I never imagined that I would ever need to have a locked cabinet in my house until my children were in their teens. You know liquor and what not. I am not stupid. I was a teenager, I did stuff.
Naughty stuff.
Stuff my mother does not need to know about, and yes, she does read this. So, I won't tell you. There is a 30 year statute of limitations on when it is funny to tell your parents about all the hootenannies and shenanigans that went on in their house when they were on vacation. I am sure she would kick my ass should I divulge the info any sooner. My mom is stronger than me. I possess only raw wit and, frankly, wit is nothing compared to her "you are in deep shit" voice. Just her facial expressions send me into cold sweats. That, my friends, is why she is my role model/hero. She never spanked me,she just gave that look. The look that was better than truth serum. I was no match. But, I tried.
I guess you are still wondering about the locked cabinet. Well, you know about my kids. Child #1, Child #2 and the baby.
Child #1 has been bringing us unmitigated joy lately. She has written and received over 12,000 text messages in the span of 20 days. Her grades are like some sick and twisted roller coaster and she has clothing strewn about her room that I am sure have hissed at me as I entered to look for MY make-up. Oh, the joy that sugar and spice bring!
Child #2 is an emotionally disregulated mess. She bit her sister, child #1, in the booble (pronounced boo-blay, like Michael Buble) and drew blood. Why? Her sister, child #1, put on child #2's shoes to take the trash out. So, it's cannibalism as a defense, I suppose.
I was just waiting for child #1 to demand some sort of plastic surgery to correct the teeth marks in her little chesticle. (I make up words for body parts. Get used to it.)
The baby, bless her sweet, delicious little face! She has taken to stripping off all her clothes at every inopportune moment while slapping her bum and yelling (in a sing-song way), "Look at the Naked Butt!"
CHARMING! I don't care anymore. So roll your eyes and look disapprovingly somewhere else. These are my monsters and I love them. (Especially after a glass of fermented grape juice)
LOCKED CABINET! Sorry, I am very distracted. My husband has just unlocked the cabinet and is handing out Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies. You read correctly, the locked cabinet is the FREAKING SWEETS CABINET!
This should not surprise my sister, who lovingly refers to at least one of my children as "The Queen of Crap". We have had to put a lock on the snack cabinet.
I am sure this goes back to when they were toddlers and I found them, one sunny day, scaling the cabinets like little MacGuyvers. They had chairs on top of the counter and Tupperware containers turned upside down as little make-shift ladders. They were hanging precariously by their finger tips hunting for the Halloween candy, and like little piggies searching the ground for truffles, they were going to find the treasure! It was like a spelunking mission. Excavating through the kitchen in search of the elixir of everlasting life.
I joke, but it's maddening. One minute we have a gallon of ice cream and then like voodoo magic, it's gone! There are wrappers shoved in every conceivable nook and cranny in my house. If we didn't have a cat, I am sure there would be a family of obese, Smartfood crumb-eating mice living quite happily in my couch.
So, here we are almost 14 years after bringing our sweet child #1 home, all swaddled in a pink fuzzy blanket.
We now have a lock on our junk food cupboard.
Cheers to the Queen of Crap! I just hope I don't ever have to use the bolt cutters to get at my newly acquired Thin Mints.
Oh, and don't try to be clever and tell us not to buy sweets and that would solve the problem. I have seen these kids mix bowls full of sugar and cinnamon and lick it straight from the bowl.
They are evil geniuses. Just like me...
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