I've blogged about it, Twittered it (follow cadee52), Facebooked it, and I still haven't found it.
For those not wanting to click around: On Sunday, three little girls were given four tubs of colorful Play-doh to play with. At the kitchen table.
And they were really good with it, most of the afternoon. Until one of them mixed all the colors together, and made a big grey-ish purple Play-doh pizza with it.
Which she brought into the grownups and offered some for us to "eat." Which we pretended to do.
I thought she had taken the "pizza" back to the table.
I was wrong.
After the little girls left, I started post-visit cleanup. But at the kitchen table, there was no Play-doh to clean up.
I wasn't too worried ... at first. I figured it was under the table, or at worst, back in the TV/office room, where they'd been playing "bookstore." (With my books, but that's another story.)
I was wrong.
I've spent two days searching for that Play-doh, and I've found not a crumb. Not. One. Crumb.
I've looked upstairs and downstairs, under things and over things, inside things, and beneath things. I've looked in toy boxes and toy kitchens. I've looked in bedclothes, in bathtubs, in wastebaskets. I've looked in cupboards, in TV stands, in cabinets. I've look in bookshelves. In BOOKS.
I've looked in all these places ... THREE TIMES.
Some have suggested that it's been "stored" in a toilet. Well, I've flushed all the toilets, and they all work--you'd think the entire drainage system of the house would be backed up if they'd put the Play-doh down it.
Others have suggested that the "pizza" was, perhaps, consumed by the little girls. But these are very, very little girls ... who'd rather eat fruit snacks and bananas ... I can't see them eating four tubs of Play-doh without us noticing. Or them throwing up.
I've asked the little girls.
I called Kenna. I CALLED A TWO-YEAR-OLD. I asked, "Kenna, where is the Play-doh?" And Kenna just said, "Upstairs."
I had Greg ask Taylor and Caroline. Caroline said, "I don't remember, but I will find it when I come over next time." Taylor just brought him the Play-doh from HER house and made him play with it.
Somewhere in my house, Play-doh is lurking.
It's hardened now, I'm sure--cast forever into the shape of that pretend pizza, shrouded in some darkened corner, lightly scenting the air around it with that distinctive plastic smell, waiting patiently for me to find it. Or, in some Kingesque twist ... for it to find ... me.
So I'm left with ... just where the HELL is that Play-doh?