In the bath

This isn't the first or the last bathtime post, but probably the last one of our little girl being bathed on the counter. Tonight she was bathed in the tub as another small milestone passes us by. What is it about babies in the tub? Something pure and sweet and innocent I just can't quite put my finger on. Pink, glistening little baby bottoms. Wet lashes. At our house, it's the happy way she blinks the water out of her eyes and stares up with anticipation. The excited wiggle, the proud splashing. How she buries her face into the towel once we've wrapped her all up. Scrumptious, all of it.

I'm pretty sure she spends all day tolerating my silly, tired antics, my "what does the monkey say?" and "wheels on the bus" for the thousandth time apiece, secretly hoping that tonight will be a Daddy bath night. Our depressing 1960s bathroom becomes a magical place come 6:00.

This picture, with water spilling over the sides, is why our freshly mopped 1960s tile floor looks dirty again by the next day. It's also why we have moved the whale tub into the big tub since these were taken.

Night night little one! Off to bed with you.

Tonight I made a few pies, which so far are not the least bit busted; actually they look pretty delicious. I went with my trusty doughboy Mr. Pilsbury as I learned my lesson (and earned my anti-Martha Stewart nickname, Busted Pie) the hard way a few Thanksgivings back. Thanksgiving, it turns out, is not the time to learn how to make pie crust from scratch. Since I otherwise don't really attempt pies, that may just be one of those things I never learn how to do properly. While the pies were a success, we do have an ambitious few days ahead as we attempt to get our house holiday-ready; I'm sure I have a few merry messes ahead of me! Happy Thanksgiving to all!