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posted by Jessica Pickholz
Not too long ago, an author named Sarah Weeks came to visit Bug and Birdie's school. As a treat, I purchased each kiddo a book. Bug's book was entitled "Pie," and within the story were skillfully woven pie recipes. I don't often have time to bake home-made pies (though I wish I did). However, I promised the Bug that if she did well in school on a test or something like that, I would bake a pie as a reward.
The first math test after that deal was struck resulted in a 92%, and good to my word, a pie was made. We chose the Chocolate Cream pie because it didn't look too difficult and well, it's chocolate. Who could complain? It was really tasty and looked very pretty (small disclaimer: the photo above is NOT my pie. My PC, in its long, slow technological death, lost a bunch of my pictures. Ours didn't look significantly different, however).
Without further ado -- pie:
1 cup sugar
3 tbs corn
2 tbs cocoa
3 cups milk
3 egg yolks
1 tbs butter
In a saucepan,
combine the sugar, corn starch, cocoa powder and salt.
In a separate
bowl, beat the egg yolks and the milk.
Add to the saucepan and blend well.
medium heat, stirring constantly until the mixture thickens. Remove from heat.
vanilla and butter. Pour into a baked
pie shell. Cool. Refrigerate. Serve with whipped cream.
posted by Jessica Pickholz
I hate it when I have to take a break from blog writing because life gets in the way. But that’s just what happened. I guess I figure everyone has their own issues in life, so there’s no need to bog people down with mine. But, someone asked the other day why I’d been radio silent for a few weeks, so I decided it would be better to explain.
We’ve had a lot of stress in our house the past few months. It is mostly financial, as my husband’s firm is dealing with capital issues and constraints and as such, everyone’s salary has been drastically reduced. There’s no need to go into more detail than that. Money worries suck, and they stress you out.
My body’s way of handling this stress was to break out in a rash which covered all of me, except my head, face, neck and vajayjay. It itched like mad. My first plan of attack was to go to the internist, who said it was some kind of allergic dermatitis, and gave me a course of steroids. The first 2 days on the steroids reduced the itchiness greatly, but the rash remained the same. Little red bumps everywhere. After I finished the steroids, the itching came back, and the internist gave me more and stronger steroids. She also told me to go to a dermatologist ASAP. So I did.
My sister’s awesome-yet-very-expensive dermatologist in NYC, Dr. L, sent me to someone here in the ‘burbs named Dr. B. Dr. B is awesome (and really good looking, too boot). He wasted no time guessing what my rash was, but prescribed some steroid cream and took a biopsy from my back. 3 stitches and 2 days later, he called to tell me I had an auto-immune disease called Lichen Planus (think kind of like psoriasis). What really sucks about Lichen Planus (besides the ugliness of the rash and the insane itching) is that its cause is really unknown. Stress is allegedly a “trigger,” but not necessarily a cause. I got a stronger steroid cream and an immuno-suppressant cream. Neither seemed to do much. I took 5 Benadryl a night to get a few hours of sleep. I haven’t a clue how I functioned during the day.
I went to a homeopath who told me (in spite of the pathology report stating clearly that the rash was NOT fungal in nature) that she suspected this had to do with an overgrowth of candida in my body, and told me to stop eating all sugar, wheat gluten, carbs, etc…For 3 weeks, I lived on grilled chicken, quinoa, bacon, eggs. I stopped drinking coffee because sweetening it with maple syrup was disgusting (and that was the only sugar I was allowed). The rash persisted, but on this incredibly limiting diet, the itching stopped – pretty much. Here and there I would have intense itching and literally feared scratching my skin off. I called the homeopath to complain her diet wasn’t curing me – or if it was, it wasn’t fast enough for my liking. She told me to be patient. That’s easy to say when you aren’t a walking Benadryl zombie scratching yourself bloody each day. I did a lot of research online and though nobody had anything conclusive as a cure, there were a variety of suggestions of things that had worked for other people. Most were “natural” cures. I began to take a lot of supplements to see what would happen. How many, you ask? Here’s the list:
1) Black Seed Oil (supposed to be remarkably healing with virtually any illness)
2) Coconut Oil (the Caprylic acid contained in it is a strong anti-fungal)
4) Kyolic Garlic w/Candida Cleanse
5) Calcium/Magnesium + Boron
6) Vitamin C (3000 units per day)
7) Raw Apple Cider Vinegar (I drink 2 tablespoons diluted in about 8 oz of water 3x/day)
All of these things are, in some way, anti-fungal or anti-yeast, or, they somehow make the body more alkaline such that the yeast isn’t able to flourish. About a week after beginning these supplements, I started adding back carbs (though not a lot), and a bit of sugar (in my coffee; here and there in a cookie or some dessert). For the most part, the itching never returned, with the exception of short bouts here and there, mostly at night. About this time I went back to the dermatologist who switched my steroid and immuno-suppressant creams and began me on “phototherapy.” Unlike most phototherapy that I’ve read about in which you take a substance called Psoralen and are then exposed to UVA light, this treatment requires no drugs beforehand and uses one specific wavelength of UVB light. It is done in tiny increments, so your skin doesn’t burn. My first treatment was for 1:33 (one minute 33 seconds). By the 3rd treatment, nearly 70% of my rash had disappeared, and all itching has ceased. I am now up to spending 3 minutes in the light box. Most of my rash has faded – the few spots that remain slightly bumpy don’t itch and I hope with time they will disappear as well with time. Some spots still remain as scars, I guess. They are flat and browner now than the bright red of their itchy days. However, I was still happy enough to wear a short sleeve shirt and shorts yesterday when it was sunny and in the 70s.
I continue to take all of my supplements, because if this rash had anything to do with an overgrowth of Candida, I have no intention of letting it get out of hand again. Meanwhile, my husband is looking into a new business, and while things are still somewhat stressful, I have adapted the approach of simply being positive each day, and knowing that somehow, things will work out in the end.
That all said, I apologize for not having written more lately, or posted more on Facebook and Twitter.
posted by Jessica Pickholz
no bones about it, kids are messy. If
they aren’t getting the mess on your floor or your walls, it’s on their
clothing. Or all of the above. And you have to get the stains out of the
clothing so they can wear it for at least 5 minutes before they outgrow it.
I’m not one of these uber-granola, tree-hugging suburban mommies and I have a packed
schedule, so I’m all for convenience.
Sometimes, it just seems easier to run to Target and pick up some stain
I’ve found that I will often rub stains with whatever commercial product I’ve
bought, wash the clothing, and find it still has the stain in it. In fact, I have washed the Bug and the Birdie’s
winter coats after having scrubbed stain removed into the cuffs (where they get
notoriously dirty) until it seems I've nearly worn a hole in the fabric, or my fingers, only to find after washing that the cuffs are anything but
the original color of the coat. It's f'ing maddening. You go to the washer full of anticipatory joy expecting to yank out a stain free piece of clothing and instead find the only thing you've gained is a case of chemically induced hand eczema and another trip to Target to buy yourself the industrial size Benedryl and your 20th tube of hydrocortisone cream.
I'd like to say that I torture myself with this lost cause of a cleaning routine weekly because I'd do anything for my kids and surely don't want them going to school with clean clothing (or coats) that nonetheless look like they were trampled by an onslaught of hungry piglets on the way to a trough. BUT. A couple of months ago I developed a fairly common, but nonetheless incredibly
irritating auto-immune disorder called Lichen Planus. It basically manifests as a rash that looks
very similar to the measles, or shingles.
The rash is so incredibly f’ing itchy, I’m surprised I haven’t ripped
half of my skin off. Because of this,
the doctor told me to keep my hands away from chemicals and not to soak them
for any period of time in water. I have
kids – so much easier said than done.
But my days of scrubbing stain remover into clothing (at least without
wearing rubber gloves) is over. I mean, for fuck's sake, I can't give myself eczema on top of the lichen planus.
called my mother and she put me on the phone with her housekeeper, Martha, who has been
in our family for 15 years. She told me
2 of the best things for stains are baking soda and white vinegar. Martha speaks Spanish 1000 times faster than
my pea brain can process it, but if I got her correctly, she told me to make a
mix of of Dawn, vinegar and baking soda with water in a spray bottle, spray it
on the stains and then wash the clothing.
like to say I thought she was crocked, but Martha has never failed to get
things clean that I thought were heading to the circular file, so I took her
word for it.
mix I made is as follows:
cup white vinegar
tablespoons baking soda
cups warm water
note, when you add baking soda and vinegar together, they fizz like crazy.
I sprayed this concoction on the cuffs of the coat sleeves, let them sit for
about 5 minutes and washed as usual.
what? The coats came out perfectly and
with virtually no stains at all.
|Dirty cuff (though flash made it appear better)|
posted by Jessica Pickholz
|"Babe" with A. when she was 2|
I'm sure you're all thinking from the title that this post has something to do with baby names, but it doesn't. Though I'm sure I could find plenty to comment about some of the names people have chosen for their children, this is simply to answer a question that somebody asked me which will be informative for the rest of my readers. The question was, "why did you nickname your husband 'babe'?"
The answer: "babe" functions as both a good and a bad word. In olde English, it means baby (as in, "don't forget to feed the babe"). In modern times, it can be taken to mean someone is good looking, or can be taken as a derogatory. If your husband/boyfriend/significant other has just bought you a nice piece of jewelry, well then, "Oh! Babe! I love it!!" seems a perfect response. But if it happens (oh, and it will) that your husband/boyfriend/significant other has made a statement that irks you, for example, then answering with a terse, "Yeah right, babe
, that's just not gonna happen...." makes logical sense. You can see that babe, given the tone and tenor of your statement, could easily be swapped out with asshole or jerk. Dual meaning for complete polar opposites....In that sense, it seems the perfect pet name.
I honestly can't think of another name that works as well. You just can't make honey, cookie, lovey, or baby work when what you mean is f'ing idiot. Besides, honey, lovey and baby are the things I call my kids (usually when I want them to do something for me, as in, "honey, can you grab mommy those papers?").
And so, that is the evolution my husband's pet name.
posted by Jessica Pickholz
I know making meatballs seems easy, and there are many different ways to do it. So, I'm not going to say that this is the only way, or the best way. It's just my
way. The recipe comes from a small restaurant in Northern Italy, just over the border from the South of France. I was lucky enough to get it, having had a lovely conversation with the restaurant owner while waiting for the street market to open again (the street markets close for about 3 hours in order for everyone to eat). So, these aren't just any meatballs, but are authentic Italian meatballs, and take my word for it, they are very, very yummy.
1 lb ground beef (I use 90/10; less fat to deal with)
1/4 cup whole milk (the Italians eat less, but use full fat)
1/2 cup breadcrumbs (I use non-seasoned)
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp oregano
1/2 tsp thyme
1 tbsp. fresh parsley
1/2 tsp. garlic poweder
1/2 tsp. ground pepper
1/4 cup fresh grated Parmesan cheese (this is more expensive than using the pre-made powder cheese, but tastes so much better)
- Mix all of the ingredients together in a large bowl. Using your hands makes for the best incorporation, plus you're going to need them to make the balls, so get messy.
- Roll meatballs just about the size of a golf ball
- Put meatballs into a pot full of marinara sauce (whichever sauce you use; I make my own, but Prego/Rago/Raos or whatever you bought at the market is fine, so long as it covers your meatballs).
- Simmer your meatballs in the sauce for about 3 hours.
- Test to make sure your meatballs are done. They should be soft and fully cooked through.
**Cooking Option: if you're in a hurry and don't have time to simmer your meatballs for 3 hours, that's ok. You can put them in the oven at about 400 degrees for 15 minutes, and then simmer them in sauce for 5-10 minutes. Simmering the meatballs makes them softer (plus they flavor your sauce). Take it from someone who has eaten meatballs hard enough to be thrown, breaking a nearby window. Meatballs aren't meant to be dense, dry, hard and tough. Simmering and sauce are your friends, here.
Serve meatballs over some macaroni product, with a little bit of freshly grated Parmesan cheese. Watch everyone smile.
posted by Jessica Pickholz
mother used to say all the time that she just couldn’t stand stupidity and
while, as a kid, I didn’t get what she was talking about, as an adult, I’m 100%
with her. I see, read and hear stupidity
all the time, and I’m forced sometimes to just shrug my shoulders in
incredulousness and think, “why?”
is totally the case in the article I read yesterday in the Huffington Post
entitled “Raising Your Girl like a Boy.”
The first thing that leaps to my mind is “huh? This is actually some
sort of parenting methodology out there?
WTF!” Followed not too long after
by, ‘why the fuck would you want to raise a girl like a boy?” Don’t get me wrong, clearly society at large
has prized the almighty penis as being the champion of the working world, hence
the disproportionate pay between the two genders. Not that I’ve done any studies or know the
vast majority of the statistics, but my overall perception is that as smart as
a woman is, and as much as she can apply her genius to whatever field she’s
chosen to work in, at some point or another she falls prey to the desire to
reproduce. I’m not saying a woman can’t
work and have a family, (though, I, for one, was less productive at work when
my brain was focused on my biologically-induced “gotta get pregnant” panic). And how a woman works it out after she’s had
kids (to work or stay home; flex hours or work from home; daycare or nanny) is irrelevant
to my point here. The fact that she has
kids means a woman can now be a master juggler; she’s an infinitely more
capable problem solver; she’s got supersonic hearing, eyes behind her head and
the ability, like Sherlock Holmes, to perceive likely events before they
unfold. Who the fuck would want to
|S. wearing Babe's "decorative" football helmet|
there is indeed a parenting methodology of raising your girl like a boy, I
chalk it up to stupidity. Let’s face the
facts: just like time is linear and we can’t bend it backwards, you just can’t
screw with Mother Nature. You can give a
girl the “Dorothy Hammill” haircut and teach her applied mathematics and computer
programming, but that won’t change the fact that she’s got ovaries, and eventually,
they command all.
come from a family of 3 daughters. I am
in the middle. My older sister, L., was
always into fashion and make-up as far as I can remember. And Barbie dolls, which I hated. I was much more the tom-boy; very athletic,
though I had a baby doll that I was addicted to then the way I am addicted to
my coffee now. But I don’t recall my
parents ever steering me towards particular gendered toys or activities. Maybe that was because they got the
fundamentals, like, if your baby has a vagina, at some point her reproductive
organs are going to pump out estrogen faster than Lucille Ball pumped candy
into her mouth in the chocolate factory. Cutting your daughter’s hair and
giving her Legos are no match for the power of those hormones, by which she is
wired to be more nurturing than her male counterparts, and even if you dress
her up in bulky pads and a football uniform, probably won’t have a desire to go
about smashing other kids (male or female) with the full weight of her body
while running with a ball in her hands. Every
afternoon from about 4:00-7:00 pm in my house when my girls are talking to one
another rather loudly about their feelings (aka arguing), as opposed to just
hitting each other a few times and then sitting quietly to watch ESPN, I am
keenly aware that they are female. It
wouldn’t matter if I bloody shaved their heads.
took oodles of dance lessons, and also played soccer, tennis, and was on a swim
team. I lamented my breasts from the
minute they decided to pop out, but was also infinitely aware that my parts
were capable of carrying and bearing children, and that is something I knew I
wanted to do at least 5 years before I had any buds to buy training bras for. In my father’s office, I played with Tinker
Toys and Lincoln Logs and loved to build things. As an adult, I am perhaps more handy than
your average woman. I’m good with wires,
computers, networking, blah, blah, blah.
You can say that is somehow more “male” oriented, and yet, even my fake
boobs aren’t immune to gravity; in spite of 2 c-sections, my bladder control is
nowhere near its pre-baby days ; and no matter how stealth I head towards the
bathroom, I am no sooner perched above the toilet than someone will come to ask
me what I’m doing. No male would have
such experiences. When I look at my daughters, I know what I “built”-- what I
made with my own body -- makes me all girl, in spite of the fact that
people will very often tell me that I’m “the son my father never had.”
as for parents that somehow value a male over a female, to them I say
“phooey.” Life is too short, too fragile
and too precious to be anything other than unbelievably thankful if you have a
healthy baby, regardless of its parts. “Babe”
is a total guy’s guy. He’s all into
sports (all sports, but especially football); thinks that throwing infants into
the air and catching them like a line cook at a pizzeria throws /catches dough
is a good way to illustrate the effects of aerodynamics; in his head could
build a house with his bare hands because he’s amazingly handy and very strong. And yet, when asked once if he was upset that
he had 2 daughters and no son, he stated emphatically no. Because he can’t think of how he would have
raised a boy any differently than he is raising his girls except that he’d have
taught someone how to pee standing up. Otherwise,
he’s taught the girls all about football and baseball and basketball. They love to shoot hoops with him. And they’ve both been with him to Yankees'
games and will point out the stadium every time we pass it. They know the rules of football, and will sit
with him to watch a game, even though they might force him, while watching, to
work the knots out of Rapunzel’s long, fake, blond tresses with an American
Girl Doll brush.
my daughter the other day playing with a set of my nephew’s Dino Morphs. I suppose one would call that a “boy” toy,
but she seemed to be enjoying herself thoroughly. Will I steer her towards more “boy” toys and
activities now? No. Would I stop her from doing any activity or
playing with any toy that she wanted to if it wasn’t going to cause her or any
other kid harm? No. Because I know that in 5-7 years, her
estrogen level will far outweigh any testosterone her body has and she won’t be
able to ignore the fact that she is, indeed, a girl.
what’s my point here? I guess it’s that
I don’t get the concept of raising a girl like a boy. It’s perhaps one of the stupidest things that
I’ve ever heard. I suppose some people
may do it, but the reality is that DNA and hormones are going to determine a
lot, no matter the hairstyle/toys/clothing/nickname mom and dad choose for a
kid. No matter the gender of the kid you
have, if it’s healthy, be happy. Don’t
want for her to be what she isn’t. Let
her play with what she enjoys. At the end of the day, want for you daughters what
my father said he wanted for my sisters and me, and what I want for my girls: to be
decent and honorable people (no penis required).
posted by Jessica Pickholz
Tonight, I feel old and tired. It may be the "severe" vitamin D deficiency my doctor informed me I have (bad enough to require prescription strength pills), or I may just be old and tired. But in any case, I was in no fit state to cook dinner. What I wanted to tell the kids was, "pick whichever cereal you like and go to town." But, somehow I could see their dissatisfied little faces in the back of my head. So I made the next easiest thing -- a frittata. It sounds fancy, and I know of a couple of high highfalutin "French" bistros in NYC that charge around $25 for a piece of this egg pie with a side salad. But in reality, it's almost as easy as whipping up scrambled eggs. And the best part is that you can put nearly anything in it, which makes it very easy to clean the leftovers out of your fridge, thereby killing 2 birds with one stone, which should make any tired mommy feel very accomplished in a given day.
1/4 cup milk or half and half
1 tsp. salt
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
leftovers in refrigerator of your choosing
- In a small bowl, beat the eggs with the milk and salt; put aside
- Saute any "leftover" ingredients that need to be cooked a bit first in 1 tbsp olive oil. So, for example, I sauteed onions tonight, for about 5 minutes. Once those were mostly done, I added in some spinach and then some chopped up salami, then put in a handful of leftover pasta (sounds bizarre, but always comes out tasty) and some leftover barley with broccoli. I tossed that about for around 2 additional minutes.
- After the "needs to be cooked a bit" is ready, pour in beaten eggs over everything.
- Let the eggs set a few minutes (so it'll be firming up on the bottom and around the edges, but still pretty loose in the middle).
- Place in oven either at 500 degrees or on broil. Let the frittata cook until it is totally set.
- Carve frittata into wedges; serve a wedge on a plate with a side salad and a good, crusty roll.
If you don't think you can just throw anything together into a frittata (but really, you can), then I'll give you one of my favorite recipes: Goat cheese, Prosciutto and Caramelized Onion Frittata (note: I have made this, but this one take a bit more time because of the time needed to caramelize the onions).
3 large onions
1/4 cup olive oil
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar or water, optional
8 large eggs
1/4 cup milk
1 teaspoon salt
4 ounces prosciutto di Parma
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 ounces Parmesan, grated
6 ounces goat cheese, crumbled
1/2 cup caramelized onions
1 tablespoon freshly chopped thyme leaves
For the Onions:
the onion into 1/4-inch slices. Add the olive oil to a large saute pan
over medium heat, then add the onions and season with the salt.
until the onions begin to wilt, about 30 minutes, stirring every 15
minutes to prevent sticking. Reduce the heat to low and continue to stir
every few minutes as the onions reduce in size.
If necessary, deglaze the pan with balsamic vinegar or water.
cooking until the onions are dark brown. Turn off the heat and scrape
up any bits that are stuck to the bottom of the pan. Allow the onions to
For the Frittata:
Preheat the oven to 500 degrees F.
In a small bowl, add the eggs, milk, and salt and mix to combine.
Chop the prosciutto into 1/2-inch pieces.
the butter to an oven-safe 10-inch pan over medium heat. Once the
butter has melted, add the olive oil and reduce the heat to medium-low.
the egg mixture into the pan. When the eggs start to set, about 10
minutes, add the Parmesan and prosciutto. Stir gently and dot the top
with the goat cheese.
Place the frittata in the oven until the eggs have set and it's cooked through.
Remove and let cool. Slice into wedges and serve topped with caramelized onions* and little thyme.
* You could also opt to put the caramelized onions in the eggs prior to putting the frittata in the oven
posted by Jessica Pickholz
I am NOT a crafty mom. I admit it, I moved to the 'burbs and didn't even have a glue gun. I had no idea that this was somehow a prerequisite for suburban life, but in one of my daughter's girl scout meetings back in November, the kids were making crafty little ornaments and the troop leader sent out an email to all of the moms asking them to "bring their glue guns..." So I bought one. Since that girl scout meeting I have used it twice -- once to glue some "button" back on the front of my refrigerator and once to glue the front of my brother-in-laws running shoes.
I can see that suburban craftiness has rubbed off on the children, because I found them, along with their cousins, down in the basement just a few days ago with tongue depressors, cut out paper shapes, crayons and school glue. I didn't even know we had tongue depressors in the house -- neither "babe" nor I are physicians, and my limited imagination has me instantly thinking of strep throat when I see them. But the kids used them to glue on paper shapes that they had cut out and colored, in order to make home-made bookmarks. Amazing! I don't think I ever would have thought of this seeing as I'm simply a perpetually overworked, thoroughly exhausted
mother/tutor/chef/chauffeur/sibling squabble arbitrator/doll
surgeon/wife/website programmer. Time to be imaginative clearly eludes me....
Perhaps assuming that being crafty is a necessity of suburban motherhood, I've tried to come up with crafty things to do with the girls. My first foray was last week, when I spied Dr. Drill and Fill laying on the craft table, his play doh cavities all dried out and crumbly. My 5-year-old seemed rather distressed at not being able to give Dr. Drill and Fill's head some sort of hideous periodontal problem, and insisted we needed to run out to buy more play doh. I was reluctant, however, because I loathe spending money on something that I just know will be dried out garbage can filler in a few weeks time. But I thought, it might be less expensive to make play dough, and found a recipe online.
Here's how to make home-made play dough:
1 cup flour
1 cups water
1/2 cup salt
1 tbsp vegetable oil
2 teaspoons cream of tartar
Food coloring or Kool Aid packets
- Pour all of the ingredients into a small to medium sized pot (order doesn't really matter)
- If you're using food coloring, you can add the coloring to the water before putting the water in with the rest of the ingredients
- Stir until mostly smooth. The first batch I did with a spoon, but found little flour pockets. After which I used a whisk...
- Put the pot with the stirred ingredients on the stove over medium heat and stir.
- Keep stirring.
- If you like your pot at all and don't want to replace it, keep stirring even though it will begin to feel like some boot-camp gym class upper-arm exercise.
- When you've got pretty much one big clump, remove the play dough from the heat and put on a cutting board.
- While waiting for play dough to cool a bit (rather then putting your hand on it right away, burning yourself and saying "why the fuck did I think to make play dough..."), stick your pot in the sink and give it a wipe out so it'll be ready for the next batch/color.
- Knead your now-warm play dough.
That's pretty much it. We made 3 batches, in lavender, mint green and red, at which point we'd run out of the tiny size cream of tarter I'd bought at the market. However, the kids have already asked me to make more colors, and no sooner had the dough been made then the 2 of them grabbed some cookie cutters and ran to the playroom to play.
I've heard people store their play dough in baby food containers, which is an awesome idea. My kids are well beyond that though, and seeing as I'm not inclined to buy a dozen containers of baby apple sauce for them to eat during the week, I just went to the dollar store and picked up a set of 5 small containers. They seem to be doing the trick.
So there you have it: the non-crafty mom's guide to making your own play dough.
If you've ever used a different recipe or have suggestions on how to make play dough better, please feel free to comment. And if you think this is a good idea and you tried it and it worked out well for you, then by all means, share the love.
Labels: craft activities, crafts for kids, diy, play dough