You know when it feels like you are trying to get 50 things done by the end of the day: work stuff, kid stuff, getting ready for a trip away, trying to get some semblance of order in the house so that you don’t return to a bomb site. The list can be long. I had one of those days on Friday. I ducked into a shop (that I don’t normally go to) between kindergarten pick up and the pharmacy in order to buy a few essentials for our trip and the first few days when we got back. Luckily, I even remembered to get milk for our little girl. Organic milk even. “Good job, Mummy,” as Miss M would say: my superhero powers were definitely working.
Fast forward a few days, when we arrived back from the weekend away, tired but content, with a suitcase full of dirty clothes that needed washing and some chocolate because, hey, it was Brussels. I went to get Miss M her milk for bed. A fresh carton. The organic one I had purchased while in superhero mode. As I poured it out I noticed that for some reason, it seemed much thicker than normal, almost like soup. Could it be off? It smelt fine and it was well within the best-before date. So what was the problem? It’s buttermilk and there was no way Miss M was going to drink it. Cue the tears. I guess I’m baking something with buttermilk this week. And my superhero cape should go in the wash, too because it has lost its lustre.