Our house doesn't have a pantry so our food kind of just sits around here and there. At first we tried to devote a cupboard or two to food but it just wasn't sufficient to hold enough food for a family of five. Especially a Mormon family that feels the need to always have five jars of peanut butter on hand.
This was fine until Benjamin realized the world was his to explore.
Now soup cans double as really heavy blocks and our bin of flour is a puzzle that Benjamin is constantly trying to figure out how to crack (I will live to rue the day, I'm sure) and cereal and crackers are whispering to Benjamin that it's snack time all the time.
And the applesauce. Oh, the applesauce.
I make my own, that's true. And that stuff goes up on an unreachable shelf because it's all in glass jars, which make less handy blocks than soup cans. But we also buy it from the store because my kids love applesauce and go through it fast and I don't have enough jars to keep them satisfied. The store applesauce comes in a plastic jar and is stored within reach of Benjamin's ever-searching fingers and he pulls it out several times a day.
"Appy-sauce?" he'll ask.
I usually let him play with the jars because compared to other things he gets into, plastic jars of applesauce is nothing.
Well, the other day he'd gotten out the applesauce again. He even got out a bowl and a spoon and sat at the table. "Appy-sauce?" he asked.
"Not right now," I said. "We just finished breakfast. I need to do a few things before I get you a snack."
A few minutes later I noticed he was actually eating—because he started choking.
"Benjamin!" I exclaimed, rushing over. "What are you eating?!"
"Appy-sauce," he explained hoarsely before he started chewing again.
I could hear whatever it was gritting in his teeth and he was covered from head to toe in fine brown powder. Then I noticed the shaker that houses our cinnamon and sugar mixture on the floor, along with a healthy pile of the stuff. There was cinnamon and sugar sprinkled all over the table, all over the bench, all over Benjamin. His bowl was filled with cinnamon and sugar and he was eating it by the spoonful.
My two-year-old was attempting a sugar-downed version of the cinnamon challenge!*
"No, no, no!" I scolded. "How did you get this down?! You can't just eat a bowl of cinnamon and sugar!"
"Appy-sauce," Benjamin explained, licking his lips. "Ummy, ummy."
My question about how he got the cinnamon and sugar down was answered by the presence of the bathroom stool by the kitchen counter. Blast that stupid, stupid stool! He's always dragging it around and getting into mischief and it feels like either Andrew or I are constantly putting it up high in "time out," but somehow it always ends up back in circulation.
I cleaned him and his mess up and thought we'd put that little experience to rest. Unfortunately, the very next day at lunch his sisters decided to make cinnamon and sugar toast (using the bowl of cinnamon and sugar that Benjamin had defiled the day before) and the bowl of cinnamon and sugar was sitting on the table. I excused myself from the table for a minute and when I came back I found that Benjamin had exchanged his bowl of yogurt for the bowl of cinnamon and sugar while his sisters looked on, completely carefree.
At least I was able to stop him this time before he'd done too much damage!
And sometimes, just because half of what I read are nursery rhymes, I find myself replacing my life story into the pages of Mother Goose. We recently (because February is definitely recent) acquired Richard Scarry's Best Mother Goose Ever and inside was a nursery rhyme that I had never heard before—probably because it's a little inappropriate (I'm sure Josie as well as our dear friend Dan, Dan, the Welshman will agree!) but it's unfortunately also incredibly catchy and my children think it's hilarious. It's Taffy was a Welshman, in case you were wondering; here's my verse about Benjamin:
Benji was a toddler, Benji was a burglar;
Benji blitzed the pantry, stole the cinnamon and sugar.
I scowled at Benji's mess, he began to weep.
I handed him the broom and said, "Better start to sweep!"
*Don't worry; he's fine.
This was fine until Benjamin realized the world was his to explore.
Now soup cans double as really heavy blocks and our bin of flour is a puzzle that Benjamin is constantly trying to figure out how to crack (I will live to rue the day, I'm sure) and cereal and crackers are whispering to Benjamin that it's snack time all the time.
And the applesauce. Oh, the applesauce.
I make my own, that's true. And that stuff goes up on an unreachable shelf because it's all in glass jars, which make less handy blocks than soup cans. But we also buy it from the store because my kids love applesauce and go through it fast and I don't have enough jars to keep them satisfied. The store applesauce comes in a plastic jar and is stored within reach of Benjamin's ever-searching fingers and he pulls it out several times a day.
"Appy-sauce?" he'll ask.
I usually let him play with the jars because compared to other things he gets into, plastic jars of applesauce is nothing.
Well, the other day he'd gotten out the applesauce again. He even got out a bowl and a spoon and sat at the table. "Appy-sauce?" he asked.
"Not right now," I said. "We just finished breakfast. I need to do a few things before I get you a snack."
A few minutes later I noticed he was actually eating—because he started choking.
"Benjamin!" I exclaimed, rushing over. "What are you eating?!"
"Appy-sauce," he explained hoarsely before he started chewing again.
I could hear whatever it was gritting in his teeth and he was covered from head to toe in fine brown powder. Then I noticed the shaker that houses our cinnamon and sugar mixture on the floor, along with a healthy pile of the stuff. There was cinnamon and sugar sprinkled all over the table, all over the bench, all over Benjamin. His bowl was filled with cinnamon and sugar and he was eating it by the spoonful.
My two-year-old was attempting a sugar-downed version of the cinnamon challenge!*
"No, no, no!" I scolded. "How did you get this down?! You can't just eat a bowl of cinnamon and sugar!"
"Appy-sauce," Benjamin explained, licking his lips. "Ummy, ummy."
My question about how he got the cinnamon and sugar down was answered by the presence of the bathroom stool by the kitchen counter. Blast that stupid, stupid stool! He's always dragging it around and getting into mischief and it feels like either Andrew or I are constantly putting it up high in "time out," but somehow it always ends up back in circulation.
I cleaned him and his mess up and thought we'd put that little experience to rest. Unfortunately, the very next day at lunch his sisters decided to make cinnamon and sugar toast (using the bowl of cinnamon and sugar that Benjamin had defiled the day before) and the bowl of cinnamon and sugar was sitting on the table. I excused myself from the table for a minute and when I came back I found that Benjamin had exchanged his bowl of yogurt for the bowl of cinnamon and sugar while his sisters looked on, completely carefree.
At least I was able to stop him this time before he'd done too much damage!
And sometimes, just because half of what I read are nursery rhymes, I find myself replacing my life story into the pages of Mother Goose. We recently (because February is definitely recent) acquired Richard Scarry's Best Mother Goose Ever and inside was a nursery rhyme that I had never heard before—probably because it's a little inappropriate (I'm sure Josie as well as our dear friend Dan, Dan, the Welshman will agree!) but it's unfortunately also incredibly catchy and my children think it's hilarious. It's Taffy was a Welshman, in case you were wondering; here's my verse about Benjamin:
Benji was a toddler, Benji was a burglar;
Benji blitzed the pantry, stole the cinnamon and sugar.
I scowled at Benji's mess, he began to weep.
I handed him the broom and said, "Better start to sweep!"
*Don't worry; he's fine.
Ha! That's awesome that he was just eating it like it's nothing! Malcolm loves applesauce as well. He's always trying to open the fridge to get some/see if we have some. Food is usually kept out of reach in our kitchen, but that just means he finds other things (kitchen tools) to get into instead.
ReplyDeleteOh, don't worry. He gets into a fair share of kitchen gadgets, too! :)
DeleteI love the fine print at the end. Glad he's fine. :)
ReplyDelete