Spilled Milk

Don’t cry over spilled milk. No use being upset about something that has happened and you cannot change. Although the origins of the phrase are up to debate, the ubiquitous use of its sentiment has set stiff upper lips generation upon generation.

The literal sentiment is not shared, however, with at least two groups of people.

The first being the breastfeeding mother whose milk has spilled after a long pumping session at work. I have been there and cried over that milk. All that beautiful liquid gold. Sigh.

The second being the littles who still spill theirs at the dinner table. Try telling that to the six year old whose previously dry plate and pants are now the wet plate and pants as milk swirls in barbecue sauce, bathing chicken drumsticks, and bread rolls swell into sponges. They are already mortified. Ashamed that their hands could not do what they wanted or that their gangly elbows got in the way again. Waking up a little bit bigger everyday is natural for them, but fitting into the world of yesterday isn’t. They are worried their parents will be upset over the mess. They are saddened over the loss. They do not need a stiff upper lip in that moment. No. What they need, as my son so aptly put it this evening over the spilled milk at our dinner table, is spilled love.

And who was it that spilled the love? It was not myself nor my husband. I pointed to a napkin and told him now would be a good time to practice problem solving. He sat there, shocked and crying, saying, “but I don’t even know what to do!” To which I replied, “you’ve watched us clean up plenty of spills. I think you can handle this one, honey.” Was I brusk? No. Was I tender? No. Was I tired? YES. Was I hungry? YES. Did I want to get through one meal without cleaning up any spills? YES. Was I right? Debatable. Did the eldest mop up his spill and solve his own problem? YES. But it was the youngest that surprised us. He extended empathy to his brother in the best way a two year old can. “I sorry Charlie spill. I spill too.” That was what my eldest needed. The look of gratitude on his face as he returned his little brother’s gaze was priceless. “Sam’s love spilled.”

Empathy. Perhaps one of the most difficult virtues to instill in a child can be found in the bottom of a spilled cup. Those are the moments to capture. The lessons to learn. Not sopping up your own mess. Not remembering to leave your glass out of harm’s way. Not keeping your gangly elbows off the table. No. It’s remembering how you feel when you’ve spilled your milk; and offering a bit of condolence when someone else’s has been spilled in turn. The littles in your life are remarkable. Tonight I was taught the lesson. Next time I’m going to remember to spill love whenever we spill milk.

Curious about the origins of spilled milk?

https://www.usdairy.com/news-articles/the-scoop-behind-dont-cry-over-spilled-milk