Cabinet Lock, Stockpot, and Barrel Opener

Before the twins came, I had more free time to spend on luxurious activities like sleeping and writing clear and concise blog posts. I have to be more efficient with my time now that I have two newborns to care for who never ever sleep unless of course we’re trying to feed them, at which point their bodies go limp as soon as the bottle goes in the mouth and the only way to wake them is to place them in their crib.

One of my luxury activities has been to tolerate Abbie playing in the kitchen cupboards. She only has access to large cooking implements, like cookie sheets and sauce pans, so there’s nothing she could hurt herself with like cleaning chemicals or glass objects, unless she climbs on the kitchen table, which she usually does, but she’s already destroyed everything breakable that we did keep on the table. I used to let her fling pans and plastic containers all over the floor because when I’m cooking I’d rather have her doing that than hovering under my feet trying to make me spill food. The dog already serves as a food-scavenging kitchen obstacle, and she doesn’t need any competition. After finishing my labor of lunch, I would take a few minutes to return the pots to their cabinet, the plastic containers to their cabinet, the pans to their cabinet, return the pots that Abbie just pulled out to their cabinet, and then shoo Abbie out of the kitchen to fling toys all over the living room, or possibly clothes all over her room.

Now that every second is precious, we’ve invested in a sturdy set of cabinet locks. They slide around the handles, preventing Abbie from opening the doors until she reaches an age* where she can defeat the locks. They also force us to slow down when removing an item like a stockpot from the cabinets, requiring us to reconsider if we really want spaghetti tonight, or some taco-like concoction.

At first I felt guilty about locking the cabinets. For months I had given Abbie de facto permission to rummage through our cabinets, and suddenly I shut her out. Then I saw her encounter the locks for the first time, see that she couldn’t open the doors, and leave the kitchen under her free will. Now I can cook in peace, as long as you consider a dog under feet and wailing newborns in another room peaceful, without having to pick up any messes in the kitchen that I didn’t make. That gives me time for other, more important duties, like picking up toys in the living room.

* Probably around 20-months-old.