Attack of the No-Stain Bubbles, Part 2: Escape From the Bathroom

I forgot. To throw them. Away.

In the excitement of rescuing my children and my towels from the no-stain colored bubbles in the bathtub last week (see Who? Who Bought These Things?), I had shoved the half-full bottle of green bubbles high onto a shelf in the medicine cabinet.

Then I forgot about it.

Gbot did not.

In The Diary of a Reluctant Mother’s recent post, Deni Lyn asks, Is It Possible to Baby Proof My Judgement? The short answer, according to her and her commenters, was, No. And now it seems I’ve discovered that it’s impossible to baby proof my memory.

Last night, Husbot and I fell asleep to the calming white noise of the air filter. (Husbot’s allergic to spring.) I thought, as I drifted off, “I must turn that off. I will not be able to hear Gbot when he wakes up tomorrow morning.” Then I promptly fell asleep.

Eight hours later, the person (I can’t remember who) in my dream shouted “No! Noooo!” But his voice sounded just like Mbot’s. I opened my eyes. A long, high-pitched wail shot down the hall. I bolted upright and ran.

To find this:

The scene of the crime.

And this:

The criminal.

Mbot had tried valiantly to get the bottle away from Gbot. The clash of SuperMbot vs. The Green Gbot had awoken me.

Both bots went into the bathtub.

The sheets went into the wash. So Mbot’s pajamas, which, along with the sheets, bore the brunt of the struggle. So did Spruce Bear.

The bubbles went, finally, down the drain.

This isn’t Hollywood. Surely, they can’t come back to haunt me again. Right?

What Kind Of Parent Am I?

I told you I could do it myself.

I imagine there are some parents who can spend three minutes helping their three year-old in the bathroom while their two year-old sits at the breakfast table sedately finishing the Hole-‘n’-Oats in his bowl while the cereal box sits on the counter not quite out of reach.

Evidently, I am not one of those parents.

Tell the truth. I promise not to feel bad. Are you?

The View From 43 Inches and 42 Months: A Photo Essay

Impromptu photo shoot at Grandma’s house this afternoon.

By Mbot

1. Wow, look at that slouch on Mommy.

2. Sharkie Shark resting.

3. Gbot’s and my Mickey Mouse umbrellas. I could reach them if I wanted to.

4. The dining table. Why do they make them at eye level?

5. The chicken in my Fisher Price farm house.

6. One of four pictures of the statue of the little girl that I have always loved.

7. Portrait of the artist as a young man.

8. The fascinating switch for the gas to the fireplace, that I am not allowed to touch.

9. “No, Mbot. Give that camera back to your mother!”

What did your day look like?

A Boy and a Very Big Tree

Taken six weeks ago north of Flagstaff, a picture of one of the earth’s medium-sized organisms among the stems of a member of earth’s largest species.

Although this is only a very small aspen stand, the quaking aspen has a root system that can extend for over a hundred acres underground, the largest belonging to a stand named Pando, which Wikipedia reports is estimated to weigh in at 6,600 short tons (that’s the American version of a ton, a mere 2,000 pounds, in contrast to the British long pound of 2,240 pounds) and be 80,000 to 1 million years old, although the individual trunks average 130 years.

That’s all for now. Just in case you’re feeling old and fat today, what with with holiday wear and bloatation.

It really can be beautiful can’t it?

 

Boy on a Bike, with Dog

Morning shadows, nearly as fleeting as bubbles blown from a wand. I love the shadows, the Midgets love the bubbles. Cannot get enough of them. They chase them, squealing, because they disappear. Much of their beauty is in the briefness of their existence.

We chase each other, squealing.

Is  any of our beauty in the briefness of our existence?