I awoke to a horror today.
We’ve been having car trouble, so my husband and I are sharing one at the moment. He commutes a long distance for work, so it is vital he has a running car to get to and fro. We live in a more-or-less walkable neighborhood, so these recent weeks I’ve been hoofing it on foot, pushing my kiddo in his stroller/tricycle/plastic-car-with-handle-thing to the playground, grocery store, playdates. It’s been mostly fine. I’ve been mostly uncomplaining. Mostly.
But today was a different matter. For as I stumbled out of bed at a bleary 5:45am (my child’s fun new summer wake-up time), I padded to the kitchen to start the usual routine: kiddo breakfast and coffee.
However, horror of horrors, we were out of coffee.
We had run out the day prior and had added it to the list with every intention of getting to the store before the end of the day. But between cleaning the house, catching up with friends on the phone and the Warriors game (priorities), I completely forgot.
Now, I’m no three cups a day, but boy do I rely on that morning cup to get me functional. I somehow managed to give up coffee when I was pregnant, but that would be next to impossible now. I rely on it the way I rely on my car, my shower, my refrigerator: to make my life infinitely easier and functional.
Anyone who has ever had a plumbing issue knows how quickly your life falls apart when the pipes no longer work.
So there I was, falling apart slowly at the series of realizations that crashed over me in waves: we had no coffee, not even a little, and my husband had taken the car. I would have to manage to get my toddler fed, dressed, and corralled into the stroller for the twenty minute walk to the closest coffee shop uncaffeinated.
This may seem like the most trivial of issues because it is. Except that it really wasn’t.
Thankfully my kiddo was amazingly cooperative this morning and in a great mood. That helped when his zombie mom couldn’t find his shoes for roughly twelve minutes and then teared up when she found them next to the door where she had put them approximately thirteen minutes prior.
My brain was fighting the thick fog of sleepiness, NBA Finals hangover (emotional not booze. Mostly.), and cold turkey withdrawal hour two.
When I finally had us both dressed and outside, I realized I had forgotten the keys to lock up the house. I had to run back in, where my kiddo followed and ran to his room looking for “baby truck” (a tiny truck toy that he loves and is IMPOSSIBLE to find on a good day because, TINY). We had to spend the next seven minutes, inching ever closer to cold turkey hour three, looking for that accursed truck.
When we finally found “baby truck,” (in my child’s jacket pocket; yes, the very one he was WEARING), we finally made it outside. The house was locked up, I had my wallet (double checked that) and made our way to the coffee shop.
Twenty minutes later, I opened the doors and the holy aroma hit me, calming my nerves for approximately three seconds before I realized that this group of people twelve deep is the actual line. I had gotten there at exactly the pre-work rush hour.
Why don’t I just lay down and die?
(Don’t worry, I’m only melodramatic most of the time.)
When I finally ordered and had that first glorious sip, the moment I had been waiting for, working for, walking toward all morning, I gulped too hard too fast and burned the every living shit out of my tongue and couldn’t taste the rest of the cup or anything else all day.
Maybe I should switch to tea.