Cracker Snacker

Most of us don’t ponder how to eat a pack of Ritz crackers. The process is fairly self-evident. But how did we acquire this knowledge? If you’ve never encountered Ritz crackers, or plastic packaging of any kind for that matter, how would you try to get them out? Oh yeah, and you’re 16 months old so you don’t know anything.

You may have guessed that these are not rhetorical questions. Yesterday, McCall was showing me some pictures she’d taken of Harper (for a posting to be determined at a later date), and Harper slipped away to our bedroom. Alright, she walked right past us on her way to our bedroom.

After we finished looking at the photos, McCall decided to track down Harper. About 20 seconds later, she called out to me.

“Kyle!”

When you’re married, you can communicate a lot simply in how you vocalize your spouse's name. In the same way that Eskimos have four million words for snow, my wife has about 40 recognized meanings for "Kyle".

Kyle. - I’m about to ask you for something I know you don’t want to do.

Kyle?? - Is that you or a serial killer?

Kyle!!! - Harper just pooped.

This one was a little more complex. The overall message was “Get in here quickly,” but there were heavy overtones of “I need your help,” with just a dash of “You’ve got to see this.”

A few steps short of our bedroom door, McCall had heard a distinctive crackling. The visual confirmed her mental image. Harper had the Ritz crackers on our bed.

Obviously this begs the question, “Why are there Ritz crackers by your bed?” Obviously, the answer is "None of your business."

In order to preserve the scene of the crime, McCall had not altered it in any way. Harper was chewing through the wrapping trying to eat the roll of crackers like an ear of corn. All around her lay a steadily mounting pile of Ritz crumbs.

Immediately, I took them from her and started snacking while I pondered my next move. I determined to get the dust buster and vacuum the bed. McCall stayed with Harper. When I returned to our boudoir, Black & Decker in hand, Harper was crawling around on our bed trying to gobble up the bigger pieces.

As soon as I powered up the 'buster (as I like to call it), Harper jumped down off the bed and ran away in fear. In fact, the only traces remaining of her were the slobber marks she left all over our bed sheet.