How is it that I haven't had one solitary cup of coffee, yet (it's about 1:16pm)? Well, I don't really know. As usual the coffee was the first thing I started this morning. It was particularly cold this morning---which makes having the perfect cup of coffee even more enjoyable . It almost hurt to breathe out this morning. Granted I was outside for just the amount of time it takes to find the newspaper---which had blown or been pushed, or possibly even thrown under the car.
Upon returning to the kitchen Kendall was waiting for me. I could hear the perk, perk, perking of the coffee maker and that made me happy. Kendall kept pestering me to open the donut holes (how is that properly spelled? I'm thinking Doughnut is appropriate--but suppose Donut has become acceptable as the spell-check has not underline me yet, on that one). Yet the box can't be opened just yet, not until her brother arrives----otherwise her grubby, oops dainty, little hands will bust into the packaging and there's no telling how many of these delectable treats will remain for others to share. I tell her to hold on one moment. Why? Because she's got to wait until I have got myself a nice, creamy, tan cup of coffee. Only then is she allowed to bust into the box of donuts. You probably think I'm a real meanie. I'm also guessing that if you do, than you are not likely a parent (or you're just a MUCH better parent than I am). My cup of coffee is my saving grace. It helps me stay calm. It makes me happy, and so then I won't yell at my lovely young lady----who will just as quickly punch me on the arm, or in the face if I don't move fast enough once that box is opened. So sue me, if I'm taking 30 seconds to get myself a cup of coffee before getting her day started. If you are shaking your head in agreement than I LOVE you. Please do also keep the context of this post in mind---I have yet to have a full cup of coffee (and now it's nearing 1:26pm---Yowsers). After finally getting myself a cup of the "tan elixir" I turn to see Kendall actually caressing the box of donuts. I am so thoroughly freaked out by this----I mean I love me some food, but this odd, inappropriately-creepy affection towards a box is too much---that I scream for Conor to come join us and get this breakfast started. They dig in and the crumbs begin to fly. Phew, sugar has averted the first of many possible insurrections slated for this Sunday.
Now to sit with the Sunday paper and drink some coffee---hmm the headlines---Al Queda, Frigid temps, Obama is a softee (from Glenn f---ing Beck, mind you---oh don't forget R.Limbaugh and D.Cheney), Wall Street something or other, a picture of Michelle Obama with a belt on (loves it), story about a 65 year old marrying a 32 old man---loves it---a real-life cougar in our midst, no stories today on my beloved freak couple the Salahi's (I suppose it had to end, huh?). This is all from my first perusal. I love to sit and plan how and what I will read during the afternoon nap time---and it's usually a time frame that allows for a full cup of coffee. Yet Jamie comes to inquire about church---if he remembered, well then I had better get off my rear and give it a shot (that topic is an entire post or two for a later date). So begrudgingly I head off to church---which means the coffee gets dumped. I look forlornly at the remaining pot---oh coffee I hope to return soon. Sigh.
Upon returning from church about 1 hour later, I marvel at the miracle that the automatic timer has not shut off yet. So, technically pouring a cup will not be a re-warm---I don't know what happens in the microwave, but something nasty goes on in there. Maybe it involves chemistry and milk---who knows. It's freaking gross. So I pour, get the cream, turn the cup until it's tan and sit back down again---10:15---let's try for time number 3.
There is some screaming in the other room. I pause and listen---no it's not a cry, one of play---albeit, there is some anger and frustration, but the pitch is not one where a mom needs to intervene, or not yet. I get through my first two articles---the crazy-ass Glenn Beck one (note to self: He's an uneducated FREAKshow), and then about the 65 year dance instructor who married her 32 year old student. Happy, happy, joy, joy. It was a nice follow-up to the Glenn Beck article. The crazy-ness of the two cancelled each other out. So now I can go on to the madness that is Al Queda, weather, and of course the sadness that is the Washington Redskins (oh Jim Zorn, it was nice knowing you---and probably you too Jason C.). Sigh. But, horror of horrors, it's time for lunch out with the kids and hubby, so no more coffee. Oh my GOD, how in the world has this freakin' happened? Throw cup down the drain, turn pot off---it can't cook for another 2 hours and still be good upon my return. It just can't.
So here I sit, typing away---hell I could have brewed and drank the whole pot in the time it's taken me to compose this post. Alas. Right before I head upstairs to put Kendall down I'll start a new pot. And then I can let Conor fry his brain on some mindless computer games while I finish my library book. Let's hope time number three is the charm.