Stage Three occurs a few days later, when your pickiest child, the one you and your husband secretly nicknamed Mr. Finicky, sees that same carton of milk and becomes suspicious.

Mr. Finicky: When did you buy this milk, Ma?

You: Hmm… maybe yesterday? Two days ago?

Mr. Finicky: Could it have been three days ago?

You: I suppose. But check the date.

Mr. Finicky (accusingly): It’s the twentieth! That’s ten days from now.

You (with false cheer): Okay, so you’re good.

Mr. Finicky (doubtfully): I guess… but maybe not.

You: What do you mean? It’s fine, trust me. Just eat your cereal and milk. It’s fine.

Mr. Finicky: Nah… I’ll just have toast and peanut butter. To be safe.

You set your mouth in a straight line. Humph.

Stage Four is when Mr. Finicky convinces your other kids to be wary because the due date is four days away. You want to talk reason? Good luck with that.

Middle Kid: Where’s the milk?

You: Behind the ketchup, bottom shelf.

Middle Kid: Got it.

Mr. Finicky materializes out of nowhere and whispers something to his brother.

Middle Kid: What? Oh, really? Oh, I see. Do we have another milk, Ma?

You: We don’t need to open a new milk. We have a perfectly good one right there behind the ketchup. Check the date, it’s fine.

Mr. Finicky: I don’t think it’s fine if the due date is in four days.

You: Of course it is. Smell it.

Middle Kid: Yuck. Smells bad.

You: Let me have that. (Takes a whiff.) This is what milk smells like. It’s good.

Mr. Finicky: I wouldn’t drink that. It looks funny.

You: It looks like milk. Trust me.

Middle Kid: I’m not sure.

You: Look, I’ll prove it to you. I’ll drink some. See, it’s good. Delicious, in fact.

Middle Kid: Well, thanks, Ma, but I changed my mind.

Here is where you gnash your teeth.

Stage Five is the last stage, when even you must admit that the milk smells off.

Usually, this is when your husband finds you standing in front of the fridge, sniffing the bottle.

Husband: What’s up?

You: The milk expires today, and I’m just not sure.

Husband: Let me smell. Oh, it’s fine. I’ll pour it into my coffee. Then it won’t taste off.

You: No! If it smells off it could really be spoiled.

Husband: No worries. I have a strong stomach. Remember that six-day-old corned beef? And the herring that was a month old? I still survived to tell the tale.

You: I guess… I don’t know. Maybe we shouldn’t take any chances.

Here is when Mr. Finicky materializes out of nowhere. Again.

Mr. Finicky: Don’t drink it, Ma. (He fades into the woodwork.)

Husband: How does he do that?

You: I can’t figure it out, but I’m worried now. How do you feel?

Husband: Hale and hearty.

You: You look a little green.

Husband: I’m fine, I tell you. Couldn’t be haler or heartier or healthier. This is what robust looks like!

You: If you’re sure. All the same, I’ll just dump this down the drain. Not all of us have stomachs of steel like you do, dear.

Husband: But you haven’t had your coffee!

Here’s where you allow yourself a secret, satisfied smile. Because hidden behind the beets and the shredded cheese in the garage fridge your children kvetch about getting anything from, lies something more valuable than the Hope Diamond. You snagged the prize just this morning at the grocery store that doubles as your home away from home: a brand-new bottle of milk with an expiration date a full 12 days from now. Twelve days. Practically a lifetime.

Glory is yours. Savor it.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 971)