Like Putty In Our Hands

“The kids think I’m old,” my wife told me this morning.

“No, they don’t,” I assured her.

Only the night before I’d overheard Tracey talking with Miss4 about her pre-prep.

“You know,” said Tracey, talking about another little girl in the class, “she’s the one with the really pretty mummy.”

“That’s you, Mummy!” our brown-nosing little daughter reminded her before throwing her arms around Tracey and giving her a big kiss.

How do I know she was just brown-nosing?

Because of this morning’s effort.

Tracey had purchased a four colour set of play dough from a dollar shop to help the kids fill in an hour or two of the holidays. Then, when they’d had their fun and were looking to move on to the next thing, Tracey showed them how to pick the little bits of play dough off the floor, furniture and out of the carpet and hand to their mother.

“This is boring,” Miss6 assured her while Miss4, Master9 and Miss10 silently agreed.

“Well, let me show you something interesting you can do with play dough,” said Tracey. “If you push your finger onto the play dough it leaves an impression of your fingerprint.” The kids gathered around. “Can you see the swirls?”

They could. And soon they were all giving it a go while Tracey explained how each person’s fingerprint is unique.

“I can do my whole hand,” said Miss10, and sure enough soon everyone was, with great results.

Then they moved on from their hands, sitting around the dining table with their mother having a laugh.

“Look at my nose!” said Master9.

“My toes look funny,” said Miss6.

“My forehead doesn’t work,” said Miss4.

“Your forehead is too smooth,” Tracey told her. “You need creases or wrinkles for it to work properly…

…and almost as one, five little hands reached out and slammed their play dough into their mother’s face.

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“Raising a family on little more than laughs.”