Play Dough Soul

Trying to be a good mom, I took Sophia shopping last night to find the PERFECT toy.  It had to be perfect (within mom's budget of course) b/c it was, well a bribe.  The kind that would sit on top of the fridge and inspire desire and longing so deeply that she would do the deed.  

We came home with store-bought Playdough. The whole she-bang too! Four colors complete with plastic scissors and cheese grater thingys.  Why? I'll tell you why.  I grew up with homemade play dough.  You know--the kind Mom whips-up with food coloring, flour, salt and who knows what else?  Then kept hermetically sealed in a vintage yellow Tupperware?(To this day old Tupperware reminds me of homemade play dough)  Oh yeah, its still around. It made it to my house! Not the play dough, the Tupperware! Those things NEVER die!  

 

In related news, I don't have childhood angst about hand-me-downs or penny pinching. I'm thankful for the budget savvy tips that I grew up with but I guess deep inside is a little girl crying out for real PLAYDOUGH!

Until we tried to clean up!  Thankfully, I caught Sophia before she made it to the carpet! On the bottoms of her shoes all the little pieces flattened into interesting patterns like a wacked-out tie-dye.  Like an ultra-thin Playdough crust, it was embedded in the soles of her new boots (well not new, hand-me-down boots of course.)  

One look at those boots last night and I realized again that its tough to be a mom!  I vaguely remember someone taking a knife to shoes with play dough on the soles, but it certainly wasn't me.  Last night, I didn't have the strength to start.

This morning, I groaned. They were still there.  Waiting for me to use all my mom elbow-grease and magic to restore the practical little shoes.   It wasn't till after Sophia was tucked in for a nap that I got out the butter knife and stared down the shoes. 

 

Scrape, scape scrape, bits of color flying into the kitchen sink.  In the quiet moments, sort of zen like, my mind wandered.  Scrape, scrape, scrape, Play. . .Dough, Play Dough Sole--sounds like a great name for a song or something?  A familiar tune snuck-up on me, from the back of my mind.  One of my favorite musical memories and an artist that supremely shaped my use of words in sound and meaning. 

I began to hum. . . . She's Got Play Dough on the Soles of her Shoes. Scrape, scrape, scrape. Graceland by Paul Simon incorporated South African music during the time when I lived in Swaziland.  The music of hope and freedom when Apartheid was a reality just over the border from my house.  Thinking of this reminded me of that reality and the monumental changes that have happened since.  If Apartheid can fall in my lifetime?  If countries can alter their history? Peacefully?  Right before our eyes?  

My heart went into my throat as it hit me.  We have so much hope to give our children. Suddenly, mid-stroke, the meaningless job wasn't so bad.   In fact, it was perfect.   A moment in life come full circle, perfect note, perfect tune, perfect rhyme.  This is your time baby girl, and I'll do whatever it takes, to give you the world.