The Refuge

In the p.k. (pre-kids) era, a bath was a refuge and my daily sybaritic ritual. The shelves were filled with luxurious soaps, scented oils and every possible potion to soothe the senses and envelope in luxury. I dreamed of a bathroom laden with Byzantine frescoes and marble columns with a deep infinity tub and Kohler’s latest waterfall taps, heated tiles and lush towels.

While the frescos are (tastefully) missing, my tub at home is heaven. However a far different version than what I had once envisioned.

The Jacuzzi jets have been reclassified as ‘the bubble making machine’

The statues, um, drip:

Splish splash wars reign supreme:

Many scientific experiments are conducted.

ie. The taste and texture of bubbles:

The window from which I would watch the eagles fly over the trees are now a canvas for sudsy Rorschach tests as Tingu flings a handful of suds against the window and cries out "What does it look like, Mommy, what does it look like?"..."Um…a T-rex eating a lollipop, the state of Montana…. which is now melting….. into a snake …on the telephone."...followed by the inevitable "Why?"

Ah, heaven.