Bath Time

We have a garden tub in the master bathroom. When we moved in, oldest was 9, middle was 5, and youngest was only a dream (and the reason for the move). Now oldest is 20, middle is 16, and youngest is 9.

So this tub has seen a lot of action. Naval battles, explorations, islands and mountains of bubbles, bubble beards, whirlpool disasters, whale diving... And the incredible heap of boats, fish, subs, sponges, and whales is stored in a big green bin close at hand.

For the grownups there is an inflatable yellow head pillow and fancier brands than Mister Bubble. Once or twice we've done candles, but usually we are soaking solo, with a book. There is nothing quite like the relaxation and danger of taking a paperback into a deep tub of hot water and three inches of fragrant foam. As I slide down so that only my upper arms and head are above water, I settle myself and reach for the book. Science fiction is my favorite thing to read in the tub.

It was the bath toys that made me think to write this post. Right now the tub doesn't get much use. Even youngest, who was taking baths until this last few months, now takes showers. So I wonder how long the bath toys will be there beside the double vanity...

I just took a shower in the same bathroom - we paid extra for the shower AND the tub, and have patted ourselves on the back numerous times. The sunlight shown directly through the clear glass door. I had just opened a bar of Linden soap, the fragrance of which holds so many things for me. I was daydreaming about the "Sandman" painting I have in progress, with the Sandman finished and the rest not even laid out yet (this is all WRONG - BAD - what my art professors told me repeatedly NOT to do - I LOVE doing it this way). I had just read the story of how DCup met Mathman on Unglued. I had just had a sensational tomato sandwich - the best of the summer so far. I was happy.

>>>> Appendix de Grenouille #17 <<<< Grenouille has been waiting years for these eggs to hatch. I brought them back from a gorge in deep mountains (another trek into a river bed with dress shoes and a bow tie - I travel in the most inconvenient clothing). We have long wondered what will hatch from them. I think they will be reptiles, but Grenouille refuses to believe anything so horrible could hatch from anything so lovely. I've pointed out that reptiles DO hatch from eggs, and he has asked me if I've ever actually seen any of those eggs. "Well, no, not in person." "Then I am at liberty to believe they must be ugly."

We have had them in the sun, in the shade, under mulch for warmth in the winter, with music playing by candle light to lure the creatures out, with a bowl of milk set by them to coax them to emerge. Nothing has worked. We check on them often, and they are arranged differently some days, so that proves they are still alive. Grenouille refers to our vigil as "heroic patience."