Who would have thought it was possible to get whiplash in one’s own kitchen. I was busy preparing the girls’ dinner when I heard a tell-tale thud – the sound of a cabinet door closing. Which meant that it was previously open. And because I know that I didn’t leave it open, that mean that a little someone had opened it, and then closed it. So I turned around and saw Becky at one end of the kitchen and Susie opposite her, both slowly and cautiously opening the cabinet doors and reaching inside. I wasn’t sure which way to leap first, so I shouted “No! Girls!†and Becky slammed the door shut (I’m thankful that at least one of my children has a guilty conscience) and ran in Susie’s direction, successfully preventing her from emptying the contents of the drawer. But by then, Becky had shaken off her guilt and succumbed to her curiosity, once again peeking inside the cabinet. I crossed the kitchen in a single bound (it’s not a big kitchen, but it is large enough that I can’t reach both sides at once) and rescued the pots and pans, just in time to hear Susie pulling open the towel drawer behind me.
I was panting by this point, and dinner still had to be made. So I did what any self-respecting mom of twins would do: I kept yelling “No!†at the top of my lungs while attempting to keep nearby cabinet doors shut with my knees, feet, and spare hand while I hurriedly stuck leftovers in the microwave. I then strapped the kids into their high chairs, stuck lukewarm noodles in front of them, and plunked my flustered self down into a chair.
I think I need a better system. But I’m philosophically opposed to baby-proofing everything, since it doesn’t teach kids how to listen and obey. Check back next week to see if I’ve watered down my philosophy for the sake of my sanity.
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