Every time I pour a cup of coffee in the morning, one of 3 small voices asks with such assuredness that the only possible answer is yes, “can I have hot chocolate mom?!” Like this is a morning ritual designed for kids or something. I remember my mom sipping a hot cup of coffee in the morning. I remember the smell, the sweet aroma of a ton of sugar and cream. And I remember the taste of cold, creamy sugary coffee I stole from left behind mugs of that morning’s quiet time. But I never saw myself in my mom’s shoes, or slippers and robe for that matter. I happily slurped my crackling and popping bits of cereal, wondering where we’d go with Ernie and Bert that day. Not so for these 3. I’m enjoying a cup of wake-me-up-and-start-my-day-right and by golly, they are too.


no comments