Don’t Cry Over
Spilled Milk on Monday
Take
a typical carton of orange juice and leave it alone for at least 24 hours, and
you know what happens? Thanks to the
laws of gravity, the pulp sinks down and settles happily at the bottom. That’s why, every time my 14-year old
daughter Melissa picks up a container of orange juice, she shakes it before
pouring.
A
creature of habit, Melissa had taken to shaking containers before opening no
matter what liquid may lurk inside… milk, iced tea, fruit juice, it doesn’t
matter.
So
why I am sharing this seemingly mundane information about my daughter? Well, Melissa’s “shaking” habit sets the
stage for our story, which begins innocently enough on a Monday morning.
It’s
a day most people like to hate, except the members of my household. Now don’t get me wrong, we certainly do not
embrace the thought of a Monday morning, nor do we jump for joy when setting
the alarm clock for 6 am the night before.
However, we do feel a bit more energized after a relaxing weekend, and
we’re ready to tackle the challenges the week has to throw at us. (This positive attitude is usually shattered
by Tuesday, mind you.)
On
Sunday night, lunches are made, clothes are ironed, and bedtime comes a bit
earlier. In the morning, after my alarm
clock rudely warns me to throw off my warm covers, I walk down the hall, enter
my daughter’s bedroom and prod her out of bed.
Some mornings are quite productive for her, while others find her still
fussing with her hair as the school bus makes its steady approach to our house.
A
couple of weeks ago, Melissa, determined to be on time, had awakened without
protest, spent a limited amount of time on her hair, and went down stairs a
staggering 20 minutes before her scheduled departure. Looking forward to eating a leisurely meal, she
happily poured herself a bowl of cereal.
As
for me, my morning seemed to be going according to plan. I had showered and dressed, and now stood in
the bathroom, blow dryer in hand, trying to coax a curl out of my poker
straight hair. Suddenly I heard a spine
chilling scream, and then the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs. My visibly upset daughter burst into the
bathroom, covered from head to toe with a silky white substance.
“SOMEBODY
FORGOT TO TIGHTEN THE LID ON THE MILK!”
Now
at this point I opted not to remind
her that she is the only person in the house who drinks the organic milk,
therefore, no need to hire a private detection to determine who had committed the crime of forgetting to tighten the lid. Instead, I surveyed the
situation, thinking quickly on how I could devise the best way to remove every
drop of milk in the five minutes that remained before the bus came, and trying
with every ounce of my being not to laugh.
I
knew that if my mouth twisted upwards to indicate even the slightest smile, I
might lose all of my limbs.
From
her reaction, I concluded that the incident had a horrible, tragic effect on:
1.
Her hair
2.
Her fake Ugg boots (yes, I am happy to admit I will not spend $150 on boots
when the fakes work just as well)
3. Did I mention her hair?
3. Did I mention her hair?
Priorities! We
tackled the hair first. I grabbed the
blow dryer while she maneuvered the brush, and together we rid each strand of
milk. Panicked, she yelled and whined
and fretted and cursed. By this point, I
promised to drive her to school since the bus had come and gone. With transportation issues out of the
way, we turned our attention to her milk-stained fake uggs, with no success, forcing Melissa to take drastic action and, (egads!) wear sneakers, a middle school fashion faux pas.
By
the time we climbed into the car, the evidence of the breakfast fiasco had all
been wiped clean, and the foul mood that now gripped my offspring remained the
only remnant of our eventful morning.
Later
that day, as we busied ourselves with the choreography of dinner, I observed my
now calm, happy child.
“Melissa,”
I said quite timidly as I set the forks and knives on the table, “you have to
admit, the incident this morning really was funny.”
“I
actually got a lot of compliments on my hair today,” she said, laughing at
the irony.
The
remainder of the week passed by uneventfully, with the exception of the extra
effort made on both our parts to get out of bed and ready on time, lest another shaken container ruin another pair of fake Ugg boots.
The
incident will become one for the record books, not so much because of the
humor, although that reason does rank quite high. It will forever stay in my memory because when
a carton of milk decided to let loose on my child, she ran up the stairs to that
one person in the world who she knew would have the answers, the one person who
would stay calm, who would clean her up, who would make things right. She ran up the stairs…. to me.
Comments and feedback are encouraged and welcome. For some reason, many people have told me they have left a comment, but it has not appeared. To leave a comment, click on the arrow next to "comment as", then choose "anonymous". If you would like to include your name, please leave your name in the body of your post. Once you have posted your comment and chosen anonymous, then hit publish. Check the page the make sure your comment appeared. Thank you!!
Definitely made me smile!!!!!
ReplyDeleteAnnie
Thanks Annie!
DeleteIf it makes you feel any better, the same thing happens in my house all the time! Drives me nuts...and we don't do real Uggs,either!
ReplyDeleteThanks Jennifer, glad to know we're not alone!
DeleteI smiled through reading the whole fiasco and was in tears at the last paragraph! You're a great story-teller, Lisa!
ReplyDeleteYou got me with the last line! You are so right, that they still come to us with their problems and one day soon they won't need us at all! It does make the little crisis's much more poignant and much less bothersome! Great post, thanks!
ReplyDeleteThanks Kathy!
ReplyDelete