Ah, bath night. What should be a fun and relaxing moment at the end of a busy day, but which so often devolves into squealing, splashing, tears, and yelling. If you can’t relate, you’ve probably never tried to bathe two small boys who are busy playing “waterslide.” This involves slipping down the back of the tub with one’s skull precariously close to the tile wall, culminating in a tsunami of Spongebob bubble bath and rubber duckies. Good times.
That night, I lost the coin-flip and Dad got to go watch football while I wrestled the naked, waterlogged ruffians. I assumed my position as lifeguard perched on the closed toilet seat, ready to wrench any troublemakers out of the tub on the count of 3.
From the basket of bath toys, someone unearthed a tiny bottle of bubbles, probably left over from a birthday party goody bag. I peeled back the foil and attempted to retrieve the absurdly tiny bubble wand from inside the thimble-sized bottle. It was like the Incredible Hulk trying to grasp a shrimp fork. I gave up and passed it to my 3yo. He got the wand out, but couldn’t blow any bubbles, despite repeated drippy attempts.
“Let me see that,” said my 6yo son, taking the bottle from his brother. He dipped the wand, pursed his lips, and blew. Out came a stream of tiny, diaphanous bubbles.
“Wow, Miles, look at you! How’d you do that?”
“You just blow very, very gently. Take your time,” said my first-grade sage. He continued to dip and blow, dip and blow, water droplets clinging to his impossibly long lashes. Big, wobbly orbs floated up to the ceiling like steam. Small, rainbow-hued spheres sputtered and popped. Some bubbles alighted on the water’s surface, shimmering lightly, then bursting suddenly. All 3 of us shrieked in delight.
“Do it again! Again, Miles!”
“Ooh, a boomerang bubble! That one came right back to you!”
“Look, I caught one on my finger!”
“Mommy, mommy, look at that big one! Blow ME a big one!”
Out of nowhere, out of a cloud of steam, out of a tiny bottle, my son had conjured up a little bit of magic on a mundane night.
I usually roll my eyes at the rainbows-and-sunshine, enjoy-every-minute types who proclaim that every moment of motherhood is magical. But sometimes… that’s exactly what it is.
LINK O’ THE DAY: This post made me laugh and nod, and not just because of the awesome headline: “Unicorn Poop, or How I Fell in Love with the Daughter I Never Had.”