Mustard All Your Strength To Not Be Mad

(My eighteen-month-old son has found out about how doors open. He loves to slam the garage door, and he likes to hold the refrigerator door open. He glares at me whenever I close it, usually a few seconds later, as I like to follow him when he’s headed to the kitchen. One day, I ask his sister to keep her eye on him while I run to the bathroom, but I don’t say anything about following him around to prevent mischief. When I finish in the bathroom, I go into the kitchen to grab something super quick, because I assume the kids are in their playroom, but I find my son in the kitchen with the fridge open. He’s sitting in the middle of what looks like a tiny yellow island, grinning from ear to ear, squeezing mustard out of its container. He looks at me and starts drinking the mustard.)

Me: “[Son]! Mustard is not a drink!”

Son: *stops squeezing the mustard container, and looks at me* “But it’s good, Mama!”

Me: “You may like it, but I don’t think the floor likes it very much.”

(My daughter hears the commotion, and runs out of the playroom.)

Daughter: “Uh… What? Oh, Mommy, he was playing and then I didn’t see him. I thought he was in the tent playing sleepy night-night time.”

Me: “That… That’s not a game. Please help me clean this. And remind me to text Daddy to tell him we need a fridge lock.”

(After cleaning the mess thoroughly, and bathing my son, I sent a text to my husband asking him to pick up a fridge lock on his way home, and I installed it that night. Seven years later, we still tease our son that mustard is not a drink.)