Sometimes you just have to lay back, close your eyes and admit that you are the system’s bitch.

I concede defeat to the world today and, thusly, give up on work for a day. Like a general whose troops have been slaughtered and he is the last man standing I can honestly say, “My work here is done.”

Sadly, it’ll be there again tomorrow, even dirtier, messier and smellier.

But I get a brief respite. The eye in the storm. A few hours at the beach, so to speak.

Bubbles. I get to make bubbles. The kind that are made using the surface tension created when you mix water with a soap solution. Perfect spheres.

Say it with me everyone. It’s fun. Bubble, bubble, bubble. Bubble, bubble, bubble. No other word in the English language is quite as fun. Except maybe defunct. But that’s another story.

I’m meeting with another mom (or should I say “parent”) to discuss creative ways to make bubbles for the Science Olympiad at Kaitlyn’s school next week. We’ve discussed a few options, but we’ll go in depth tomorrow. Woo hoo!

Now, I’m no expert at bubbles. Sure, I’ve blown a few in my time. I’ve even been able to make some mutant bubbles and some extra large ones. But . . . what else to do? In general, my expertise is in bubbles in the bath, without the benefit of soap.

So, how many variations on bubbles can you make? Scientifically speaking, there just isn’t much that can be done with a bubble without compromising its structural integrity.

That’s where my love of physics is going to come in. I am going to endeavor to make a bubble in extreme conditions where space and time don’t matter.

I will create a black hole in my kitchen and see what effects it has on bubbles. And to see if Teflon is still no-stick in extreme gravity.

Maybe the other parent will get sucked in to it. Because, really, I don’t give a crap about the dance studio she runs. The thought of her in a leotard frightens me, to be honest.