tell them exactly what I need from them and likewise, for them to let me know what is is they need from me.  On the other hand…whoa.  Apparently I know how to make opinionated women.  They are certainly not shy, though Maggie has her moments of uncertainty.  Maggie tries to reason with me while Audrey sets on a path of telling me why what I am saying does not benefit her. 

I tell everyone that this is the age that is the most enjoyable.  I believe I have said that during every stage, but I really mean it now.  Now they are at the age where they can tell me what they are thinking, and inject their thoughts with bits of humor and mischievousness perfectly tailored to their personality.  We can have secrets and inside jokes and we talk about dreams and wishes and what ifs.  Now is the age that their imagination is in full force and has yet to be tampered with by the oftentimes cynical and cruel world that they live in. 

Sometimes Audrey uses made up, silly words and carries on a conversation with me in this pretend language, punctuating her meaning with an earnest look or a raised voice.  Other times, she demands that you only speak to her as if she was Alex, the lion from Madagascar.  And when she is in this mode, inevitably her trusty sidekick Maggie must play along as the hippopotamus.  If she responds to me in any way other than that of an animal, Audrey is quick to correct both of us.  When Maggie is not playing Audrey’s game, she’s playing the role of teenager in a toddler’s body.  She calls my bluff and questions my logic.  You see, she was the one that I was quoting above.  And yes, she says "Fine!" in that way.  "Whatever" too.  Only she doesn’t say it with the nastiness that teenagers can sometimes drum up.  She says it with a smirk, as if she already knows my reaction will be the incredulous look on my face and the slow shake of my head.

I love that I can tell them what I’m (mostly) thinking now and they can respond with their own ideas and opinions.  They give me suggestions and they remind me of promises made.  They keep me in check almost as much as I keep them in line and they force me to be honest with myself and with others.  That they disagree with me sometimes is only a sign that I’ve helped to create independent, smart little women.  But mostly, I revel in the fact that, not only are they growing into wonderful women, they are becoming great friends that I cherish on a level different from their places as my children.