Playdoh bakery

Oh little girl. I don’t even know what to say.

There are so many things I hate about play-doh.

The mess.
The smell.
The waste.
The random places I find it.
Those dang crumbs.
The one million accessories.
Crevices that I’m not able to get the doh out of.

You aren’t ever able to open a container on your own… So what normally is supposed to be a “busy activity”, where I set you up at your little table to play alone so I can get something done, always turns into

“Mommy, can you open dis?”

“Mommy, can you play wif me?”

“Here. Taste this butterfly popsicle. You gotta try new food if it might taste go-od…”

There’s a lot that makes it easy for me to hate it.
But mornings like this one make me love it.

…

The kind where your creativity makes my head spin.

I saw how you rummaged through my bake ware cabinet until you found the perfect tins and pans and sheets.

“Dis one’s fur da cupcakes, Mom!”

You made me giggle under my breath when you struggled to figure out that if you move the kitchen rug, your feet gain more traction, giving you more strength to open the heavy oven door.
Your cautious spirit is the sweetest, too.

“Mom, is dis hot in here?”

If I’m letting you play in the oven, it will never be actually hot, Selah. But I love that you ask.

You are THE cupcake timer, and typically, your cupcakes bake for 20 seconds or so.
Great bakers know how to get their customers excited with anticipation, too. You’re at expert level, girl.

“Deez are gonna be so good, Mom! Dey are like berry, berry awesome, and dey taste berry flay-bory.”

I’ll never be able to resist them. Ever. Not like that!

Your sock for an oven mitt? So genius. And I’ll bet, easier to use than what most of us adults have. Those thick squares are not the most ergonomic! I usually always burn myself taking something out of the oven.

I saw how detailed you were making those sprinkles, too. The precision and accuracy you had when you twisted off every tiny piece of doh? There were probably no less than 500 that I swept up later on. But really. Who’s counting?

And thank you for always making it MY birthday. At this point, I should be approximately 74 years old. That wooden skewer that you used as a candle, that you found in that random drawer really was the icing on the cake.

…

I might loathe the mess, but your imagination just makes it all worth it. I mean it. You are something extremely special.