When I Was A Kid {Bubbles are The Worst}

Nostalgia feeds little gumdrops to the parts of our brain that want everything to have a happily ever after. Childhood has it’s own flavour of nostalgia, Initiated by memories of tricycles….fruit roll ups….rubber boots. You can sense the edges of these objects in your hands, taste their sugar at the tip of your tongue, pinpoint the bruises and scrapes that left stories on you left knee.
Then you become a parent and start to bring out these tokens of childhood for your own child’s wide eyes and open hands. But like the ‘ugly lights’ that come on after last call and save you from a bad decision, you gradually realize these toys and games and jelly shoes were the worst.
Bubbles are the worst

Your toddlers can’t read but they know that large translucent jug of mystery liquid anywhere! YAY! Pat yourself on the back for buying all the bubble juice and paraphernalia available at the dollar store. You are a ‘Super Fun Awesome Mom!’ There you are. laughing in the sun on your porch as your kids dance through your non-stop, mind-dizzying, shower of glorious bubbles. Man, this is too easy!
Until your kid realizes that THEY should be controlling the bubble release and placement.So a painful and unsuccessful lesson on exhaling rather than ingesting is carried out and the Wand of Power is handed to your child.

You are gripping their beloved container of bubble liquid, clearly holding it hostage from them so they constantly adjust your finger hold. Meanwhile, they ram that crappy wand into the jar and slosh it around spilling half of it all over you and the ground. This only makes the bubble-making harder because the bubble container quickly empties to that point where your kid can still see liquid, the wand can’t reach it, and their brains can’t connect the two.

So you offer assistance, and (against their will) help them to get that wand evenly soaked in liquid. They bring it to their lips, right on their lips, blow/eat the bubble wand and eek out two and a half fragile shimmering orbs. Your kid squeals, reaches sticky fingers out for that bubble and POP! In that nanosecond of complete glee your kid believed they lived in a fairy tale. And they are hooked on that childhood nostalgia high.

So right back to furious dunking to resume their caveman attempts at bubble production. Everything is getting soaked in sticky liquid. They refuse every offer for help. Chubby, clumsy hands desperate for their next bubble. You see the drive in their eyes, hear their deep grunts and it kind of scares you a bit. You begin to waffle between threats to quit the bubbles all together and gentle offers to have you take over.

Neither is a desirable option to your toddler.

And there you are with a crying toddler who just wants to make bubbles, you sticking to the porch and your hands gingerly holding that cursed bubble liquid at the perfect angle for futile wand dunking and to demonstrate to your kid that you aren’t death gripping their adored container of crappy magic liquid.

This is about the time you willfully let more and more liquid fall onto the ground, even dumping it when they turn their heads to look for non-existent bubbles, until you can declare “it’s all gone now”.

Cue waterworks. Act swiftly to hide the bubble liquid.

Get in your car, drive to Walmart and buy the bubble machine you thought was a ludicrous waste of money and an insult to a childhood rite of passage.

But you and I both know you will keep that bad boy swimming in AAAs as long as those sweet darlings of your want those stupid mystical bubbles.

 

 

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