Potions in the Bathroom Sink

After our autumn morning hypnosis of Halloween cartoons, I convinced my younger sister to brew a potion with me in the bathroom 'cauldron.' We hovered over the sink as it filled--our bare feet sharing the tooth-brushing stool. As the eight-year-old, I was the master witch; I had to instruct my apprentice, who had much to learn at three years my junior. I reached for the baby powder.

"Crushed skeletons," I said, dumping in the first ingredient.

We stirred with our tiny hands--delighted by the goopy texture. Witch Jessi popped a large bubble, sending a puff of powdered bones into the air.

"Those," I informed my trainee, "are frog-neck-bubbles."

She responded with a ribbit, and we mixed, popped, and croaked until the water looked like milk. We scanned the counter for our next ingredient. Our eyes landed on Mama's jar of pink fragrance beads. Usually, they would melt in an electric wax warmer, but today they were mermaid scales. How pleasantly they scented our recipe!

The magical scales clung to our skin--transforming us into our favorite Disney character. Soon, our tail fins would grow, and we could lead Flounder on deep-sea adventures. First, we had to complete our concoction.

Witch Jessi procured a shiny, blue bath pearl from the drawer. "Eyeball of fish," she said proudly. She dropped it in with a satisfying plop.

"Bubble, bubble. Double trouble," I chanted ominously--wiggling my fingers over the cauldron.

Witch Jessi followed suit. It mattered not that the words were wrong, for the eye melted and turned our potion powder blue. How could it have been any more lovely? In possibly the most significant ah-ha moment of my childhood, I grabbed Mama's glittering, gold eyeshadow. Too young to comprehend the expense of quality makeup, we scrapped the pearlescent powder into our mixture. We marveled at the splendid aquamarine shimmer of our finalized potion.

I announced to Witch Jessi that she was no longer an apprentice. I had taught her everything I knew. We celebrated with witchy cackling. Then, entered Mama.

"What," she said in a crisp, even tone, "are you doing?" Her eyes darted to the eyeshadow, and her jaw set.

We sensed the anger. Our smiles vanished.

In my sweetest voice, I said, "We're making potions."

Mama sighed and gave a little smile. She took the toothpaste, mouthwash, and shaving cream from the cabinet. "No more makeup. No more wax," she said firmly with a pointed finger. "Only these." She gestured to the items she lay before us.

We nodded, then she kissed us atop our heads before descending the stairs. Witch Jessi and I grinned. The magic would continue.