Twenty Gallons of Milk

Twenty Gallons of Milk I would never embarrass my teenagers, but it takes so little to do it.

Things I have one for years with no embarrassment are unacceptable when they are around.

Take the summer day I walked into the grocery store to pick up a few items and noticed that low fat milk was on sale.

For years, when I have seen low fat milk at a good price, I have purchased fifteen or twenty gallons. My children have helped put the milk in the freezer for later use. They have struggled to yank a gallon loose from the rest after the jugs have been put too close together before freezing.

As long as I remember to have one gallon thawing while another is being used, I save money and a lot of last minute trips to the grocery store. However my family is rarely with me when I buy that much milk.

Recently, though one was with me, a teenager to whom low prices are not as important as appearance.

As I began loading twenty gallons into the cart, the teenager gave a sigh of exasperation and moved away from me in embarrassment. “Ooh, Mom how embarrassing.” I squeezed gallon number ten beside number eight and nine and smiled, “Oh, no, it isn’t. Actually it is kind of fun.”

For my words of encouragement, I received this huge look of doubt as I piled a second layer on top of the fist.

“No, really. Just watch the people’s faces as we go by them.” I found a place for gallon number twenty of moo juice and began wrestling the cart down the aisle.

The teenager followed at a distance that said, “I am not related to that woman.” In about a minute, however, the teen moved up close to me, hand covering the biggest grin ever.

“Mom, everyone you walk by stares at the milk without looking where they are going. One lady almost ran into someone, she was so busy looking at our cart.” Maneuvering the 160 fluid pounds of milk ahead of me, I made my way down the aisle to pick up five pounds of sugar.

A couple stopped beside me as I reached for the sugar, looked at my cart, “What are you buying so much milk?”

"It’s a good price and low fat milk will keep in the freezer for a long time.”

“Really?”

I smiled reassuringly, “I’ve been doing it for years.”

I manipulated the overloaded cart through the produce department and picked up a quart of strawberries and headed for the check-out.

The lady at the next check-out stared at my cart for a while. I guess she added up milk, sugar and strawberries before she asked, “You’re making strawberry ice cream tonight?

“No. I freeze the milk to drink later. The strawberries are for short cake.”

My teen and I went to the car laughing. After the milk was in the freezer, I didn’t think anything more about the incident. However, the next time we were in the grocery store, as we passed the dairy section, I heard an unembarrassed, mischievous whisper, “let’s put a lot of milk in the cart and watch the people’s faces.” March 6, 1995

Peanut Butter Prayers I was consumed with sadness, anger, grief, loss. I wanted to have everything returned the way it was. As I made lunch for my preschooler and our current baby, I emphatically told God what He needed to do for me.

Before lunch, I said the perfunctory grace of gratitude even though I felt none, and we ate. My son chattered about his morning and ran back out to play. I cleared the table and sat down with the baby

As I rocked her back and forth, my thoughts returned to my problem and the perfect solution that God should give me.

The little guy, back in from play, interrupted me. "I want a peanut butter sandwich." The baby stirred, looking at him sleepily.

"Not right now. The baby is almost asleep."

"I'm hungry."

"We just had lunch you can wait a few minutes until the baby is asleep."

His face hardened as he looked at the intruder, "I want a sandwich, now."

"Sorry, you have to wait."

He contorted his face as if in major pain, "I can't wait. I need one now."

I tried to divert the oncoming temper tantrum, "Look. I'm not going to go make a peanut butter sandwich right now, but if you want, we can read a book while I rock the baby. OK?"

He scowled at me and stomped over to his bookshelf and returned with several books.

By the time we had read all of them, the baby was asleep and the preschooler was yawning.

"Want to go upstairs and take a nap?" He nodded.

I took the baby to the crib, and walked with him up the stairs to his bed.

He melted onto his bed. I tiptoed away to enjoy the quiet house while internally I raged with pain and made demands to God that He give me what I wanted when I wanted it, when I wanted it and the way I wanted it.

An hour and a half later, as I folded clothes, my preschooler woke and came to me.

"You said you would make me a peanut butter sandwich."

"Right. I did say I would fix you one." I made one and went to load more clothes into the wash machine.

When I returned, he was out in the back yard playing. The sandwich was on the counter. He had taken only a couple of small bites.

I looked at the counter, still hearing his absolute insistence two hours before that he needed that sandwich. As I gathered up the leftovers, my persistent prayer returned to my thoughts.

I started to remind God one more time of what I wanted right now - and stopped.

Was I praying "peanut butter sandwich prayers?" Demanding more when I was already full?

My grief, rage, pain, sadness continued. I still wanted what I wanted when I wanted it. But I sat down, read a book, tried to take it easy while I waited.

I never did get what I wanted at that time.

A few years ago, I began finding out reasons to be very thankful that I had not gotten what I prayed to receive. Sometimes when I am ready to make my demands and needs known, I think about that peanut butter sandwich. I ask myself, "Am I asking for a real need or making a lot of noise and fuss about something I am not ready for?" Sometimes, that long-gone sandwich causes me to rethink my prayer requests.

March 13, 1995