I got a bottle of bubbles for my birthday. My friend in Texas asked my friend in Cincinnati to shop for my birthday gifts and schedules changed and life did what it does, so I got my gift a few weeks after my birthday. It was excellent timing, as far as I was concerned. All the birthday anticipation and extra busy that just having a day had gone and I was back in the grind. Part of my gift was a medium size bottle of bubbles. A yellow bottle with an orange wand, nothing fancy, I was strongly drawn to the bottle of bubbles as I opened the gift. I love it that people who know me would pick up a bottle of bubbles off of a shelf at store and think, “Yep. She will appreciate these.” Not long after I got the bubbles, Oogala decided he had to blow bubbles with my bubbles, being better bubbles than any he has ever had as they were NOT HIS. So, we blew some bubbles one afternoon last week and the bubble bottle was tucked in to Oogala’s backpack of ultra-important toys. The bubbles location didnt cross my mind but if they had I would have swiftly removed them from the backpack, envisioning a bubble solution soaked backpack and contents to attempt to salvage. Luckily, my thought process is choppy at the moment. After dinner last night, Oogala and Middle Biscuit started to do what brothers do… squabbling, laughing, wrestling, getting angry. “Put on your shoes. I don’t care if you have socks, let’s just go. Let’s go to the park.” I was planning to do a little work while the boys played and waited for their Dad. I brought a folder of information and two cell phones and a charger because my phone batteries are always, always on the brink of 3%. Oogala brought his backpack out of the car and promptly unpacked the entire contents on to a low sitting wall at the park. Middle Biscuit bounced his basketball, over and over and over, refusing to let Oogala touch it. Oogala opened the bubbles and started to blow. I love the peak moment of bubble blowing, when the full string of bubbles is floating up and none have popped and I never fail to marvel at the perfect roundness of them. Then I have to put my finger back in to the sticky chill of the bottle and the children’s hands become slimy. Oogala started flinging bubble solution while I tried to focus for a moment on my work. Middle Biscuit took the wand and Oogala began the time honored tradition of bubble popping. Chopping and hollering, he made sure no bubble floated free. About this time, a dad unloaded his two daughters from a mini-van. They quick-walked past us. Sisters obviously, same hair, same protruding bellies, devoid of the concept of sucking in… they flip flopped past, heading for the playground but heads turning like baby owls watching the bubble bludgeoning. I said, “Girls! If you want to come chase bubbles too, we would love that.” The bigger sister, a self-assured four year old, stopped and said, “No thank you! We want to play first, then come back for bubbles!” She nudged her Dad’s leg and turned her face up to his. She signed / motioned “bubbles” and then held up “five” and gestured to the playground equipment. Her little sister, a still toddler chubby three year old, motioned the same signs, a slight time lapse… two almost synchronized motions communicating to her Dad what she had shouted clearly to me. He nodded approval at the plan and smiled at me and the boys. They spent a while at the playground and Oogala and Middle Biscuit started to mess around with the water fountain and fight over the basketball some more. Oogala took off his bubble solution flung t-shirt and raced off on some urgent matter. I sat contemplating life in silence, the ease with which she told him what he needed to know, her friendly smile and promise. They frolicked back to us and Oogala obligingly handed over the bubble wand. Names were exchanged all around and Sophia, the older sister, asked if she could have the bubbles to take home. I said, “Well, I think we will keep them but while you are here, you may blow as many bubbles as you like. We will share them with you.” Her little sister, Mariah, popped a few bubbles and belly laughed every time. Their Dad stood a few feet away, hands in pockets, observing. Mariah admired my blue painted toenails and showed me that hers were not painted. I admired her sparkly zebra flipflops. She took over bubble blowing while Sophia asked Oogala 19 questions about his toys and his name and asked if we live in the same place they do (Kentucky, yes). Dad tapped Sophia on the shoulder and signed, “blow bubbles for 5 more minutes then we go to the car” and she immediately translated his directive to me. We blew bubbles and talked about my hair, which was down and having a good hair day. My arms were getting chilly and I gave Oogala and Middle Biscuit their 5 minute warning too. I quietly said, “Oogala, the girls would love to have those bubbles. Would it be ok if we gift these bubbles to them and we can get some more?” He quickly agreed. I showed Mariah to put the wand back in the bottle and I tightened the lid carefully and wiped off the dripping sides and bottom with Oogala’s t-shirt. I handed the bottle ceremoniously to Sophia and smiled at her Dad. She handed it back to me and I explained that she could have the bubbles, as a gift to remember us, and grandly gave them back. She grinned and scampered to her Dad. She signed the gleeful information and he smiled at me again, nodding. He started to walk slowly toward their car and Mariah skipped back to me and announced, “I will take a hug.” I hugged her and patted her back and thanked her for the wonderful hug. Then Sophia scampered back and threw her arms around me and hugged me so tight! With her arms still around me she tipped her face to mine and said, “You smell good.” and off she went, holding the yellow bubble bottle carefully. I wanted to say so much to their Dad. That his precious, loving little girls were miracles, that the bubbles were my 40th birthday gift all the way from a heart in Texas, that memories are made with strangers. But, I can’t sign. So I reached out my hand and shook his firmly. And shook it again, smiling at all the children saying their goodbyes. He smiled even bigger, nodding understanding at what I couldn’t say. The girls yelled, “Bye!” “Goodbye!” “Thank you for these bubbles!” “Goodbye!” as he buckled them in carseats slowly. I looked up at the sky where the clouds were cotton candy pink and then at the work that I didnt do and everything was good. Especially a half-full bottle of bubbles. ~myMom
Posted on: Thu, 17 Jul 2014 09:31:48 +0000
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