Most princesses have a knight in shining armor to defend them. I have two, and they are identical.
Of course by that I mean identical twins. They are so identical that I was secretly relieved that one had, long before becoming my knight, received a fierce wound requiring stitches and, subsequently, an identifiable scar. This scar screams manliness, and I’m sure that one day his grandchildren will gather around him and beg for the story behind the unseemliness. That day is a long way off, for both of my brave and handsome knights have only seen three summers.
All children have one thing in common: unpredictability. No matter how many siblings you have, how many times you’ve babysat, how often you’ve changed a diaper; just as you pride yourself on knowing what you’re doing a kid turns around and sticks a nice big wad of gum in your hair. Experience may help you face unpredictability. However, if all children are unpredictable, and boys even more so, then twin three year-olds multiply that number by a googolplex.
Today was a particularly rambunctious, energetic and unpredictable day. The clouds gathered ominously to see what would happen, and even they were scared away by my protectors. I smiled as they sang my name out, “Tarwah, Tarwah, Tarwah”. They spoke in that three year old dialect that is hard for anyone but natives of the land to make out. They were fearsome to behold, I told them over and over and over again.
“Mom woold cawl me coot!” said Christian, the usual leader of the two. Sebastian climbed on my back and shouted his agreement right next to my ear.
“No, you’re fearsome. Look at all of your armor! You both have back armor, a chest plate, a sword and a gun. You are brave knights, and you get to protect me.”
The two smallest of a large number of siblings liked this novel idea of being the protectors, so down to the deep, dark dungeon we went. As we walked down the rickety steps to the basement, I clutched their still-chubby hands in fear and asked them what was waiting to capture me. Sebastian, newly armed with the confidence and assertion of a knight, had a ready answer and a pair of wild, fiery eyes.
Now granted, I am just as grossed out by bugs as the next female, but typically I am only squeamish when facing a colony of the little beasts. Clearly my knights needed a little training in imagination and the duties of their position.
“What about dragons? They’re big, covered in scales, roar, and like to turn princesses into S’mores. I bet there’s one down in the deep, dark dungeon, just waiting to carry me away!”
Sure that did the trick, I peered at them through the darkness but could only make out their matching dark heads of hair . Chrisitan and Sebastian said in twin-like unison,
Not to be disuaded, we traversed the rickety stairs so that they could defend me and get me to my castle. The first ant attacked.
Christian slashed with his sword, and no sooner had he jumped up in the joy of a conquered foe than Sebastian squealed.
“But I waant to get da aant.”
We decided that ants liked to attack in groups of twos.
Many, many, many attacks later (how the ants managed to sneak up on my head the boys will never be able to figure out), we made it to my castle. I was weak; indeed, near death and panting. I told them that the only thing that would bring me back to life was a kiss. So both little three year old gave me little smacks on my cheek, and this princess did what any princess would do after being defended from ants. I turned into a dragon.
The boys don’t mind kissing me now.