Wallowing in memories (Fibro Renovations)

Tonight I took my last bath in the big, green cast-iron tub that takes up half the Fibro bathroom. When we first looked at the house, it was enough to make me recoil. A scratched, mould-green bath in a tiny, windowless bathroom. All I could see was mildew and plantar warts.

A quick re-tiling job changed the wall colour from green (to match the bath?) to white and a coat of white paint freshened up all the corners. But still... A mould-green bath never seems clean. No matter how much you toil and scrub.

As the years passed, however, the bath has grown on me. Much like mould, come to think of it. Despite its scuffed surface, it is deep and comfortable. Even when the bath toys are dancing on my head, the rest of me is warm and comfortable. Bubbles look extra white against a green background. The roar of the extractor fan (which must be on at all times in a windowless bathroom) drowned out the sound of squabbling children. There were things to like.

But now it is going. Tomorrow the demolition begins and our bathroom will become a laundry as our laundry (practically the largest room in the house - and with a window all of its own) becomes the new bathroom. Exciting times.

I stepped out of the green tub tonight and, I confess, I did look back with a tinge of regret. Our new tub will not be quite so gargantuan in proportions.* Better for these Green Living times. But the green bath may have been better for just the ... living.

Have you ever had the pleasure of the delights of the 'colourful bathroom suite', circa 1950-1970? What are your memories?

[image: Flickr.com]

*In case you were wondering, we did look at re-enamelling our old bath with a slick white finish but the cost proved prohibitive. Sad but true.

Don't bother me, I'm bathing

If you believe the media, the bath is the last retreat for mothers. Tired? Have a bath. Stressed? Have a bath. Kids driving you mad? Have a bath. Housework getting you down? Have a bath. Having trouble juggling work/home/family/life? Have a bath. There is nothing, it seems, that cannot be cured by closing the door and pouring an essential oil upon troubled waters.

Bath humbug.

I like a bath. I do. I'm just out of one right now. No essential oils - the best we stretch to in the Fibro at present is the one-litre economy-sized Space Bubbles mix. Lots of bubbles. Kid friendly. Smells like bath water. Still, it's not like I didn't make an effort. But I do have one bone to pick with the 'a bath will solve all your troubles' brigade.

Bath toys.

How is a mother supposed to relax in her bathing sanctuary when she is sharing head-room with a small flotilla of dank boats? How is she supposed to light a candle and lie back and think of nothing (and we all know I'm not that great at that bit anyway), when there is a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle figure poised to leap down on her from the tap? How, oh how, is she supposed to get into the whole relaxation mode when she has to clear four aeroplanes, a Batman figure, three cups of assorted sizes, a couple of bubble blowers, a water pistol or two, Ben 10's skateboard and a plastic syringe from the bath before she can fill it?

Everything but the duck.

We have tried many methods of corralling the bath toys. We have strung them up in a net affixed with suction cups. Not enough suction. We have stashed them in plastic boxes, from which they quickly escape. We have culled and re-culled and culled again. Still they breed.

So, yes, here I am, fresh from my bath. Am I relaxed? Am I feeling ready to juggle the work/home/family/life conundrum? No. I am too tired from juggling bath toys.

PS: How cute is this image? It's from barkingbirdart's etsy store, a limited-edition print. Love it!