One of the gifts we opened a few days ago was a bar of children’s chocolate-scented soap.
I love the scent of a clean boy. I love chocolate. There is, however, something that is jarring to the senses when these two things come together.
Bath time before bedtime is a ritual in our house. In the confines of our small tub, my boys can talk to me about their day. I guess it helps them to speak their mind when they have the full attention of their father. They would weave their stories as i put shampoo on their hair. They would ask questions as I clean the day’s sweat and grime from their bodies. These bonding moments are precious to us. They’re precious because during these times, I am one with them, and them with me.
“Let’s try the chocolate soap!” my son said. We opened the bar and out wafted the smell of sweet chocolate. The smell immediately triggered a visceral response. Hmmm, my mind seemed to say, something smells yummy in here.
Then the more rational part of my brain said, as a matter-of-fact, “Really? Eat chocolate here? In the bathroom?”
Then a memory surfaced, when just a few days ago, we were playing rough-and-tumble in the yard, “I’m gonna eat you!” I yelled, pretending to be a monster, as I slow-ran after a group of squealing and laughing boys.
Then the present crept in and I saw my clean boy, smelling like awfully sweet chocolate. And the images could not mix cordially in my mind. The image actually grossed me out.
(I don’t think I can pretend-play to be a kid-eating monster anymore!)
Whose idea was this to make chocolate scented soap?