bubble therapy

Sometimes when the babies (my own and the one I babysit) get restless and we just can't be in the house anymore, but we have nowhere to go, we sit on the porch and blow bubbles.  Here's what it looks like.  I open the front door and prop the screen door open, the stoop becomes my seat.  I sit and blow bubbles.  M (my almost 1 year old) crawls around on the cement because she prefers it to the grass.  A (the 18 month old I watch and love everyday) runs around or backs her little bum up to sit next to me on the door stoop (is that the right word?  If I had time I'd look it up).  We don't say anything.  The front porch area (we have a detached garage in front) becomes filled with bubbles.  No one cries or says 'no' (well, mostly).  It's heaven on the porch.

Here's what I realized today.  Most of the time the babies could care less about the bubbles.  That means the bubbles are for me.  Who knew that 27 year old college graduate moms still like bubbles?  But I do.  I love how they look so magical when the air is filled with them.  I love how they blow with the wind, no plan or destination.  And I especially love when the cement is wet and the bubbles melt half way and then stretch till they can't stretch anymore and pop with the best cartoon pop sound I've ever heard.

But the most profound thing I realized today is that blowing bubbles is a good as yoga to calm me and help me feel centered.  Not just watching the magic, but the actual blowing of the bubbles.  In through my nose and slow and controlled out of my mouth.  Just like yoga without the workout.   Amazing.