Raiding the Refrigerator
Our beautiful new house has many fine features for our children. It has a large yard to play in, separate bedrooms to provide privacy, and a carpeted staircase to cushion the landing when someone falls. Perhaps most critically, it has a refrigerator with side-by-side doors. We’ve already placed a “childproof” door lock at the top of the doors, about six-feet off the ground. Even though Abbie can undo the lock, she can’t reach it,* ensuring that the refrigerator stays shut.
We don’t live in that house, though, not for a few more weeks while we remodel. In the meantime, our current refrigerator remains protected by a “childproof” door lock positioned within her reach. Abbie is taking full advantage of this flaw in our security system.
Abbie’s current favorite snack is whipped topping. Yesterday I ran downstairs to switch a load of laundry. When I walked back up the stairs 63 seconds later, she had the tub of whipped topping in one hand, and spoon in the other hand, and the tub’s lid in her teeth after having just removed it. If I had taken 68 seconds downstairs, the lid would’ve been on the floor and she would’ve had at least two spoonfuls of non-dairy goodness in her mouth. As it was, her brothers were swarming the exposed topping, eager to dig the hands right in, or their entire faces if needed to ward off a sibling or two.
I can’t be too critical of their love of whipped topping. When I was a child who was old enough to know better, I sat on the floor in front of an open refrigerator on more than one occasion, and ate raw whipped topping with my fingers. Ellie has similar memories, although with her being a dainty girl, she used a spoon. Now, the kids are giving it back to us in the ultimate revenge: Children who are just like us. I imagine parents who smoke face similar problems in keeping their kids away from tobacco.
When she wants something to drink, she goes after milk. She usually doesn’t grab the gallon jugs, possibly because she’s learned better, but probably because I usually keep sippy cups of milk ready in the refrigerator. She knows which cups have her milk and which ones have her brothers’ milk, and grabs them accordingly.
I often hear her fumbling with the lock, followed quickly by her walking past with the appropriate sippy cup hanging off her lips. The other day, I heard her fumbling with the lock, followed by her repeatedly yelling “een.” When I found her, she was holding a boy’s sippy cup, offering to Ian (“een” in Abbie-ese), who was in my arms. She had thoughtfully given Tory his sippy cup already.
I also keep the refrigerator well stocked with fruit. Abbie has grown adept at looking behind this fruit to find the good stuff, like yogurt. From a health standpoint, there are worse things to eat than yogurt, such as whipped topping. From a cleanliness standpoint, there’s not much worse. The gallons of milk would be worse if they spilled, although that at least stays on the floor while the spilled yogurt habitually finds its way to the television screen.
Being a dainty little girl, Abbie generally has the decency to use a spoon after raiding the yogurt. Being a 2-year-old, though, she has the spoon proficiency of a marmoset on peyote. By the time I find her, yogurt is usually fused to her shirt, in her hair, on the furniture, and likely in a few other places that I’ll discover when we finally move. Hopefully I can keep the yogurt off the carpet in the new house.
* Unless she stands on a chair, but then the chair would block the doors from opening. Bwa ha ha ha!
We don’t live in that house, though, not for a few more weeks while we remodel. In the meantime, our current refrigerator remains protected by a “childproof” door lock positioned within her reach. Abbie is taking full advantage of this flaw in our security system.
Abbie’s current favorite snack is whipped topping. Yesterday I ran downstairs to switch a load of laundry. When I walked back up the stairs 63 seconds later, she had the tub of whipped topping in one hand, and spoon in the other hand, and the tub’s lid in her teeth after having just removed it. If I had taken 68 seconds downstairs, the lid would’ve been on the floor and she would’ve had at least two spoonfuls of non-dairy goodness in her mouth. As it was, her brothers were swarming the exposed topping, eager to dig the hands right in, or their entire faces if needed to ward off a sibling or two.
I can’t be too critical of their love of whipped topping. When I was a child who was old enough to know better, I sat on the floor in front of an open refrigerator on more than one occasion, and ate raw whipped topping with my fingers. Ellie has similar memories, although with her being a dainty girl, she used a spoon. Now, the kids are giving it back to us in the ultimate revenge: Children who are just like us. I imagine parents who smoke face similar problems in keeping their kids away from tobacco.
When she wants something to drink, she goes after milk. She usually doesn’t grab the gallon jugs, possibly because she’s learned better, but probably because I usually keep sippy cups of milk ready in the refrigerator. She knows which cups have her milk and which ones have her brothers’ milk, and grabs them accordingly.
I often hear her fumbling with the lock, followed quickly by her walking past with the appropriate sippy cup hanging off her lips. The other day, I heard her fumbling with the lock, followed by her repeatedly yelling “een.” When I found her, she was holding a boy’s sippy cup, offering to Ian (“een” in Abbie-ese), who was in my arms. She had thoughtfully given Tory his sippy cup already.
I also keep the refrigerator well stocked with fruit. Abbie has grown adept at looking behind this fruit to find the good stuff, like yogurt. From a health standpoint, there are worse things to eat than yogurt, such as whipped topping. From a cleanliness standpoint, there’s not much worse. The gallons of milk would be worse if they spilled, although that at least stays on the floor while the spilled yogurt habitually finds its way to the television screen.
Being a dainty little girl, Abbie generally has the decency to use a spoon after raiding the yogurt. Being a 2-year-old, though, she has the spoon proficiency of a marmoset on peyote. By the time I find her, yogurt is usually fused to her shirt, in her hair, on the furniture, and likely in a few other places that I’ll discover when we finally move. Hopefully I can keep the yogurt off the carpet in the new house.
* Unless she stands on a chair, but then the chair would block the doors from opening. Bwa ha ha ha!
posted by Matt at
10:54 PM
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