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The perils of Play-doh

September 11, 2009

Becoming a mama has been a lesson in a lot of things for me. I’ve had to learn not to cringe when a paint-covered hand comes flying my way for a hug. I promised myself a crust-free kid but she has, on rare occasion, pranced through the Century City mall with Breadbar leftovers on her little face and I have learned to deal. I am slowly getting used to the obscene amounts of sand that trail us home from the beach. But the biggest challenge for a tidy-a-holic like me has easily been the perils of Play-doh. Little D was hooked from first squish and now we are the proud owners of the mega-box from Target, 20+ different colors, tools, even a Play-doh purse for portability. I am down with the creativity, I see her little brain working as she turns snake into Santa into strawberry and I love it. So why is it that I dread pulling out the box and opt for Crayolas and chalk with gusto instead? Because that same little tidy-a-holic mind is also a bit of a control freak now and then and something about Play-doh colors mixing together, especially when you can’t un-mix them right back up, just does me in. Each and every time. And of course, it’s the only way Little D knows how to play. Red meet blue. Green meet orange. Yellow meet black and meet red too, while you’re at it. They all meld together in one big Play-doh party and while she squeals with delight, I am left cringing on the side and spending all my time trying to pick pieces of purple apart from pink before packing up the kit for the day. No wonder Play-doh’s texture can (and in this house, does!) double as a stress ball. Coincidence? I think not.

My own private the little hands of Little D

My own private the little hands of Little D

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