Things I'm learning: Bath Tub Edition
A giggle brings me out of my spacey state. I take in the scene; something happened while I was daydreaming.
Bath time has just finished. I am kneeling beside the bathtub, rubber turtle in hand, emptying the water and tidying the toys. To my back left is Shawn, sitting on a foot stool, nose and eyes scrunched tight. Malcolm is in front of Shawn, head tilted in confusion.
Scarlett is behind me stifling her giggles.
The mood is light. Somehow I'm a player in this droll vignette.
I look in my hands. What was I doing a moment earlier?
And then it comes to me.
I aimed the water logged turtle to my lower right and squirted the leftover water into the drain. Except, I wasn't paying attention and now I see: the mouth-spout hadn't been pointed at the drain. I had accidentally pointed the wrong end at the drain. When I squeezed, the spout of water went in the opposite direction. It arced up and landed behind me.
Precisely between Shawn's eyes.
Oops.
At the realization, I can't help myself: I start giggling, too. Then Shawn wipes his face, and I sputter out an apology between my giggles, and the next thing I know we are all giggling.
Moments like these are rare and perfect. The kind of thing you imagine parenthood to be, but never is. And to think, if it wasn't for that mischievous little girl and her giggle, I would've missed it.
Bath time has just finished. I am kneeling beside the bathtub, rubber turtle in hand, emptying the water and tidying the toys. To my back left is Shawn, sitting on a foot stool, nose and eyes scrunched tight. Malcolm is in front of Shawn, head tilted in confusion.
Scarlett is behind me stifling her giggles.
The mood is light. Somehow I'm a player in this droll vignette.
I look in my hands. What was I doing a moment earlier?
And then it comes to me.
I aimed the water logged turtle to my lower right and squirted the leftover water into the drain. Except, I wasn't paying attention and now I see: the mouth-spout hadn't been pointed at the drain. I had accidentally pointed the wrong end at the drain. When I squeezed, the spout of water went in the opposite direction. It arced up and landed behind me.
Precisely between Shawn's eyes.
Oops.
At the realization, I can't help myself: I start giggling, too. Then Shawn wipes his face, and I sputter out an apology between my giggles, and the next thing I know we are all giggling.
Moments like these are rare and perfect. The kind of thing you imagine parenthood to be, but never is. And to think, if it wasn't for that mischievous little girl and her giggle, I would've missed it.
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