A Bath for Ten Toes

For parents & caregivers

Inside this story

Jasper's favorite part of bath time is submarine time: lying back with his ears under the water while the house goes soft and hummy, and his rubber octopus Noodle floats on his tummy. Tonight, with garden mud on his knees, he runs for his bath, but the hot water has stopped working. Jasper insists it is warming up, tests the icy tap himself, and sits on the bath mat feeling wobbly and cross. Dad squeezes onto the mat beside him and acknowledges how much he was looking forward to it. Dad keeps the adult limit that the mud must come off before bed, and offers two workable choices: a warm kettle-water bowl in the kitchen or a quick wash at the sink. Jasper first says 'Neither'. Then he chooses the bowl, with his own conditions: Noodle comes, and he washes his own face. The water only reaches his ankles ('My feet are having a bath, and the rest of me is just watching'). When he tries to get his ear underwater, the bowl honestly cannot make the hum. Jasper turns Noodle into a lifeguard 'in charge of toes' and counts his swimming toes, and his held-back laugh finally comes. He still wants submarine night tomorrow, and Dad answers honestly that it depends on the repair. In bed, Jasper hears his own heart through his pillow: not the bath hum, but a little bit like underwater. Flexibility appears as Jasper allowing his disappointment, making a real choice about a different experience and finding his own way to enjoy it, without having to call it better or give up his wish. There is no lecture, reward or moral summary.