When my little brother was about two, he became very interested in helping his mother. There was a small shop right across from our tiny half-dilapidated apartment where she used to purchase a few grocery items, and she often bought our weekly milk package from there.
My brother often accompanied her to the shopping when I was away at kindergarten. And whenever my mother bought a 1 L milk package, he insisted that he would carry it back home. Knowing that it was too heavy for him, my mother tried to talk him out of it, but he never listened. So, in the end, the two of them would come out of the store with my two-year old brother holding the plastic bag with the milk carton in it.
Since the milk was indeed too heavy for my brother, he couldn’t properly lift the bag from the ground. Thus, throughout the entire 3 minute walk back home, the grocery bag was dragged on the ground. By the time they reached home, a tiny hole was made not just on the plastic bag but also at the bottom of the milk carton.
“Thank you for your help, Sweetie!”
My mother would say to my brother delightfully once they got inside the house. Then, as soon as he went away with a satisfactory smile, she would put the milk carton in the fridge upside down, heaving a sigh of relief that they had arrived just in time to avoid any major leakage.
This was the reason why the milk was poured from the bottom of the carton at my house from time to time.