Mama Bean wants you to know that $10 bar of soap is sooOOoooo worth it

Papa Bean is exceedingly fond of soaps like Irish Spring and Zest. (Remember the commercials? So Refreshing! So Clean! This soap will change your life!) He likes their texture (?) and smell. He likes that they rinse clean, unlike moisturizing bars, but not too clean, like glycerin soaps. But mostly he likes that you can get a dozen bars for less than $4, including tax. He's frugal, this husband of mine.

I don't mind them. I mean, they get the job done. They are aromatically overwhelming, in a men's cologne kind of way, but I can deal. Obviously, if I had my druthers, we'd be using more expensive, girly soaps. But that would be fiscally irresponsible. Or would it?

My first real job (as in, taxes taken off my paycheque job, not babysitting or teaching piano) was at The Body Shop, over the Christmas season my first year of university. (Yeah, my first job was in university, what of it?) This is where my affection for all things fruity smelling and candy coloured in my bathroom started. Remember the glory that was Satsuma bubble bath? or Dewberry shower gel? Oh, the scents of my youth. I won't get into how I got hooked by a corporate culture only to be disappointed by their future profit motivated direction (Have I told you about the time I worked by Starbucks? No?) But this was the tipping point for my addiction to the embellished showering experience.

I have always loved the whole showering process, but I think it's even more precious now that I'm a mom. The comfort and refreshment and relaxation and cleanliness are enhanced somehow, but I think it's the solitude I treasure most. At least for now (maybe it will change when Bean gets bigger) I can close the door and ignore everyone else but me for half and hour. Heck, ten minutes is a blessing. It's princess time, and it heals me. During the Delirious Early Days, before I discovered nursing pads, I would walk around in the same crusty shirt, dripping breast milk almost constantly, thinking this was good for my nipples or something, I don't know. Showering was the only time I could be milk free. I could just let it drip into the flow and get washed away. My new sticky-free (spit-up free, urine-free) status would only last a half hour at most, but oh what a glorious half hour it was.

Because he loves me, Papa Bean got me soap from Lush for my birthday. He said I deserved to pamper myself. I've never owned anything from Lush before. Growing up, no trip to Ye Quainte Olde Towne of Banffe was complete without a stop at the Lush store. It all seemed far too sophisticated and expensive for me, and I still feel a little intimidated walking in there. I can't imagine how Papa Bean felt going in there all by his lonesome, but he braved it for me, and I'm so glad he did.

Adding to the joy of cleanliness is reason enough to splurge on soap, for me, but now we have compelling evidence for Papa Bean as well. It turns out handmade soaps aren't just luxurious and silky and gloriously scented, it turns out they also last longer. We would go through one of those cheap deodorant bars in a little more than a week. The bar I snaggled from a patient gift at Christmas lasted over six weeks. The hundred gram chunk of chocolate-scented (yummmm...) Lush soap has lasted four weeks already. They even feel more substantial, dense and hard. The irregular shapes from Lush are great because the bumpy surface gives a bit of a massage as you use it. This doesn't make them cheaper than the cheapest-soap-evAR, but it does make the price tag easier to swallow. It also means my birthday present is going to last a long time. By the time I've used it up, I'll have enough money to buy some more. And that is enough about soap for one week!