This weekend we got a lock for the refridgerator.  And this was not just to keep Derek on his diet.

For the past week, Ethan has been going into the fridge to either take out the gallon of milk or to stick his finger in the top of the mustard bottle.

Dozens of times a day, I am either finding him sitting in the middle of the kitchen with the milk or he is running into living room to flick mustard on me.  Not the Grey Poupon, but his father's very favorite crappy cheap ass yellow mustard.  Ugh.

Having had all I could take, we got into the truck and took a trip to get a lock.  As I stood in front of the 20 foot high display of safety related articles, I looked at the two lock options with frustration.  We are living with Houdini over here.  This lock wasn't going to work.

But it sure as hell did.  I know this because yesterday I found The Boy plastered against the fridge, pulling with all his might while he screamed maniacally "BWAAAAA  LLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAA, BWWWWAAA  LLLAAA."  (translation--"please, milk.")  Here's to a mustard-free existence, at least until he figures out the lock.