Bath time rituals – a soapy story.

Bath time is sacred. I enjoy it an unreasonable amount, but a private bath isn’t always easy to achieve.

When my daughter was very young, I announced I needed a few minutes after work to decompress in the tub and then she could tell me everything, ask me anything.  At first that was okay with her – until it wasn’t.  She sat outside the bathroom door, asking me is it time yet? 

Then we got a puppy and she “helped” him get into the bathroom, so she could shout from outside,  “Buster!  Naughty! Come back here.  Mommy is having her bath time.”  Then it was “Can I come in and get Buster?”  Then the two of them sat on the bath mat and they were so cute, I surrendered. The new rule was you can sit here if you learn a song.  Starting from whenever she could carry a tune, we sang in the bathroom together while sharing my “private, sacred, must-have” bath time.

Now her little girl, Caedan, is already bending the definition of the word, “privacy” to suit her needs.  She’s supposed to ask, “Do you need privacy?” before opening a door.   From the other side of the door, I heard,  “Do you want me to scrub your back with that big brush?”  and “May I open the door now?  With no puppy to use as an excuse, she employs other means.  

She visited me in a hotel room and while poking around the amenities laid out for guests, she asked, “What’s this?”  Until that day, she’d never seen a bar of soap. She knows from hand sanitizer and liquid bath wash, but a world of miniature soaps beckoned.    

Back home, I related this to our friend, Pam, who promptly sent an assortment of guest-size bars of soap in all colors and fragrances to Caedan.  My daughter put them into a pretty dish where she can reach them. 

During a recent visit, I was soaking away in a “private” bath when she knocked on the door and asked,  “Would you like to use my soap?” I sensed some hesitation.  This was the ultimate sacrifice.  I said yes just to see what would happen. She told me she would choose which soap.  (Generous – but not to a fault.)  She brought it in and handed it to me, but a couple of seconds later said, “I  need my soap back now” and quickly exited.

From now on when I really need privacy while visiting my daughter’s house, all I have to do to be left alone is mess with those little soaps.  Note for Christmas list:  A stocking filled with bars of Ivory soap – “So pure it floats.” 

Ó Anita Garner