Never Cry Over Spilt Milk Essay Help

No Use Crying Over Spilt Milk . . . or so they say.

Posted on December 23, 2011 |19 Comments »

Some people tell me that I sound like I have it all together, but I am here to tell you that is so far from the truth it’s not even funny. This story I’m about to tell you is so typical of my life that I could only shake my head and laugh. ONLY ME!

You see, I had volunteered to make waffles in my daughter’s kindergarten class for a special brunch they were having in honor of the holidays. Fortunately I didn’t have to enlist the children’s help, but the teachers wanted the waffles made in the classroom so the kids could have fresh, hot waffles as a special treat. I thought that was a great idea, so I volunteered.

I think the whole event was doomed from the start because it was only a couple of days ago that I realized this event that I had volunteered for was on Thursday of this week, not Friday. So I started off on the wrong foot to begin with.

And also?

The first time I volunteered to help out in this same classroom, earlier in the year, I went in to make gingerbread cookies with the kids and showed up without the bowl and spoon I was supposed to bring. Somehow I had missed those instructions. Which makes yesterday so much more pathetic. I am sure this teacher (to say nothing of the other room moms) thinks I’m a complete and utter loon.

Which is why I did my best to have my act together yesterday. I am so NOT that mom who thinks of everything and always goes everywhere prepared. But I was determined to be that mom yesterday.

I started an hour ahead of departure time and measured out the dry ingredients and put them into a tupperware container. Then I looked at my recipe and realized the butter needed to be melted. I realized as well that if I brought melted butter to school, even if it stayed melted, it would get lumpy the second I mixed it with the cold milk. Proud of myself for thinking ahead like this, I slowly melted the butter into the milk on the stovetop at home, bringing the whole mixture gently to the perfect lukewarm temperature, and transferred it over into a tupperware container.

I put a couple of eggs in another container and loaded everything into a brown paper grocery bag.

Then I thought through the process and grabbed a whisk, a big spoon, a spatula, and even a roll of paper towels. And the waffle iron, of course. I even wiped it off so it was nice and shiny and clean.

I was so proud of myself. I was going to be that mom, if only for one day.

I put everything in the car, including my daughter (amazing that I didn’t forget her!) and drove to the school. When I went to get my supplies out of the car, I noticed that the bottom of the grocery bag looked greasy. It barely registered, in my rush to get into the building, but I figured it was just grease from the outside of the bowl.

You know where this is going, right???

I picked up the bag, picked up the heavy waffle iron, picked up my purse, kicked the door shut and start walking. And that’s when it happened.

The bag gave way.

I looked down to see the bowl containing the milk and butter on its side, lid askew, and milk pouring out.

For a second, I thought I could salvage it, and then, just like in a movie, I watched as in slow motion, the bowl dropped the rest of the way out of the bag, dumping the contents all over the parking lot and splashing a stream of warm, greasy milk unceremoniously up my leg and splattering my shoe.

And with that, all hopes of ever being that mom for a day went POOF into thin air!

I stood there for a second, surveying the situation. And then I started laughing. I mean, honestly, I couldn’t write a better script if I tried.

My daughter, watching in horrified fascination, was perplexed at my response. Mommy, WHY are you LAUGHING?

I just shook my head and laughed some more.

And then I did what every good blogger does. I grabbed my iPhone and took a picture.

Oh yes ma’am, I did.

Because if I have to live this life, I might as well get some blog fodder out of it!

As it turned out, we were able to buy milk in the school cafeteria and pilfer some of the butter that another room mom brought in to use as a waffle topping, so I managed to whip my waffles together just in time to serve them to the waiting school children.

All’s well that ends well, I suppose. Still, I have a feeling I won’t live this one down for a very long time.

Origin

“Spilt” is the past participle of the verb “to spill”, which means to accidentally drop a liquid, so “spilt milk” (or “spilled milk”, which is more common in American English) is milk that you have dropped and now cannot get back. There is no use crying over it because it won’t change the situation; the problem is a small one, and it is therefore better to move forward positively than to waste time worrying about it.

In 1659 the original idiom was published in a list of proverbs by James Howell as “no weeping for shed milk”. “Weeping” is the old-fashioned term for heavy crying, whilst “to shed” is a synonym of “to drop”. By 1738 in Jonathan Swift’s Polite Conversation this had evolved to the phrase “Tis a folly to cry for spilt milk” (a folly is something foolish). Today, we use the phrase to mean that there is no point looking back worrying about a mistake or some small bad situation from the past – it is better to “keep calm and carry on!”

Examples

Ella:“I feel so foolish – I’ve been paying gym membership for the last year and I have never even been there for a workout. What a waste of money!”
Hayley:“Well, there’s no use crying over spilt milk. You either need to cancel your membership or start taking some gym classes!”

Steve:"Sometimes I regret not finishing my degree. But there’s no point crying over spilt milk
Rashid:"Well, personally I think it’s never too late – you could always return to university if you really wanted to.”

Dad:"My kids were upset because we managed to burn the cupcakes by baking them a little too long in the oven. But I told them there’s no use crying over spilt milk and we just made some more.”

Comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *