I Heart Coffee

My morning ritual starts with caffeine. Must have coffee. Cannot open eyes, cannot think, cannot function until the kettle whistles and I'm pouring steaming hot water into my cup of desperation and salvation. Aaaah, that's better. Sometimes my hot coffee takes me an hour to drink. I can tell by the number of ring marks on my mug how many mummy duties I've been called to perform. The referee, the missing sock/shoe locator, the hairstylist, the caterer, the chauffeur. And that's just the morning. I can drink it cold. In Europe that's the trend, frappé. I will drink it any way you serve it, just give it to me.

My current cup of choice is my treasured Grinderman mug. When you drink from a vessel displaying Nick Cave's face, people know you mean business.  Pretty, dainty floral china is reserved for peppermint  tea only. Oh, and only The Mum can drink from Grinderman.

As I was putting the kettle on for the third time this morning, my little Miss A walked into the kitchen. "What are you doing, Mummy?"
"Just making a coffee, sweetie".
Little Miss A came over and rubbed me sympathetically on my back.
"Because you're tired, mama? You work so hard, just like a servant", and with that she gave me an encouraging hug and kiss and went off to play with her siblings.
Bless!