I bet you never really think about bubbles.
I know they are a soap mixture. I know I see them in oceans, on dehydrated human lips, in bathtubs and sinks, and when my daughter plays with them.
She (Sophie) has always loved bubbles. Bubble was her very first word (aside from the mama, baba, dada thing) at 9 months old. I had long forgotton about the fun of bubbles when she took to them, and in the past 3 years I have probably bought a zillion (okay a bit exaggerated there) bottles of bubbles. The little pink bottles, the enourmous blue jug (currently in use), crappy ones that don't produce and make her cry, slimy solutions that make me have to change clothes in the middle of a bubble session. They are perfect these days when the little sister is napping, and she is ready to come out of her skin with energy. Bubbles will entertain far longer then most anything else, and to keep a three year olds attention is a celebrated, and wonderful thing.
So as I watch her delve into the wonderment of bubbles, I take pictures. I notice little things like the shape of a bubble - they are all round. Unless of course attached to other bubbles, then the middle one becomes a square/cube. The way a bubble is colored like a rainbow, reflecting the light around it. The focus she puts into blowing the bubbles, and the happiness that is brought them in flight around her. I love how she experiments spinning in circles, wand outstretched, bubbles made from her twirling.
Today they seem magical to me. Or maybe it's Sophie that's magic.
