Parents, let’s talk about bedtime. That sacred hour when the house finally quiets down, the toys are (mostly) put away, and your kids suddenly remember they need approximately 47 things before they can actually fall asleep. For my oldest, Hari, bedtime isn’t complete without one crucial ritual: making chocolate milk. And let me tell you, this isn’t just any chocolate milk. This is Hari’s chocolate milk, and he’s the head chef.

Here’s the deal: Hari loves helping me make his chocolate milk. Not because he’s thirsty, but because he gets to scoop two whole spoonfuls of chocolate powder into the glass. Two. Not one. Not one and a half. Two. It’s like he’s conducting a science experiment, and the secret ingredient is pure, unadulterated joy.

But here’s the thing—it’s not really about the chocolate milk. Sure, the end result is delicious (if a little lumpy because, well, kid stirring skills), but what it’s really about is the bonding. It’s about standing side by side at the kitchen counter, him on his little step stool, me trying not to spill the milk while he narrates the entire process like he’s hosting a cooking show.

“Dad, we need the big spoon. No, the bigger spoon. Okay, now stir it like this—FAST!”

And then, one fateful night, it happened. The Great Milk Spill of 2024.

We were mid-stir, Hari’s face a picture of concentration, when suddenly—whoosh. The glass tipped, and a river of chocolate milk cascaded across the counter, onto the floor, and probably into some parallel universe where spilled milk is a form of currency.

Hari froze. His little face went pale, and he looked up at me with those big, worried eyes, like he’d just accidentally launched the family goldfish into orbit.

“Dad… I’m sorry,” he whispered, bracing for the scolding he thought was coming.

But here’s the thing about spills: they’re not the end of the world. In fact, they’re kind of the perfect teaching moment. So, instead of shouting, I grabbed a cloth, knelt down, and said, “Hey, it’s okay. Let’s clean it up and make another one. The second one is always better anyway.”

The relief on his face was instant. It was like I’d just told him he’d won the lottery. And you know what? That second glass of chocolate milk was better. Maybe it was the extra care he put into stirring, or maybe it was the fact that we were both laughing about the spill by then. Either way, it was perfect.

Since that night, Hari’s been extra careful with his chocolate milk duties. Every time we make it, he looks at me and says, “Let’s not spill the milk this time.” And every time, I smile and say, “Let's do our best, Hari.”

But here’s the real lesson: kids mess up. They spill milk, they break things, they forget the rules. And yeah, sometimes it’s frustrating. But how we react in those moments matters. Shouting might stop the spill, but it won’t teach them resilience. It won’t show them that mistakes are just opportunities to try again.

So, to all the parents out there: the next time your kid spills the milk (or the juice, or the entire box of cereal), take a deep breath. Grab a cloth. And remind them—and yourself—that the second try is always better.

Because life isn’t about avoiding spills. It’s about cleaning them up together and laughing about it afterward.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go prep for tonight’s chocolate milk session. Rumor has it, Hari’s planning to add a third spoonful of chocolate. Wish me luck.

Love from Dad (and part-time chocolate milk sommelier) 🥛🍫✨