An endless cup of coffee

I glanced at my three older children as we squeezed on the couch together. "We'll finish our stories and then I'll make coffee," I explained. They nodded in acknowledgment and focused their eyes on the pictures of a young frog and his family. Soon--once our story was finished and we had completed an I Spy challenge together--I leapt off the couch and dashed to the kitchen, hoping that I could make (and drink) a cup of coffee in peace and quiet before the baby woke from her nap. 

Naturally, as soon as I poured water from the steaming kettle into the French press, I heard the baby's cries. Setting the timer, I held the baby and began nursing her. Meanwhile, instead of happily settling into playtime as usual, my other children began simmering with an incoming chaos. We needed a new plan. 

"Everybody!" I called out. "Who wants to drop books off at the library before Mass?" As soon as my children heard me mention the library with a fancy book drop (which includes a conveyor belt that sorts books) their collective attitude shifted. They began hastily buttoning dress shirts and putting on shoes. I coaxed the baby off my chest and ran to my pot of coffee. The toddler and one of her brothers followed, so I poured them each a tiny amount and dumped the rest into a travel mug that I pushed out of their reach. 

I'll drink that in the car, I thought to myself as I trotted to the bedroom. My two-year-old followed, happily sipping her little cup of coffee. Hoping for just a moment of solitude, I locked myself in the bedroom and got ready for the day. When I emerged a couple minutes later, my two-year-old was still delightedly scampering around, sipping coffee. 

It was amazing to see how long it was taking her to drink that little bit of coffee. 

Walking by the dining room table, I saw a big wet spot and distractedly wiped it up, figuring that a child had dumped some water by accident. I helped a child button his shirt, I told another to put on shoes, and I grabbed a dress for the toddler. I beckoned her close, and noticed that she did, indeed, still have coffee in her cup. 

The toddler now dressed and wearing shoes, I turned my attention to the baby. As I crouched on the floor and changed her diaper, I looked over to the dining room table. There, standing on a chair, was my toddler--intently pouring coffee from my travel mug into her little cup. 

I raced over and she toddled off with a big grin. I lifted my travel mug in dismay. It was not nearly as heavy as it should have been. I guided my children to the minivan, stashed my partially empty mug in the front seat, and went to buckle my toddler's car seat. She swung her legs and batted her eyelashes at me. The cup holder of her car seat was not holding her water bottle as usual; no, her little cup of coffee sat there instead. 

"Are you supposed to take mommy's coffee?" I inquired with the sternest voice I could muster. 

"YES!" she cried. 

Well, I guess now I have an excuse to make a second batch of coffee today.