Doh

I have an aversion to Play-Doh. Don't get me wrong, I used to love the stuff when I was the one playing with it. In fact, I have a very fond, vivid memory of sitting on the deck pushing Doh into little plastic men. The little men shot Play-Doh out of their heads so I could cut it off with little plastic scissors. That was a fabulous toy. Now when I touch Play-Doh, I can't help but gag at the awful smell. I have nightmares about the little pieces that fall off and get stuck in beige carpet. The type A in me shudders at the thought of the colors getting mixed. Ugh Play-Doh, fun for kids, panic attack for mothers.

So I bought Mads some Play-Doh. Hey, fond memories are worth a few heart palpitations.

I made cats and puppy dogs:

And Mads made smooshed Play-Doh:

Only a tiny bit of green ended up mixed with the orange, so the whole ordeal was less stressful than I had thought it would be. I guess Play-Doh isn't that bad. Well, as long as it's done outside of course, and with an adult close-by to keep the colors separated.