It’s actually right in my bathroom.

By bathroom paradise

It’s my tub.

And that’s not just any old tub. Well, actually it’s a really old tub. A 99 year old tub. And it just happens to be the exquisite vehicle through which I was transported to what some call nirvana, last night.

It was around 1:30 a.m. I’d been working furiously on my monthly site updates for My Mommy’s Place, having left the bulk of the work to the last minute, as usual. (You see, I’ve gotten into this habit where I work round the clock for about 48 hours to have my updates ready for my self-imposed first of the month deadline, after which I collapse into slack mode for roughly the rest of the month until I have to do it all again.) My back and neck were sore, my muscles were quivering from a mixture of caffeine and fatigue, my eyes were burning and I still had to read those last two chapters of a book I’d promised to review by today. I needed a refresher and it seemed like as good a time as any to try out the tub in our downstairs bathroom.

I grabbed a cup of chamomile tea, a spoon and the container of leftover icing from the cake I’d made the day before and slipped into the warm bubble bath. I cannot believe it took me five months of living here to get in that tub. There aren’t enough words to describe the pleasure of being in it. It is otherworldly. Even the water seems different in there. Perhaps it draws upon the Fountain of Youth because I found the energy to push on working through the night.

And now, as my workload is beginning to lighten, all I can think of is getting back in that tub. If you don’t hear from me, that’s where I’ll be.

8:23 a.m. I am woken up by a finger poking the end of my nose and a tiny voice saying, “Mom, you got a zip. It’s kinda big. Are you gonna pop that zip?”

Sometime around 9:00 a.m. Julia is in the bath tub. She says she has a present for me. She pretends to pull something out of her belly button, hands me the imaginary item and says, “Open it.”

I feign unwrapping the invisible gift and ask, “What is it?”

“It’s a cookie. Eat it.”

10:35 a.m. We’re in the van heading to Story Time. Julia demands the “Noodle Song,” which is the name she uses for any song she likes. After eight incorrect guesses, I finally skip to her choice: “Come On Eileen” by Dexy’s Midnight Runners. We sing all the way to the library, loudly.

11:17 a.m. Story Time is in full swing. I’m sitting in a window seat watching Julia from afar, having made the decision to let her sit with the big kids on her own. Suddenly, she jumps up from her chair, runs over to me and whispers, “I love you,” and rejoins the rest of the group.

12:45 p.m. We’re in the van heading home. Julia hears “I Need You Tonight” by INXS for the first time. She likes it very much. After the lyric “There’s something about you girl..” she shouts, “That’s me!” Everytime. She tells me the song is about her. Once we arrive home and hop out of the vehicle, she greets Monet by singing, “I’m lonle-hey-hey!”

Sometime around 2:00 p.m. We’re having a tickle fight on the couch. Julia slams her head into my nose and I see stars. She kisses me and says, “Oh, Mommy! I am so sorry to you.” After she is certain I’m okay she says, “I’m hungry to bananas.”

3:56 p.m. We’re shopping at the IGA. Julia tells me she’d like some “chicken bunnies.” I know immediately that she is talking about Marshmallow Peeps.

6:30 p.m. Julia serenades her grandparents with the song we made up to help her learn to spell her name and actually lets me catch it on video.

8:24 p.m. Julia begins wedging her stuffed bear, Holly Bear, in various locations and calling upon me to assist in the search and rescue missions.

9:40 p.m. I read Julia The Monster At The End Of This Book, The Runaway Bunny, Corduroy, Green Eggs and Ham and All By Myself. She gets very upset when I forget to say, “by Mercer Mayer,” after reading the title of the last book on the list and closes the book and makes me begin again. Then, she tells me a story about a princess, a puppy and swimming.

10:50 p.m. As we are settling into bed, Julia asks me, “Mom, can I be a grown-up tomorrow? Please?”

Slow down, little girl. You’ll be a grown-up soon enough.

Have you ever had moments when you feel like life is trying to tell you something?

I’ve had experiences like that. Like the time I followed a real estate agent over smooth, gray slate to a stately, white house, and something about the delicate, pink flowers at my feet, the curve of the path and the kiss of the breeze on my cheek aroused a feeling of familiarity and comfort that told me I was home. I didn’t need to look inside to see what was there, I already knew it. I felt it. The feeling was so strong; I wasn’t seeing this place for the first time, I was returning. I’d been here before. I’m not sure when, it could have been a dream. Regardless of where the feeling came from, it was a sign that I’d found the place where I belonged. It is the place we now own.

On several ocassions, I’ve had a feeling or an experience that seemed to push me in a given direction. There have been times when everything added up to a thought, an idea, or an understanding that prepared me for something that was to come. This weekend, I’ve felt like I might be having one of those times. There have been so many little things that have taken me back to a specific time in my life. It started with flipping on the television just in time to watch Hope Floats and later Moonlight and Valentino, from beginning to end – two movies that resonated so deep within me during the space between the death of my first love and marriage and the birth of my relationship with Dave. I lived with the characters from those films day after day, hurting with them and crying with them. They weren’t exhausted by my pain or annoyed with my sadness. Somehow watching those movies again and again helped me through my grief. I found it strange that both movies were on and I had the opportunity to actually sit down and watch them, in their entirety, uninterrupted – that in and of itself is a miracle and it got my attention. After countless other flashback-inducing encounters, I read Gunfighter’s post “Life In The Bubble” about people who are living in their own world, unaware of the things happening outside of their bubble, people who are disconnected, looking inward – people who very much resembled me during that particular time.

Now, I can’t help but wonder what it is I should remember or learn about that time of my life. Am I making too much of this? I did see The Number 23 on Saturday. Am I freaking out? Maybe it’s just a reminder that I’ve got things pretty good now. I’m not sure. It seems when I have moments like this that something monumental is about to occur, that things are going to change in a big way. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.

Deja vu. Intuition. Premonitions. Have you ever experienced anything like that?

Let’s play a little Jeopardy. Here are the answers:

1. He published a blog post about my stinkers.

2. He cracked a rude joke while I clutched my pillow, with tears spilling down my cheeks as a character died on-screen in one of my favorite movies.

3. He kept me waiting for an hour and twenty minutes in bed after he said he was going downstairs to turn out the lights, but played Madden 2007 instead.

4. He threw down his controller and stomped off when I started beating him at the song Sweet Child O’ Mine on Guitar Hero II.

What’s the question?

Soft

by Leslie

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Soft


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