This past winter I was quite proud of myself when I bought a plastic storage container in which to keep our tubs of Play-Doh along with their accessories. At long last. Play-doh. Contained.
It worked rather nicely for the winter months. Of course, when the little guys were through playing, there were always bits of Play-Doh on the table and the floor, and of course the brilliant colors always wound up mixed into a single shade of pukey brown, but at least the “stuff” part of Play-Doh had a neat and orderly place.
With the warmer weather, we haven’t played with or even thought about Play-doh for months now. But this morning, Raphael was inspired.
“I need to make something with Play-Doh,” he announced.
We brought out the Play-Doh box and he set to work. And along came Daniel. I don’t know if he was too small to be interested a couple of months ago or if we always managed to play with it during his nap times, but this morning Play-Doh was a brand new concept. And he wanted in.
“Miiiiiiiiiiiine!” he declared in typical gentlemanly fashion as he lunged toward the table.
I set him in a chair at the table next to his brother. I gave him his very own tub of pukey brown squish and a few plastic tools with which to work.
“No,” I told him as he mouthed a chunk of the dough and grimaced. “It’s for playing, not eating.”
He poked at the dough with fat fingers and stabbed at it with a plastic rolling pin. Okay. He got it.
Satisfied, I returned to the breakfast dishes. Moments later, though, when I heard his small voice call out from the table, I doubted my success.
“Mmmmmm,” he said. “Pass the pepper!”