The Mix

The oils are weighed and mixed in the pot. 

The lye water has cooled to its optimal temperature. 

The molds are carefully lined. 

It is time.


We have a system.  It goes like this.  Nancy stands by the oil pot with the mixer in her hand.  I take the lye water out of the sink where it has been safely stored.   I wipe the condensation off the pitcher and carry it – careful now – to its destiny.

I hold the pitcher over the oil, tip it slowly, and say, “This is my favorite part.”

There are lots of amazing things about making and using soap you’ve made with your very own hands, and in your very own kitchen.  But, The Mix, now that is cool.  My favorite part indeed.

But, it was just the other day, after who knows how many batches, that I realized, much to my embarrassment, that I say that EVERY TIME. 

“This is my favorite part.”  “This is my favorite part.”  “This is my favorite part.” 

Oh, really?  I guess I KNEW THAT ALREADY!!

How indescribably boring and unnerving for my sweet wife to have to hear this every time.  And stupid of me to keep subjecting her to this monotony while said sweet wife is holding a potentially deadly mixer in her hand. 

But, to be perfectly honest, the moment the oil and water hit is neat, but I’m not even saying my cute little mantra at the right time.  It’s the two or three seconds after the mixer spins to life that are really cool.  I’ve tried to get a photo of it, but it’s just too fast, too amazing, too killer awesome for the camera to accurately capture. 

Oh well, as long as everyone knows it’s my favorite part, I’ll be okay without the photo.