To have your bubble burst is to endure some disappointment. To be bubble wrapped is to be protected. If you have a notion that is so overt that others can see it, it’s in a thought bubble.
To be isolated is to live in a bubble.
And to entertain grandchildren, it’s hard to beat bubbles. Katy brought her tribe over today, and for a time the two older grandkids (how’s that, Tristan and Nikalya—at 1 ½ and 3, you’re “older”) were enthralled for a time with bubbles that Katy was blowing.
Her breath wore out long before the fascination did. I think the random magical movements of bubbles, and their ephemeral character, are partly what draws us and kids to them so much.
It was amusing to see Nikayla take up a toy racquet to attempt to use it as a bubble catcher-striker. We were cautioning her, but fortunately there was no incidental Tristan bonking. I honestly was a bit more worried when Tristan emulated his older sister—he’s both less predictable and quicker, not to mention surprisingly strong—but there was no incidental Nikayla bonking, either.
I think about the only injury the whole evening was when Nikayla bit her own tongue while eating, that was a very short-lived incident, soothed by cold milk.
Well, I hope if you get creative with your thought bubbles, you won’t end up with your bubble being burst. Why do I hear the theme from “Lawrence Welk?”