Bubble bathing…

This post is neither here nor there. I have about five posts in drafts, but I simply am out of inspiration to finish them off. Maybe I have a small case of the sads. Maybe I’m still in withdrawal after the Easter weekend, which I still need to blog about. Maybe I just want to be quiet for a while. This weekend is completely free, I just want to stay indoors and recuperate – from what I am not sure. But maybe that will make me feel better.

But all is not lost.

Yesterday evening when we got home, I ran us a hot bubble bath. I didn’t even go into the kitchen to see if dinner was ready, I didn’t unpack my lunch bag or the kids’ school bags. I went straight to my room and opened the taps full blast. There was much confusion from the husband and children, this was out of routine for us, but there were loud squeals (from the kids, not the husband) when they realised what I was doing. I filled the bath up to “here” (Liam pointing to his ears to indicate how deep he wants the water). Bathing together is a huge treat because it’s a pleasant change from the usual 3 centimetres of water they bath in.

So I filled the bath and we all jumped in, we made Father Christmas beards with the bubbles and laughed ourselves silly. We had competitions to see who could hold their breaths the longest, even though the only thing Hannah submerses are two puckered lips. And I just listened to them talk all kinds of nonsense – the nonsense that only small children can talk and get away with. Mostly nonsense about poop (yes still a favourite topic of discussion), about who’s bummie is the biggest (I won that one hands down) and about what happens when you lick your knife at the supper table (apparently this is bad manners and and you could cut your head off if you try this).

 And I felt this heaviness and sadness lift, like those bubbles in the bath which dissipate without you even realising they are gone. I’m not going to spin a yarn about children with their wonderful innocence and purity who make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside – even though this is true. I think I just needed to talk about poop and grow a fake beard and hold my breath in probably-peed-in-water to make me realise that all the other stuff is still there, I’m not magically cured of the sads, but God in his infinite wisdom made me find incredible happiness and peace in taking a bubble bath with two little people. It was good.

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