Drinking from the milk carton is rude. Hands down it’s the most offensive breach of manners in my book. It even trumps the elbows-off-the-table rule when eating.
Mind you, I’m fairly flexible in my parenting. I have some general guidelines I want the kids to recognize – mind your manners, be respectful to your elders, and try to be more generous than less in difficult situations. … Oh, and bathe regularly.
However, my view of appeasing your thirst from an open carton is ironclad – you don’t do it. You never pick up that jug and chug.
Never.
Ever.
That’s the law of the ‘fridge. It’s the mantle of knowledge you are granted upon opening the door and spying the milk. I don’t ever have to mention the rule, because it’s like gravity. You obey it, because you must.
So imagine my surprise last Saturday morning … when I noticed my 4-year-old son standing by the open refrigerator door, with his head tilted back, guzzling and gulping down milk directly from the container.
“Craig!” I blinked hard a few times fast to clear my eyes. I wasn’t really seeing him do that was I? “What are you doing?”
He lowered the gallon jug and with a milk-mustached smile said, “I firssy.” He then promptly swung the container back up and glugged some more.
“Craig …” I sputtered. I couldn’t really reprimand him, he didn’t know any better. It wasn’t like I had actually taught him the rule. “Craig … baby … we’ve have to talk.”
Milk dribbled down his chin. He lowered the jug, wiped his face and licked his lips. “Mama, you turn. Dweenk.”
What? “No, I use a glass. Where’s your cup? You should always use your cup.”
Craig let out a deep, contented sigh and patted his full, round belly. “Yummy. You dweenk mama.” He handed me the jug. “I share.”
I balked. Share? How many nasty germs and toast crumbs did he swish back into the carton? That was no longer milk. It was now evil, self-generating primordial ooze. By this time tomorrow we’d have a ten-eyed-one-eared alien living in our fridge … or worse.
“Um… no thanks.” My words landed with a thud.
Craig frowned, his shoulders drooped and his belly sagged. “I share with a you.” He lobbed the carton at me.
I had no choice but to grab it. Well … drinking out of the carton wouldn’t be … so bad would it? Really, didn’t I do it a few times as kid as well? I could ‘pretend’ to drink it and we’d go over the always–use-a-cup lesson later. We could talk about the reasons why we never, ever do this … later.
I put the container up to my lips.
And took a huge swig.
What the heck? My higher-functioning brain was short-circuited by impulse. I lifted the carton higher and glugged, chugged and gurgled until milk ran down my chin.
Oh yea, that cool rush down my throat felt like freedom. You know, the kind you feel when putting your feet up on the car dash and hang your hand out the window.
I drank until I had my fill, sighed with deep contentment, swiped my chin and licked my lips. Craig was on to something here.
In my milk daze, I railed against convention. Who ever died from drinking straight out of the bottle? How many people actually lost their hand because they rested it more than an inch out the car window? Why were we so uptight as adults and always on guard with our disinfectant lotions and potions? Did we really need a war against bed bugs and kitchen sponges?
I put the milk back in the ‘fridge and gave Craig a hug. “Thanks for sharing.”
It wasn’t until the next morning the horror of what I’d done hit me.
Jay sat at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal. … Next to him was the container of contaminated milk.
He didn’t know it yet, but he was Patient Zero in the Lactose Pandemic of 2008.
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Genevieve Hinson is a social media coordinator for Children's Hospital Central California. She's also a writer, wife and mom to two boys and a girl. The opinions she expresses here are her own, as is her obsession for coffee.
How often to we have to ‘eat’ our words!
Cheers
You are too funny! Oh, the things we will do for our children.
Isn’t it fun to break the rules now and then?