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Ain't No Counter High Enough

Jar of Prego, stick of butter, vat of syrup, can of mandarins, glass of milk, steak knives, vanilla, bills that need to be paid.

What do all these items have in common? High in calories? Low in sodium? All make a really cool noise when thrown down the slide of a plastic play structure?

Those may all be true, but the reason I have listed them here is that they are all things I would formerly put up on the kitchen counter to keep them away from the family midgets. They are also all things Magoo has managed to pull down from the counter in the past few days.

I can reach it. Why can't I have it?

He promptly rolled the jar of Prego down the slide. The butter, syrup, mandarins and milk were all sampled with glee as he sat on his Tigger couch, waiting to be apprehended. I found important papers when I slipped on them banana-peel style as I walked through the kitchen. Lying on the floor, I decided I'd better pay Verizon off before all evidence of my monthly charges is shoved down a crack in the couch.

He's a strange sort of vulture-like predator when it comes to kifing things from the countertops. He doesn't much care what he takes as long as it's up high and he's pretty sure he's not supposed to have it. A good sign that he's not supposed to have it is if it takes a ridiculous amount of stretching and possibly a stepstool to reach. If it's right on the edge of the counter, it's probably not worth his time.

Every passing day he adapts to the barriers I place in his way. He has learned how to pull a chair up to the counter and I have seen him standing on it, straining, his legs itching to lift him up even higher, where he would then reach the glasses, jars, and medicine in the upper cupboards.

Baby locks are an insignificant obstacle to Magoo and it's getting to the point where I need to either keep him chained to my person during his waking hours, remove everything but the toys and marshmallows from the house, or make some drastic changes in the way I store things.

Here's my plan: Henceforth, all valuable or hazardous materials in my home will be kept in the middle of the family room floor.

The kids never touch stuff that's out in the middle of the floor. They normally empty out all the toys from the toy baskets and then refuse to touch them again. So, if I slide the bills under board books, scatter the steak knives in with the plastic toy food and place the open canned goods amidst the minefield of Polly Pockets and matchbox cars, chances are they will remain safely undisturbed.