Soaking It In

Allison came home around midnight last night and, because she is young, she dawdled a bit before heading to bed.  I suppose she got on her phone and texted some friends.  The last thing she did before going to sleep, though, had nothing to do with her being young.  She took a bath.  A very, very long bath. 

In fact, I found myself quietly rapping on the bathroom door around 1:30, hazy with sleep and slightly confused by the sound of running water but the absence of light coming from under the door.  A minute or two later, we exchanged "hellos" in the hallway and I walked into a small room thick with humidity, the waxy scent of a recently snubbed candle wafting its way upward.

It pleases me that my children take baths.  Granted, in a shower-free household, there are really practical reasons for me to love that my children take baths, but it's the other reasons that make me smile. 

Patience
Try as you may, it is impossible to take a quick bath.  "Quick bath," in fact, is an oxymoron, kind of like "fun run"  or "jumbo shrimp."  You have to plan ahead to take a bath.  And you have to be patient when you get there, as well.   Our tub is deep and long and takes a good 10 minutes or so to reach an acceptable level, not to mention the right temperature.  I imagine entire herds of showerers have come and gone in the time it takes me just to plug the drain and adjust the water temperature.

I also imagine that there is a direct correlation between those who shower and those who honk their horns impatiently in traffic.  And, while I'm at it, I bet no bathers have ever been arrested for road rage. 

You might say, then, that living in a shower-free household is actually a part of my parenting plan.  You'd be lying, but you still might say it, though.

Pleasure
I doubt that my showering brethren have ever even heard of epsom salts, more or less tossed a handful into the shower.  What would the point of that be, after all?  Bathers, however, know the value of a good soak and the pleasure of occasionally kicking it up a notch with some salts or a good-smelling candle.  A decent music CD is nice, as well, since most baths take at least three or four songs. 

An offshoot of the Pleasure Principal of Bathing is that, when bathers do find ourselves in the presence of an available shower, we can't get over what a novelty it is.  A shower is a thing of efficient beauty, its water-delivery system both invigorating and shockingly stark.  Talk to a bather,  post vacation, and you'll probably hear a comment or two about the motel's shower.  We're an easy-to-please lot, although we're always glad to get home to our soap-ringed tubs.

On those cold winter nights, when a hot bath beckons, I can think of nothing better than slipping down into the steamy water, submerging my head up to my cheeks, and just laying there, my hair floating alongside me.  Lifelong bathers can spend heaps of time doing absolutely nothing in a tub, our silence making others think there's no one in the bathroom at all.

Frankly, this hectic world could use a few more baths, oval-shaped porcelain  oases of warmth and solitude that care not a whit about expediency and vigor.