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

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.