Sentences with phrase «before running a bath»

Have everything you need before you run the bath water.

Get your dog's special shampoo ready beforehand and give him a chance to see and sniff it before you run the bath.

Not exact matches

Run your child's bath for him before he gets in the tub.

That helps dry the mucus membranes, and then, before bedtime, I often give them a little warm bath or put them in the bathroom with the shower running to let the bath get steamy, but no products for children should be used with any honey under the age of one year, so make sure that you're reading labels.»

Cool formula to ensure it is not too hot before feeding your baby by running the prepared, capped bottle under cool water or placing it into an ice bath, taking care to keep the cooling water from getting into the bottle or on the nipple.

If your daughter wakes up in the middle of the night she may have to use the restroom or need to be changed sleeping in a soiled pamper or pull up runs a great and high risk for unnecessary rashes that in turn in to yeast infection then your doctor will have to prescribe something like nystatin its a topical ointment that immediately solves the problem however a warm bath bedtime story and a good healthy meal before bed should be a regular routine and depending on age they should sleep comfortably through out the night but never neglect your child's basic needs because your hard up for a nap or in need of sleep

If you do use a bath, make sure the tub is clean before you run it.

Before giving her baby a bath at night, sit with her baby in the bathroom with a hot shower running to create a steam room.

As your kids run around the house in various stages of undress before bath time, pour bubble bath into the tub and watch as the bubbles grow larger and larger.

For a long time, I filled my children's bath from the shower head so that the water would run through the filter to remove the chlorine before finding a better way.

This one will likely make you very tired, so run this bath before bedtime.

Before H.G. Lewis was bathing in cheap stage blood and flipping stomachs at drive - ins everywhere and the same year that Alfred Hitchcock ran chocolate sauce down the drain while a sort - of nude Janet Leigh screamed, there was director Sidney (BURN WITCH BURN) Hayers» wonderfully pulpy and surprisingly sadistic CIRCUS OF HORRORS, a Grand Guignol shocker with a campy cruel streak that was far ahead of its time.

The neon - bathed luxury B - movie approach to «Drive» had surprising mileage, but his latest picture feels thematically and tonally exhausted long before it reaches the final stretch of its measly 90 minute running time.

I am starting to find I have to make a point to go out of my way to read, I go into town an hour early before work to sit in a coffee shop with a book or more often read in the bath, at home if I am not busy being a mum and running the house or at the day job I feel I need to be at the computer either writing on catching up on blogs and social media.

Now, before you open your front door and run for the hills, let me tell you that bathing your cat does not have to be a complete nightmare!

Also bring plenty of towels to the bathing area so you can dry your dog thoroughly before he runs off.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,

Now that sounds like a plan... right after bathing the dog and posting my sister's birthday gift and before running errands.