Crying Over Spilt Milk
March 25, 2011
Conversation went something like this, maybe an hour after Peter had gotten home from school:
Him: Oh, by the way mom, don’t pack milk in my lunch again.
Me: Why?
Him: It exploded. I don’t know how it happened.
Me: What exploded?
Him: The milk you put in my lunch.
Me: Wait, what?
Him: It just exploded and there’s milk all over. I don’t know how it happened.
Me: You said that. Where’s your backpack?
Him: Um, I don’t know.
Me: Get your backpack.
Him: [Gets backpack, brings it to me, dripping white liquid.] Here it is.
Me: Aaaaahh! Peter!
Him: Sorry!
Me: [Takes backpack. Rushes it to sink. Opens it.] Oh my god. There’s milk everywhere..
Him: That’s what I told you!
And there was: A pool of milk at the bottom of the compartment where the lunch goes. Milk soaked through papers and books. Wet pencils, binders, granola bar wrappers, erasers, felt pens.
It was gross.
Backpack’s now soaking (above).
Papers and books are drying. 
Life of Wry 