Flubber

It is a cruel joke. As if I wasn't frustrated enough by blue jeans today, Miles came home from preschool with his jeans and t-shirt each covered with a huge spot of flubber. (If you don't know what flubber is, it is kind of like playdough, but more plasticy and really sticky. )

Every week the teachers at school set out some new tactile projects for the kids. This week one of the projects was trays with little plastic dogs and piles of flubber. I don't know if it was intentional or not, but the flubber is brown and looks just like dog shit. And of course the kids have had a blast playing with the dogs in shit. And I'm sure none more so than Miles who occassionally takes the blue bag from my New York Times and pretends to pick up dog poop in our living room.

The teachers sent home a bag of Borax, that I'm supposed to rub into the flubber to get it out before putting his clothes in the washer. (Apparently the washer will cook it in forever). So I just spent half and hour with the Borax, no luck and have been carving at it with a serrated steak knife for the last ten.

If the flubber was only blue or green or purple, I'd just say what the hell, he's growing quickly, he won't wear these clothes much longer. But no, it had to be dog shit brown. Oh well, gotta get back to my scrubbing.