Friday, September 26, 2014

Don't talk to Kim

I never was a morning person.

I know because I was told nearly 50 times a day throughout my entire childhood.

"Don't talk to Kim" was probably the most-heard phrase before 8 a.m. in my house.  It served as a warning, and as I furiously ripped the packaging off my cereal bar I secretly loved whoever offered this gorgeous advice.

Yes, please don't,  I would think, fumbling around in my morning fog, cursing the day as it sprawled out before me.

Somehow I made it through my first 21 years like this.  I began nearly every day angry or confused, depending on the time I woke.

And then, at 21 years of age, I married.  And thus began one of the most important relationships of my life.

I was in love.  I felt happy, even before noon.  In fact, I woke up every morning thinking, dreaming about it.

I had discovered coffee.

I can recall life before Joel.  I can even imagine life before kids.  But I honestly don't know how I survived life before coffee.

Now I drink this beautiful brew on the other side of the ocean from where I savored my first sip.  With three more kids (hopefully) sleeping upstairs.  But there are some things that time and distance can't change.

Namely, my first cup.

It is literally the most sacred part of my day.

I wake up early (gasp!), tiptoe downstairs, press my coffee, froth the milk, snuggle up in my cozy gray arm chair... and I drink.

It's beautiful, really.  The first foamy sip from that steaming, hot mug.

Sometimes I read and sometimes I just sit and sometimes I repeat, like a broken record, "not before mommy's coffee."

But it's always there, like a faithful friend.  Ready to help me through the day.

At the bottom of that first cup I find the day's possibilities.  I find the courage to face another 12 hours of mommy-hood... with all of its lunch-packing and kid-shuttling and toddler-chasing.

Of course, every once in a while (to always), I spend my coffee time scrolling through Facebook, where articles on motherhood pour through the screen.  I can't stop my finger from tapping those links.  I just can't.  It's a compulsion.

But often, when I've scrolled as far as I can, I'm left feeling heavy.  I'm left feeling not enough, or too much, right or wrong, a success or a failure.  Sometimes it feels like there's not enough room for mistakes.

There's not much room for an average mom who loves her kids a whole lot.  Who wants great things for her family, but doesn't want to go crazy getting there.

And that's not how I should feel when I'm enjoying the only (semi) peaceful moment of my day.

But I'm guilty of it too.  Pretending that I know what I'm doing, when I really don't.  Acting like super mom when some days I'm barely scraping by.

And so this blog begins.  Just me.  Without the veil of perfection.

And my flawed family, who I love ridiculously.

So welcome to my first cup.  And welcome to another day!

8 months pregnant with Benjamin.  How I miss my coffee holder.