"Mommy, I have to pee, right now!"
This from my oldest "nonbiological" daughter. The younger sister is not potty trained yet.
I am 48 years old, struggle to get up from squat position (do you know how many hours are in that position when helping a youngster potty train), need my reading glasses, but can't remember where I put 'em! I am, eh hem, older now.
But she has to pee right now. So I pull little sister off the monkey bars and she screams defiantly, causing all the many other parents to look with suspicion upon me. Older daughter and I run to the public washroom (my arms are much stronger from hauling little sister but my hips say "48" loud and clear every morning), where, upon entering, she wrinkles her nose and wants to know why it smells so bad and is so dirty. Good question. We enter the handicap stall (something I have gotten into the habit of doing in the company of both toddler and preschooler). Continuing her litany, older daughter points out the dirty wet floor and mucky seat, which I am in the process of lining with toilet paper before I set her bottom on it, which causes me to lose my grip on daughter # 2. I am quick. I automatically turn to retrieve a hold on her, but she already has two hands planted on the wet floor, is smiling at me and saying "water". Little Einsteinette.
Someone reminds me she HAS to pee. I ignore the possible bacterial invasion occurring to my youngest, heft the four year old upon the throne (she's comfortable with that spot--figuratively if not literally) and she pees about 1/ 16th of a cup, jumps off and says she is done. Bacteria invasion has been suspended, I am now in my familiar squat, with 2 yr old (safe) on my lap.
"No Way." I say it very firmly and heft her back on the seat. Toilet paper seat protection has now been badly compromised. I do not care. We will all likely die together of STDs. We are here, she will pee. Which she does with a vengeance. And more.
My haunches cave at the same time the 2 yr old escapes, this time through the unlocked bathroom stall door into the just-as-filthy hallway and sink area.
I must retrieve her and I do, locking the stall door behind me this time, as we three females commence with the work at hand--bottom. I wipe the bum while using very negative encouragement, very loudly, at youngest daughter regarding all tactile discovery of the "water" on the floor. (One of my adult daughters is an Early Childhood Educator and tries to educate me--unsuccessfully.)
WE ARE DONE!
I hold both their hands tightly and we walk to a grungy tap that, I discover, doesn't work. Diaper wipes have become my new best friend.

It's been like this, more or less, all year.
I'm getting used to it. I don't like it all the time.
BUT I love my girls. I love the light shining out of their eyes from the knowledge and experience they are receiving of safe, firm love. Unchanging, responsible, committed love.
2012 was hard.
But it was a very good year.