Four years old, the fridge was considered as the peak of all household appliances. Sticky and slimy, grape jelly smeared the fridge from my hands. My muscles strained to open the cold sealed refrigerator door. A nice cool glass of milk would be perfect to go with the previous grape jelly sandwich I had prepared all by myself without help from Mommy or Daddy. I reached for the cold plastic handle of the 2% milk and pulled it off the storage shelf inside the fridge.
Balancing my weight on a stool I dragged from the counter on the other side of the kitchen, I stood to reach one of the cups from the cabinet. I carefully poured the cold milk into the cup I had previously retrieved. By the time I had returned the container of milk to the fridge, a small layer of cold moisture had begun to form, making the outside of the glass slicker than before. Carefully with two hands, I gently picked up the glass cup to transfer it to the table where my jelly sandwich rested on a plate.
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Janie!” My Mommy yelled a bit louder in hopes of a reply from the upstairs hallway. Her voice echoed down the stairwell and through the hollow kitchen, bouncing off the walls and metal appliances.
“I’m almost done!” I shout back to her while running around the kitchen putting away the cleaning supplies. I pull a stool back over to the other side of the kitchen to reach a glass cup for the second time. This time, to not repeat my last accident, I put the cup on the table next to my jelly sandwich. I run back over to the fridge and pull out the cold 2% milk. Slowly and carefully, I fill the cup halfway this time and return the milk to the fridge, then sit down in my mahogany wooden chair to enjoy my delicious jelly sandwich and milk.
“I’m so proud of you!” My mom proclaims as she comes off the last steps of the staircase with a large smile on her face. She walks over to my chair and looks at my little snack. I look up at her with a small line of milk lining the top of my mouth and