Absolutely Bananas: Seattle stay-at-home mom blog

The secret of bubbles

For many years I dreamt of the perfect bubble bath; one with heaps and heaps of fragrant soapy bubbles. You know, like in Pretty Woman.

The thing was, I could never get the tub full of bubbles.

I tried everything… different bubble baths applied in varying amounts at different times. In the stream of water, before the stream of water, after the stream of water.

But nothing worked. I always ended up with a thin layer of bubbles covering part of the water’s surface, nothing like the foamy mounds of bliss that I longed for.

It was a constant source of frustration. I started to believe that a bubble bath was an urban myth, like the comfortable high heel or the cute wrap dress.

Until…

Several years ago as part of the NEVERENDING remodel project, we ripped our bathroom down to the studs and rebuilt it. Part of this project was the installation of a jacuzzi tub (insert moan of anticipated pleasure here).

The first time I drew a bath in my fancy new bathtub I was amazed and delighted to find that I had discovered the SECRET of bubbles.

Jets. Just a teeny bit o’ bubble bath added to 6 pounding jets of water and VOILA! you have more bubbles than you know what to do with!

Several years have gone by and the bubble bath (and jets) have lost their allure. Although it sounds endlessly relaxing, the honest truth is that I really don’t enjoy having hard jets of water pounding into my backside and thighs. My neck gets a massive kink from lying at an odd angle, and the water never comes quite high enough for a true soak. Not to mention the temperature, which inevitably is either not quite hot enough or too hot, making me feel like a cooked goose.

Ah, the trials of my life.

The jacuzzi function of our tub is now solely used by our dear son, who delights in the enormous amounts of bubbles that can he can create just by leaving the jets on for ten or twenty minutes.

Like last night, when I walked in to check on him and discovered THIS:

I guess what they say is true.

Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.

***
I’m writing a new blogging series over at Seattle Mom Blogs called The Bloggy Chiropractor. It’s a three-step program for those of us who feel that our blog/life balance has gotten all out of whack. If that’s you, come on over and join us!

Marriage in real life

Before I got married, I had a lot of ideas about how marriage would be.

Most of which turned out to be dead wrong.

Here’s a primer so that all those other innocent young girls won’t be so misled.

***

In real life, they never do what they’re supposed to.  Even when you yell at them.

In real life, having a good laugh is more important than being romantic.

In real life, a good marriage doesn’t look like anyone else’s.

It looks like yours.

Happy 11 years, Jay!

***
Do you have your own “Marriage In Real Life” post?  Write it up and add your link here (go here for the button code). I’ll keep it open through Sunday (Aug 24) at midnight, PST. 

Monday writing prompt

Yesterday was our 11 year wedding anniversary.  So, in honor of THE TIE THAT BINDS, we’re writing about marriage in real life.

That’s right.  Not the pretty, glossy, pretend version.  We’re talking nitty gritty REAL LIFE stuff.

Here’s the code for the graphic:

<a href="http://www.absolutelybananas.com/2008/08/marriageIRL.html" target="_blank"><img class="alignleft" style="float: left; margin-left: 8px; margin-right: 8px; border: 0px;" src="http://www.absolutelybananas.com/images/weekly-writing-prompts-marriageIRL.jpg" alt="" /></a>

See you Monday!

X marks the spot. Except when it doesn’t.

This morning CJ captures a little spider in his hands and stores it in a bucket that he covers up with rain boots to keep the spider from escaping.

“I have a PET!” he exclaims in delight.

But, alas, his new pet is a wily little thing, and it escapes.

Never one to give up easily, CJ pulls out his construction paper and markers. I see him on the kitchen floor with his head bent over the paper earnestly drawing.

“Whatcha doing, CJ?” I ask.

“Making a MAP,” he says.

Several minutes later, the map is complete. CJ holds it out in front of him as he follows the dotted line. Past daddy… into the dining room…

“HEY!” he shouts from the living room, “But my spider isn’t HERE!”

I am thoroughly confused. “Huh?” I look at Jay, “Do you know what’s going on?”

He nods. “He made a map to find his lost spider. And then he followed it. Only it didn’t lead to the spider.”

CJ stomps to the table and slaps his map down. “Mommy IT DIDN’T WORK!” he shouts, “HMMPH! That makes me ANGRY!”

So now I have to try and explain to CJ that maps don’t always lead you to where you want to go. Especially when where you want to go is to the location of your escaped pet spider.

A cluttered mind

Somehow I ended up getting hired to teach two classes at the University of Washington starting this fall. 

In order to finalize the hiring process, I’m supposed to fill out some paperwork and bring it, along with my passport, to the UW processing office.

No problem!

well, except for this one little problem…

I totally can’t find my passport.

Right away when I realized that I needed it, I went directly downstairs and pulled out the “passports” folder of my filing cabinet.  Jay’s passport is in there.  So is CJ’s.  Mine, however, has gone MIA.  Hopped the red-eye to Paris and never came back.

I suppose I should confess that for the past 6 months I’ve been using a *NEW* filing system whereby I ignore my filing cabinet and perform the following detailed and rigorous 2-step process.

Step 1: Place papers in careful piles on the dining room table.

Step 2: In the event of a) dinner guests, b) my MIL, or c) the pile falling over, swiftly gather up the pile and carry it down to the “office” where I thoughtfully position the pile next to or on top of the other piles.

Step 3: Go through the piles in the office and file them into appropriate folders when I have time.

You’ll notice I said this was a 2-step process BUT then I listed three steps.  (Nothing gets past YOU!)

The reason for this little inconsistency is that I never do step three.  Never EVER. 

Because, as it turns out, step 3 is boring and I have far too busy of a life to spend even five minutes filing.

Which brings us directly back to the “My passport must be in Paris” situation, in which Paris stands for somewhere behind the big green ball or on top of the precariously perched shelf.  Or maybe underneath the turkey roaster.

 I COULD go through all the piles of paperwork and hope that I’d find it.

OR I could figure out how to get a replacement passport.  Which seems to me to be the better option.  Because although I am DEFINITELY going to organize that room very soon, I really don’t have time for that today… or even this week.

(I’m a very busy person)