Sentences with phrase «enough time for bathing»

Make sure she has enough time for a bath, a story, and some quiet moments before the lights go out.

Not exact matches

By the time your child is independently sitting and ready to play, there isn't enough space for them to enjoy bath time thoroughly.

Bubbles are inexpensive, create minimal mess, and if you use enough of them, can be a substitute for bath time (kidding... I think).

This worry is obviously often much worse for first time parents who are suffering from first time jitters, and who are worried about whether or not their child is eating enough or too much, if their bath water is hot enough to get burnt, and when the child feels a bit «under the weather».

If a babysitter shows up for a night of baby food feeding, bath time and playing blocks on the floor in a skin - tight cocktail dress, sky high heels, a ton of makeup and enough perfume to make the entire family gag, there may be a little crush going on.

Stage 4 removes all inserts and leaves your tub roomy enough for your toddler to play during bath time.

Even though these tubs are smaller than standard size, they were still big enough to give both of my kids a bath at the same time for maximum efficiency.

Since bathtubs are made to hold water, ensure that you go for a baby bath time that will hold enough water to bathe your baby.

Also flea shampoo is easy to use — it can simply be subbed in for your usual dog shampoo at monthly bath times and requires less maintenance than getting your pup to take a tablet every morning, or to stay still long enough for the spot - on treatments to be administered.

This big - enough - for - two bath was designed for use any time of day — an early morning soak, an afternoon respite, or candlelit evening dip.

Pros: Romantic atmosphere, wonderful whirlpool bath tub big enough for 2, fun bartenders, gorgeous beach very clean, food was great Cons: No honeymoon extras or upgrades available, nonalcoholic drinks served on the beach you must request alcoholic ones, was offered weed and other drugs over 15 times from «cigar sellers» very annoying!!!

, 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,