My daughter is learning to get into everything right now, much to my dismay. As a result, my home is once again "childproof," or at least something that is supposed to resemble security and safety. This is done by basically removing all sharp objects and plugging the outlets with those darn little plastic prongs.

What's interesting to watch, however, is the way she attempts to open things compared to the way my son opens them.

For instance, when opening a bag of potato chips or other prepackaged goodies from a junk food maker, my son meticulously pulls at the foil like a surgeon removing a vital organ. I'm not sure why he does this, but he treats the bag of chips like plutonium or a hand grenade, afraid that dropping his snack will create an explosion.

My daughter, on the other hand, is capable of opening any type of package in less than one tenth of a second, and then eating the contents in the bag even faster.

I'm not sure if she takes time to actually think about what she is inhaling, but watching her destroy the foil wrappings is like watching a train wreck - you want to turn away but morbid curiosity gets the better of you and you continue watching.

The same traits hold true when opening gifts or happy meals from the local McDonald's. Again, my son analyzes the paper bag or gift-wrap, takes time to pull at the box or bow and then lightly tears at the paper.

My daughter the hurricane, however, takes no prisoners while tearing open her happy meal box in an attempt to stuff as many french fries as she can into her tiny mouth while still providing adequate room to breathe.

In case you're wondering, adequate room to breathe is defined as "a millimeter" or enough room to squeeze a straw into the space so she can suck down some "bubble pop."

Looking at my daughter in amazement the other day while she managed to turn a paper bag into nothing more than a kitty box liner, my wife and I struggled to determine from which one of us she inherited this less-than-appealing trait.

"It's gotta be you," I said, knowing full well that this was the furthest thing from the truth, but eager to disassociate myself from the fiasco.

"No way!" she argued back.

I guess it's easiest to admit defeat when faced with stiff resistance such as this, but I am a glutton for punishment and continued to push.

While watching my daughter tear, claw, scratch and annihilate a bag of cookies, I moved toward the cupboard in search of a snack. After all, I might as well fill up while being entertained.

Finding a bag of pretzels (the doctor says these aren't too bad for me), I gently pull at the opposing ends of the bag in an attempt to create that cool "pop" sound that comes from air rushing out of the bag.

Within seconds, I am literally stepping on one end of the bag while trying to open the tasty treats. Naturally, my daughter stops what she is doing and my wife is being, well, my wife, and a smile crosses her "I told you so" lips.

"I wonder where she gets it?" quipped my wife, acknowledging that somewhere along the line, my daughter had to learn how to open things like a Neanderthal.

"Yeah. I wonder."

I make a note to myself that someone needs to invent Velcro lining for a potato chip bag, and then hastily make my way back downstairs to watch my daughter take on the Tupperware containing some grapes. It should be an epic battle.