Monday, September 01, 2014

Flowing with Milk and Honey

There is a 2 lbs. 10 oz. jar of jam sitting on the top shelf of our fridge. Miriam asked for help getting it down so she could make a peanut butter and jam sandwich "in the shape of a heart" (a quote from this book) for lunch. Rachel quickly volunteered to get it.

"Oh, please be so careful," I said. "It's a big jar and I don't want you to drop it."

"Why?" Rachel asked.

"Because it would smash on the floor and make a huge mess," I said, doing my best not to envision that scene.

"Oh, not because of the honey incident?" Rachel asked impishly. "Not so you could tease me about how bad I am at making sandwiches? I think I will drop the jar! Then we could tease me about the honey and the jam!"

What's the honey incident, you're wondering? I'll tell you.

On Saturday afternoon the kids wanted to have a picnic outside. I love when they eat outside because it typically means they don't drop any food on the floor...because they drop it on the ground instead, and then who cares? Not me.

Miriam and Benjamin wanted cream cheese and jam sandwiches. Rachel wanted peanut butter and honey. She got to work making her sandwich while I helped Benjamin and Miriam with theirs.

We have a quart-sized jar of honey that we've been working on for quite a while. There's about an inch left in the bottom of the jar. Rachel was having a hard time scooping out the honey but I was so busy that I didn't notice and since one of our parenting mantras is "think of a solution" she decided to think of a solution. Her solution involved tipping the jar over so the honey would run off the bottom of the jar so that she could scoop it out easier. Unfortunately, the honey was much runnier than she was expecting and instead of slowly creeping along the sides of the jar it came flowing freely out of the jar.

Honey pooled onto her bread, flooded onto her plate, and started dripping onto the table.

"Oh, no!" Rachel screamed.

I glanced up from what I was doing and saw the mess.

"Oh, honey!" I moaned.

Honey was everywhere, that much was true, but I meant honey as a synonym for "sweetie" or "baby doll" or something along those lines.

"Don't worry, I'll eat it," Rachel said.

"No, you won't!" I said. "Quick—grab a spoon and we'll try to scoop up as much as possible."

Together we scooped (and scooped and scooped) honey back into the jar. When we'd scooped up as much as we possibly could she still had too much honey on her sandwich (but she did eat least most of it).

When we picked up Andrew later that day I suggested that Rachel tell him what she had for lunch. She let out a moan and held her head down in mock-shame.

When we skyped with her grandparents and I suggested she tell them about her sandwich-making escapades she again dropped her head in mock-shame.

I can't believe I didn't remember the milk story while we were skyping with my parents because Auntie Josie was there, too, and she laughed quite about over the honey story, but I remembered it today while Rachel was reaching for the jam jar on the top shelf of the fridge so I told it to her today.

At our house in Orem when I was growing up the fridge was a side-by-side, which we have in our house currently, so both the fridge and the freezer extend from the floor to the top of the unit. This makes some shelf space in the fridge quite inaccessible to small children. For some reason we had our milk on a shelf above Josie's head.

One day when Josie was somewhere between Miriam's age and Rachel's age she decided to get the milk—a fresh gallon of it—out of the fridge by herself. She stood on her tippy toes and reached as high as she could, finally grasping the handle of the milk jug. She gave a solid tug and it flew off the shelf. It was too heavy for Josie to control so as soon as gravity kicked in that jug of milk crashed to the floor and immediately split open.

Milk went everywhere.

This gave someone (probably my mom) the motivation to reorganize the fridge and the milk found a new (much more accessible to Josie) home on a lower shelf.

Also floating around in my brain are the story of Benjamin dumping an entire pitcher of homemade apple juice (a by-product of homemade applesauce) on the table/floor; the story of my cousin's daughter Alexia dropping a container of apple juice at my Auntie Arlene's house (much the same way Josie dropped the gallon of milk); the story of our Korean exchange student Chung Hyung spilling a glass (or pitcher?) of grape juice and then grabbing one of my mom's bath towels to clean it up (forever staining it); and the story of Auntie Emily doing the same thing in the family room at Andrew's parent's old house when they were remodeling the kitchen (I think?) and had the fridge on the carpet in the living room.

To any child out there reading this who has suffered the shame of spilling a large container of liquid—be it milk or juice or honey—rest assured that you are in good company.

To any parent of any child out there who has spilled a ridiculous volume of liquid in your kitchen/living room, rest assured that you, also, are in good company.

To anyone who is sick of me posting stories without any pictures, here's a video of Benjamin saying "strawberry jam:"

It doesn't quite capture the cuteness of when he said it spontaneously, "Oooh! Sta-bee jam!" when Rachel set it on the table initially, but it'll do. Prompted cuteness is never as cute as spontaneous cuteness.


  1. Also, Sabrina's mother gave her a big bottle of pop to give to Bumpa as a father's day gift. She could barely walk, and the bottle was almost as big as she was. I rushed to help her--much to her mother's dislike (She can do it!) when she dropped it and root beer went everywhere! For just one more example!

  2. Or the time when I worked at the scout camp in Salmon and I dropped an entire box of 15 dozen eggs. 15. Dozen. Eggs. All over the floor.