Bath Time

Post-bath, 1988

She always loved baths. The last years of her life that would be her one time to be alone and decompress, soaking in the tub listening to music as she got a brief respite from meal prep and the boys' homework and cleaning and laundry and paying bills and planning the monthly budget and the general state of the world.

For an all-too brief half an hour or so she’d let go off all that. The boys might occasionally interrupt her temporary sanctuary, asking her to settle some brotherly dispute or for help with finding a toy. They’d ask her how much longer she’d be in there and if she could make them a snack when she got out. But she’d let the warm water wash all that away, and she’d have herself to herself if only for a moment. 

When she was done, she’d jump right back in to mother mode, her batteries charged a bit with the aura of contentment and peace surrounding and protecting her for the rest of the evening.

Not too different from mothers all over since the dawn of time, of course, but I’m thankful that she could at times enjoy life and feel alive in a good way.