Diary Of A Threenager: Bubbles

Sarah Jarman - 3 Sep 18

Life is Good. September has rolled around and we are back home which means Mummy can’t wriggle out of the kid’s birthday parties by using the excuse ‘we are away’. We are not, nursery is about to begin, and the birthday party invites are rolling in. The parties roll in and that means the party bags roll in, and the only thing better than the cake inside them is the…. BUBBLES.

What is there not to love about bubbles? To begin with they come in tiny little plastic bottles that are so bright and colourful, with tiny little plastic wands, everything my Mummy has band since she went all ‘trying to save the earth’ weird. I would like to pause to say, Mummy, we are not fooled. You go on and on about no more plastic toys, yet I see you, at the start of the month, in ‘make up city’ buying those tiny tube of that skin coloured stuff you whack on those dark circles under your eyes. What is it for exactly? Highlighting those wrinkles under your eyes? I mean it covers up the dark circles you complain about always and then it just sits in your wrinkles. Well, I guess if I was as old as you I would be proud of making it so far too and would want to show off my wrinkles, but seriously, buying plastic for it? THEN not allowing me to buy bubbles. Hypocrite.

I went to a party yesterday and sure enough came home with a little bag of treasure and right at the bottom, a beautiful purple tub. I would have liked it to be pink, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. We went to Grandma’s house after the party and Mummy made me wait until we got there before I could blow any? Why? I’m sure little balls of rainbows floating past Daddy’s line of sight would make driving through town much more interesting. I tried screaming to make her change her mind, it didn’t, stubborn mare. 

At Grandma’s I couldn’t wait to get the bubbles going, but the adults kept going all safety psycho on me. ‘Don’t blow those bubbles in the kitchen, it makes the floor all slippery,’ ‘Don’t try and catch the bubbles by the fire pit, you might get burnt.’ Fire Pit??? Who the hell lights a firepit in a four-meter square courtyard with a three-year-old nearby? If an accident happened they would only have themselves to blame, don’t blame it on the bubbles. So yeah, you get it, I had to blow my bubbles and then try and catch them without actually moving an inch. NOT POSSIBLE. I tried, I really tried, but then I stretched too far, and all the liquid spilt all over my party dress. My party dress was totally ruined, AND I had to lend my spare dress to my friend at the party so then I was wet WITH NOTHING TO WEAR. So not impressed! I shouted at Mummy until she fanned me dry, it was only then that I realised MY BUBBLES WERE EMPTY!!!!! The whole precious pot, gone. Well, I didn’t really care if we were ‘in company’ or if we were ‘at someone’s house and we need to be on our best behaviour’ my bubbles were empty! I obviously wasn’t going to sit there quietly and let it happen! 

In the end my Grandma mixed me up some more with liquid and water. I’m not going to lie to you, they were rubbish. I tried to be polite and smile and thank her, but yeah, one bubble every three blows doesn’t exactly make a good bubble blowing ratio now does it? Pants. Oh well, another party next Sunday, let’s just hope for more bubbles, because SHE isn’t going to buy me anymore. 

Sarah Jarman

Primarily a Mum, aspiring Author, Freelance Writer and Artist, Blogger, Foodie and Jewellery Designer just having fun doing all the things I love! My portfolio available to view over on my website www.saspsdesigns.com

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