It was 5:30 this evening. I was cooking dinner, the kids were in the other room playing, not fighting, but playing. They weren't being quiet, so I didn't suspect anything was wrong. Drew was laying on the couch reading the paper. Nice, I thought. Until, C comes into me and asks, "Mom, why does K have the Peanut Butter?" Does K have the peanut butter? She shouldn't have the peanut butter. How did she get the peanut butter? What is she doing with it? It can't be too bad, I mean, she can't open it, can she? I start into the other room as she starts toward the kitchen. And yes, she has the peanut butter, and its open, and her hands and face are covered in it. Apparently, the kids thought it would be fun to get the peanut butter, open it and try to see if they could eat it using a watch. When that wasn't successful, they thought that the Peanut Butter was sticky enough that it might just be able to stick the watch to the wall, like a clock. So, peanut butter is all over the kids, couch, watch, walls, and dinner is on the stove, burning. When did K learn how to open the pantry, get the peanut butter out, open it and start eating. I'm going to have to keep an eye on that girl, for sure.