Refrigerator Raider

I've recently entered the phase of parenting commonly known as "The Refrigerator Rite of Passage." It's when we hand over the reins to this major appliance, never to regain control until such time as we've lost too much bone mass to be able to open it anyway. In short: kiss those cold cuts goodbye.

You childfree folks are going to immediately assume I have teenagers. Not so! That's another refrigerator phase, the "Magician's (Ice) Box Phase" which bears remarkable resemblance to the vanishing item trick for which it's named, except that vegetables seem eerily unaffected.

No, this current phase starts somewhere in the pre-school age range. When they realize that by using every muscle in their little bodies, and an appropriate disrespect for the laws of physics, they can get that huge door open. And that it makes a cool kissing sound when they do.

As Jack climbed the beanstalk just for the fun of it, discovering treasure at the top completely by accident, so do children observe the beckoning plenty that an open fridge has to offer. And, as Jack (ordinarily a good and kind, if dull witted boy) resorted to larceny at the very first presented opportunity, so do children let their fingers wander through the treasures therein.

They have an instinctive knowledge that it's vaguely WRONG to just help themselves, but restraint isn't usually a strong point for four-year-olds. Instead, they try to conceal evidence of tampering while they systematically explore their way clockwise around the various shelves. This is where it gets dangerous. For them AND for us.

I'm sure you can appreciate the idiocy of using glass shelves as a ladder. And leaving footprints, no less. You'd also probably be able to judge that a plastic jug of liquid roughly 2/3 your own body mass isn't the brightest thing to try and abscond with. One-handed.

The resulting LAKE in my kitchen should have been my first clue that I needed to install some sort of locking mechanism on the fridge doors to buy myself a little time. But then, my children inherited their intelligence from ME, so it's a pretty safe bet that the neon sign over my head isn't blinking "genius." I figured it was a fluke.

Then I noticed one day that there was a crayon in the jelly.

God knows WHAT bodily seepages have made it into that formerly safe haven. What wayward fingers have gone from the sandbox (or worse) to the sandwich fixings. All I can be remotely sure of, is that the horseradish has *probably gone un-tampered. But seeing as I can't live off of horseradish, I've experienced some significant un-planned weight loss lately.

I know. Boo hoo.

At least I still have the canned goods.