bubbles
My father got the Zweeble one of those bubble wands that looks like a light saber--tube of bubble juice, long narrow oval attached to a red hilt. We already had a small bottle of bubbles from last year, I think. Then Dad also got the Zweeb a bubble gun for their house.
We now have two light saber wands, a (rather lame, actually) container of 80 bubble wands, a jug of bubble juice, and an (actually pretty cool and it works) unspillable tub for said juice.
All of which is to preface this: every night this week, we've been outside blowing bubbles.
I forgot that I love blowing bubbles.
In high school, the best birthday I ever had was my 18th. All of my friends got me really silly gifts (except for doggiesushi, but that's a story for another day), one of which was a bottle of bubbles. I walked between classes blowing bubbles, which I'm sure was annoying and pretentious--oh look at me, I'm whimsical!--but I can't quite roll my eyes over it as I look back. That was a rough year, and blowing the bubbles made me happy.
In college, I'd blow bubbles out of my third-story dorm room window. Also slightly pretentious. But fun.
Now I'm in the back yard with my kid during a really rough week, and ... calm. Blowing bubbles and being silly. I like the long cylinder of bubble before it breaks off and becomes round, especially when it catches the evening light and tinges purple. I like watching the bubbles hit the right eddy of wind and rise over the roof. And when one bubble blows across the yard and out into the vacant lot next door before it pops--I dig that. Yesterday I waved the light saber in the right place to surround the Zweeble with bubbles. He thought it was cool, but not as cool as I thought it was, apparently.
So, yeah, bubbles.
We now have two light saber wands, a (rather lame, actually) container of 80 bubble wands, a jug of bubble juice, and an (actually pretty cool and it works) unspillable tub for said juice.
All of which is to preface this: every night this week, we've been outside blowing bubbles.
I forgot that I love blowing bubbles.
In high school, the best birthday I ever had was my 18th. All of my friends got me really silly gifts (except for doggiesushi, but that's a story for another day), one of which was a bottle of bubbles. I walked between classes blowing bubbles, which I'm sure was annoying and pretentious--oh look at me, I'm whimsical!--but I can't quite roll my eyes over it as I look back. That was a rough year, and blowing the bubbles made me happy.
In college, I'd blow bubbles out of my third-story dorm room window. Also slightly pretentious. But fun.
Now I'm in the back yard with my kid during a really rough week, and ... calm. Blowing bubbles and being silly. I like the long cylinder of bubble before it breaks off and becomes round, especially when it catches the evening light and tinges purple. I like watching the bubbles hit the right eddy of wind and rise over the roof. And when one bubble blows across the yard and out into the vacant lot next door before it pops--I dig that. Yesterday I waved the light saber in the right place to surround the Zweeble with bubbles. He thought it was cool, but not as cool as I thought it was, apparently.
So, yeah, bubbles.