I really had a sad, sad childhood devoid of joys such as Barbie dolls, My Little Ponies, Strawberry Shortcake, and Play-Doh. Play-Doh was an especially contentious past-time because my Mother was convinced the stuff was a tool of the devil, sent to ruin carpet and furniture and make her clean for hours. One year for Christmas, my older cousin took pity on my poor little soul and gifted me with two wondrous jars of ooshy, gooshy joy. We weren't even to the car before the Play-Doh police were called and my happiness was confiscated.

And that is why I know this photo is enough for my Mother to turn over in her grave:

I am such a cool Mom. I bought Play-Doh months ago when daycare kept reporting that Alexis really loved playing with it. I've previously mentioned that whoever wrote the "loves Play-Doh!" notes must have been smoking crack, but lately Alexis has actually started to let me play with her. It's like a dream come true. We've rolled it, cut it with cookie cutters, and cooked it like you probably expect. When Alexis started to take our make-believe a little bit too seriously and began to taste-test her creations, I thought it was time we find some new ways to play.

So we started making impressions of stuff. Her nose, my nose, shoe bottoms, rocks, chairs, doll feet, dog feet, cat feet (don't try that one at home, you'll have to just trust me on that), dog noses, cat noses, cat ears, we've done it all. I don't know how she feels about it, but I've been having the time of my life.

Now if only she would let me play with the Legos . . .