5pm is bath time in our house. Flung together - a mat for the 5 year old and a seat for the babe. It cures all ills this tub of warm water. Cleanses the cares of the afternoon. Squeezy toys, vanishing bubbles and a plastic jug. Wicked children become soapy babes.
No room alas for me - sore back, rough throat and a million things to do. I envy them their bath. I'd climb in if I could - be mother duck. My boy and I sing favourite songs - the baby learning as she grows. Farmers and pigs and cows and sheep. Swung over the ocean and home in time for tea.
From towels they emerge anew - clean and rosy cheeked, perfect in pink skin and pyjamas clean. I'm loathe to open the door. To invite back in the cold air and remainder of our day.
Run wild to their father I tidy the room. Catch pirates, a whale and a shark in a net - open the window and wring out the wet. Steam and sanctuary gone - our bath time bubble burst until another day... x