I find the mornings I try my best to be quiet, down here in the kitchen, are the mornings that the kitchen comes alive and is determined to foil my plans.
When you live in a house and are mother to 3 very small children, you fight for your right to...have peace and quiet. No matter how small the window of time may be. I can be pretty fierce about my quiet time. This isn't the first time I've written about it. (see Mommy Snack) I write about it because my mind is allowed to have it's own thoughts, not the thoughts of my brood. As much as I do love them, I'm tried of answering "why", "what are you doing, Mommy?", "what's that, Mommy?" (that one I get ALL the time and its for something they know exactly what it is. So I just answer them with the same question, because I refuse to answer it.) or the always dependable, "We go shopping?" (a.k.a. "are we going somewhere today?)
I get up an hour and half before my children do. I sneak around the kitchen trying to make my coffee in the the coffee pot that has the completely wrong time on it and that I am too lazy to change. I make my movements extra "stealth" but in reality it's as if my limbs work in a less graceful manner than if I weren't trying hard at all.
I open the cabinet door to reveal the holy grail of coffee cups...mine. "Mine" happens to be the cup that is the biggest and is located in the front portion of the shelve, keeping things quiet and peaceful. Right. Getting it out is easy, its the setting down of the mug on granite that proves to be a 9 on the difficulty scale. You see, I have NOT yet had my coffee, so it's definitely a challenge. I would love to have a butler for coffee retrieval, like the one in Meet Joe Black. He gives Brad Pitt peanut butter for the first time. Yeah, that guy would be great.
So, I somehow get the coffee made, but not without banging the glass coffee pot on the edge of the sink, dropping a spoon or slamming closed a drawer that I had no intention of slamming. I was trying to use my hip to gently scoot the drawer to a semi-shut position, but no, I don't know how, but it still slams.
I'm not what you would call hungover, but I did have a glass or two of sangria last night. Your probably wondering why this post is not about that. I concur (love that word, it's up there with rogue). I tried to get you some pictures last night of that giant jug of fruity wine perfection, but no go. The pictures were just terrible! Stuff was stuck to the sides of the pitcher, finger prints danced around the edge and I had no time to mess with it because my littlest child was screaming constantly if he was not being held and my neighbor Teri was over showing me how to make stir-fry. I will make you the sangria again, I promise. It was truly delish, but now I'm super duper groggy. Bad mommy!
Final wardrobe note: I have the most ridiculous concoction of fashion seen on a mommy this year. You see, I really do use clothes to merely cloth myself in the morning. Fashion goes out the window with my pride. I mean, who cares what I look like when I'm wiping poopy butts and bathing my duo of 3 year old madness? I found it so amusing at how far down hill my morning fashion has gone that I had to share.
Setting: Catwalk constructed of kitchen tile, flanked by strewn kitchen stuff and half-prepared breakfast foods.
MC: [enter Lauren, gimping down the catwalk, frying pan in hand, disheveled hair and a crooked smile on her face] Lauren is wearing mis-matched perfection. Donning a robe 2 sized too small with a belt that belongs to her army green skirt, she emanates practicality and inventiveness. Her leggings are functionality at it's best, with slits cut at the kneecaps for maximum movement and comfort. Lauren enjoys strolls on the beach and margaritas. Thank you Lauren! [wimpy "golf clap" is heard in the audience, residing on this side of crazy!]
So anyways, I'm nursing my gigantor mug of coffee while writing to you Foodie Friends. I've gotta say, I love you all quite dearly. When I don't post, I feel a disconnect. It's possible I am addicted. I've made so many new friends through this journey of blogging. When I read your comments, my heart just soars. I wish I could hug everyone of you.
Much love and thank you for reading my mind wanderings, powered by a half-mug of coffee and a Clif bar.