Friday, April 15, 2011

Wash away your troubles, love.

We love bubbles at my house.  When all else fails at entertaining my daughter, since she was able to sit up on her own, I've resorted to blowing bubbles.  Incidentally, I've been an aficionado of the things all my life as well.  I got a Monster Bubble Wand from a friend as a birthday gift in high school.  We spent at least a half hour at the bubble tables at the Dupage Children's Museum when we went north to visit my mother last month.  It was the best half hour of the trip.  Maybe of the year.  I'm not ashamed.  I love me some soap, water, and glycerin.

We've learned, in Hannah's lifetime, that, given sufficient water and soap solution, gentle hands can catch a bubble.  Now it's a popular bath game for us after a rough day. Blowing bubbles in the bath last night, Hannah was astounded by the enormity of one of my bubbles. 

Hannah: "It's bigger than my head!  It's bigger than your head!  It's bigger than Daddy's head!  I bet it's bigger than God's head!"

In fact, it was an impressive bubble, and really was bigger than my husband's head.

Me: "I'm not so sure about bigger than God's head.  But I've never seen it."
Hannah: "He's God. You know that's a really big head."

My internal dialogue: Yeah. Who does that guy think He is, anyway.  Making the world and stuff.  What a noggin on him, eh?

Unfortunately, the bubble popped as soon as she touched it.  Euphemistically speaking, a head that big can't be expected to tolerate any kind of friction, even from the gentlest and most eager of 6 year olds.

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