F#*K You Play Doh

First off, let me start by saying ‘F#*k You Play Doh.’ Now I know you are like ‘Damn, why did you just go after Play Doh like that?’ I get it, Play Doh is fun and it lets our kids be creative.  They get to squish it between their fingers or make food they want you to eat or build something from their imagination.  All that is awesome, why wouldn’t it be?  I’m sure you are thinking that I don’t like the Doh because it gets everywhere and is a pain in the ass to clean up, or that I hate putting all the colors back into the appropriate containers.  Wrong!  Those are strong reason to not like the Doh, but I don’t like for another reason.  I don’t like its consistency.  Confused?  No worries, just sit back and let me blow your mind.

I firmly believe that Play Doh was created as a big joke on parents.  It’s like when you drop you kids off at your in-laws and you ask that they don’t give your kid any sugar.  Then as soon as you leave, the first damn thing they do is give you kid sugar.  Not something normal like a cookie, but something you would see in the back aisle of a gas quick mart simply called ‘Cake Bomb’. Like some shit that was made from the batter of a blended cake, deep-fried in ice cream (yep, I said it), covered in sprinkles, and then baked into another cake like a fucking turducken.  You know what I’m talking about.  (Damn it, these rants are getting longer.  Sorry).  As I mentioned earlier, the issue that I have with Doh is the consistency.  Why would I care about that?  Well, what has the same or similar consistency as Doh???  Think about it… Yep, toddler shit.  I’ll give you a minute to let that one soak in.  Yes, toddler (and baby) shit has the same consistency as Doh.  So basically what we are doing by letting our kids play with Doh, is prepping them to want to play with their own shit.  I didn’t believe it myself, but after the ‘incident’ with my son and the ‘horror’ with my daughter, I have no doubt those fuckers who create Doh know what they are doing.

The first ‘incident’ happened with my son.  Dude was close to 2 years old at the time but already was exposed to the Doh, and obviously, he loved it.  I remember ‘incident’ day like any other.  I fed little man and then put him in his bed to take a nap, no issues no worries.  I go back to doing whatever I was doing and didn’t give it a second thought.  Around his normal time to wake up from a nap I start to hear some rumblings, as I normally did, which let me know he was up playing around in his room.  I head upstairs and open his door and I’m immediately hit with a smell.  You know the smell of like Bigfoot shit Indian food into a diaper and then set it on fire.  I see him sitting in front of his dresser playing with something.  I make my way over and he has no shorts on, diaper off, and there is shit everywhere.  Bruh, this dude had rubbed shit on himself, on the dresser, on the bed, and into the fucking carpet.  This little mother fucker rubbed it IN TO THE CARPET.  I freeze in my tracks as I assess the situation and just yell to my wife ‘KAYLA, GET UP HERE NOW.  I NEED YOU.).   She comes up stairs to see me standing there with a blank stare on my face, and then she turns to look into the room.  Her first reaction, laughter.  She starts fucking laughing like this is some funny shit.  I then pick up my shitty boy and hand him to his mother and just dive straight into damage control, which turned out to be no easy task.  There was so much smeared shit in that room, that I have no doubt that there is still a dried finger swipe of poop somewhere that I missed.  Oh well, can’t win them all.

If you have never lived through one of these situations then I salute you.  You are lucky enough to not know the horrors of smeared toddler shit or the smell or the taste… (Just checking to see if you’re still paying attention) but like all things, time heals all.  Time passes by and we have our beautiful baby girl and go straight back into baby mode where we think everything is cute.  We forget all the trouble of the first baby, and become more relaxed as parents (second kid slump).  Since my daughter is my sweat little baby girl, I make sure I spoil her with everything.  She has more stuff then she needs or will ever really need.  I know, first world problems.  Of all these things, Play Doh is now like the number one thing in her life.  So we now have the freaking mac daddy of Doh collections, so much so, that we have one of those 80 gallon (or something like that) bins for all damn Doh.  I just stand back smiling like an idiot about how much fun they have with the Doh, not fully understanding that it was created to destroy the innocence of being a parent.

The ‘horror’ with my daughter, or what I affectionately call ‘shitcuum day,’ started like just another day.  I was home with both kids and I was taking care of a few things throughout the house while the kids played.  I was upstairs at the time folding some clothes while the kids were where downstairs playing with toys.  I remember hearing the normal clicking and clacking of toys as I put clothes away.  I finished what I was doing and headed back down stairs to see my baby girl playing with her toy Dyson vacuum.  I do a quick double take and quickly notice her diaper is off, and that she vacuuming something.  ‘What is that?’ I say.  Oh no, IT WAS FUCKING SHIT.  ‘Are you kidding me? Are you freaking kidding me?’ I say aloud.  She just looks up with a big smile and says ‘Daddy I cleaned it. I cleaned it.’  I can’t even fully assess the situation because I immediately revert back to my previous training and grab her, run her upstairs to her bathroom, and put her into the tub.  She is smiling and laughing while I am picking little pieces of toddle shit off her body and out of her hair while trying not to throw up on top of her head.  I get her cleaned up and in fresh clothes before heading back downstairs.  After a full assessment of the situation, I get a clear picture of the ‘shit’ I’m up against.  There is shit on the walls, on the floor, on the area rug, and gummed up inside and all over this toy vacuum.  She actually vacuumed her own shit into the micro crevices of the floor and ingrained it into the carpet nearby.  I’m like ‘WTF man.’  No spouse assistance on this one because my wife is at work, so I have to go in solo with the bleach wipes and carpet cleaner.  ALONE, just the corn nuggets and me.  I’ll never condone giving your kid the beat down, but in that moment I can honestly say I needed all of the strength from the 8 pound 6 ounce newborn baby Jesus to help me to keep my composure.  So, I think it goes without saying… we don’t keep much Play Doh around this house anymore.

Also, if you kept that question in the back of your mind ‘How does he know the consistency of shit?’ well there you go.  Two time loser.  So please, if we are ever talking about our kids and I answer a question with ‘Yea, I’ve seen some shit.’  Believe me that I have seen… some… shit!