tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22097761575841321282011-05-02T23:27:36.783-07:00cellasbootsnoreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209776157584132128.post-13372418741081629712011-03-31T18:54:00.001-07:002011-03-31T19:04:28.780-07:00I'm not even going to read what I posted before. It's sort of like old journal entries that are fully embarrassing. The kind you find later and think, "Thank God I didn't die and that someone else didn't find these and read them." Only with these, other people <span style="font-style:italic;">may</span> have read them. <br /><br />Anyway, my son is three. We've had to keep things that he's not supposed to have out of his reach for a little while now, but the most annoying of these now-hard-to-reach items are the knives. They used to be in the drawer, along with the rest of utensil mess, but now they sit in a Tupperware bin on top of the refrigerator. <br /><br />It's great. He can't reach them. <br /><br />Neither can I, though. <br /><br />And since I don't want to go get a step stool every time I have to chop or dice something, I find myself blindly slipping my hand into the knife bin and feeling around for just the right blade. What's ridiculous is that I keep doing this, thinking each and every time that there must be a better way to keep the knives away from our ignorant three year-old.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2209776157584132128-1337241874108162971?l=whatzootdoesntknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>cellasbootsnoreply@blogger.com0