We’re moving soon, which means soon this blog will be foul with the stench of “oh, look at our new house!” posts.
Speaking of stench, tonight was Joe’s last bath in the big old iron tub in our soon-to-be old house. Sort of a reverse bathtism, washing away the first home to prepare for the new one.
I’ll be minimally sentimental about everything else here, but me and Joe and that bathtub have some history. One of my main jobs is keeping this boy clean, and by my estimate that means about 2,000 baths in the old tub. Two thousand flushes of the day’s dirt. It’s where we checked in most nights for a final inspection of a kid who can’t talk, looking for nails that need trimming, scraped knees, ticks (found two, so far), rashes, signs of fattening up, piercings, tattoos or whatever else.
It is, or was, part of our routine, which we both enjoyed. I can tell you how many steps from his bedroom to the tub, how many plastic cups of water a seven year old needs to properly rinse his hair (no need to Google, it’s six), and how to best dry a kid off while he kicks and laughs.
New house, new routine coming soon. But first a few photos of this historic final scrub. Cue the music …