You say potato...

This week we dumped out every last piece of play dough apparatus, threw colors and caution to the wind, and played until the dough was a lovely purplish black.

Dani learned the hard way that the stray grape-flavored Nerds from Halloween and the straggling remnants of play dough look exactly alike against the backdrop of the kitchen floor.

And ever since the ill-fated day I said yes to the mess, no less than five times a day, I hear these words. "I want to p'ay potato, Mama. We get out da potato now?"

She says potato. We say play dough.

Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe.