It was 8:15pm, I was tired and the baby had been cranky all day. I was eager to get the littlest one down for the night so that I too could find comfort in my bed. The other two girls were full of energy showing no signs of being ready for bed. It was also shower night. The eldest took to the task with expected speed. The younger, well she wasn't looking forward to another boring shower. She requested a bath. With bubbles. A luxurious warm bubble bath.

Oh it sounded great to me. My instinct was to tell her no because it meant a longer wait until my bedtime. I thought "Just get in the shower and get to bed" I wanted her to be done with the task. Another something to check off my daily list because selfishly I was tired and desperately wanted to lay down to rest. Except instead of rushing to the NO, I paused, a memory filled my mind. An early memory of myself as a very little girl who very much loved and looked forward to her bubble bath night. How on one night it was discovered there was no more bubble bath. Mr. Bubble was my favorite and the box was empty. I must have provided such a sad face with tremendous disappointment. Still I can feel that devastation, knowing that I would have to take a plain bath, how I longed for those bubbles to squish in my hands. I remember seeing my mother's face, she too seeing my sadness must have known. I remember getting in the car and driving to the store just minutes away. There we found the prized box of Mr. Bubble. Dusty and forgotten waiting for a little girl like me to need him and his magic bath time bubble fun. I don't recall the details of that bath but I remember the feeling of glee of being special  because my mother knew how important Mr. Bubble was to me. Eventually my need of Mr. Bubble faded. I no longer found his bubbles as exciting nor did I desire the extra time a bath took. Showers became the normal expectation. Quick. Efficient. Another semi-chore to get done.

That's when I decided that my NO would become yes. "Sure," I replied "You may have a bubble bath." A jubilant 8 year old danced in the hallway so very pleased to have a bubble bath. As she gathered her night clothes I reminded her to at the very least make sure to wash that hair. I also reminded myself to not be concerned with her hair. If she washes it great, if not, really it would be just fine. I went to the tub, baby on hip, and began to run her bubble bath. I showed her how to add the proper amount of Mr. Bubble, who now comes in a bottle, to the running water. As I left I watched my girl carefully step into the tub sinking down into that bubble nest with the biggest grin on her face.

Her bath took far longer than a shower, she may get half as clean, but she was happy. She was fully happy to enjoy the simple luxury of a warm bubble bath. She will remember how fun it was to enjoy those bubbles all to herself. And that, that, is something I can truly understand.


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