I recently came across a photo of myself taking a bubble bath with the kids, and it brought back a lot of fun memories of our bath times together when they were young. One particular incident really sticks out in my mind, though.
We have a rather large (or, to the kids, ginormous) jacuzzi bathtub in our master, complete with four jets to really stir things up. The faucet flow of water can only generate so many bubbles; you turn on those jets and…voila! You get industrial level suds that rival the Brady Bunch episode when Bobby pours too much detergent into the washing machine.
“Let’s do bubble bath tonight, kids.”
“Yaaaay!” It was Christmas every time. I could get away with such cheap entertainment back then.
The kids would jump into the empty tub and turn on the water. I would add half the bottle of soap, and they would immediately start playing with the bubbles.
A few minutes later, I would join them in the tub.
“Wow, mommy, the water just went up so much higher!” “Yeah, waaaay high!”
Well, someone had to make sure that the water level went up high enough to cover the jets. I would turn off the water and get them ready for some serious fun now.
“Okay, kids, now we can turn on the jets. Are you ready?”
“Yeah, mommy, let’s do it!”
One push of the button would turn on all four jets full throttle, blowing some serious streams into the soapy water, creating even more bubbles. The kids would squeal in delight. Soon, we would be lost in the fluffy cumulonimbus-like whiteness. The kids would giggle and blow and would spend hours playing. Since this was our bedtime routine, we usually had to start about two hours before bedtime as to allow them plenty of time to play.
I, however, could only find amusement in bubbles for so long, so about 6 1/2 minutes later would start plotting my escape.
“Mommy’s going to go now, okay?”
“Noooooo Mommy, stay, pleeeeease.” Oh, it’s so nice to be wanted.
I would play a few more rounds of the “Gotta go/Please stay” game until I would decide to leave for the last time. I would then stand up to go to the shower to rinse off the bubbles that make me look like the Abominable Snowman.
“Oh, look at how much the water went down!” “Yeah, it went waaaay down. Mommy took all the bubbles!” Did they really have to remind me again at how much body mass I move every time I step in or out of the tub?
“We need more bubbles.” “Let’s turn on the jets!”
Before I could say, “No, kids! The water level is too low and the jets are exposed,” one of them would have already pushed the button.
“Wow, a fountain!”
“It’s just like the fire boats on TV!”
In a panic, I would jump back out of the shower to try to stop the water spewing out of the tub onto the carpet, the kids laughing in delight. I would spray my face with the wayward jet stream as I fumble for the button to turn it off.
When the dust (or water) clears, I find myself, still looking like Yeti, staring at some very soggy carpet in the bathroom and some very happy kids playing with bubbles in a tub with very low water level. Who puts carpet on the bathroom floor anyway? I would ask, to no one in particular
The kids learned that night when is a good time — and wrong time — to turn on jets in our bubble bath. I learned to laugh at myself that night as well. We enjoyed a few more bath bubble episodes until one day we learned that my little girl’s frequent bladder infection was probably being caused by too much time in the soapy water. In any case, we are now all too big to fit into the bath together, no matter how gigantic the tub may be.
And, to this day, sometimes when I’m in the tub alone, I add a little extra soap and turn on the jets.