Our coffee machine broke a couple of weeks ago and with the pending possibility of upping sticks, we bought a cheap and cheerful replacement at Carrefour. It's a lovely little white machine that makes ever so cute steaming noises while at work. The only downers are that it's white, and therefore likes to show off it's hard work, and it drips everywhere when you pour out the coffee. The other bummer is that it doesn't turn itself off automatically after 2 hours like the last one we had, so I have added another level of stress to my life: I shout and fight, get the tribe into the car, head off for destinations far & wide only to suddenly wonder, about 45 minutes from home, if I turned the coffee machine off.
On the positive side of things, since we don't own a microwave chez nous, there is a new found joy when I can stumble into the kitchen, frazzled and freaking, and find that the coffee I made after The Man left for work is still there and hot. Sure, it's thickened up slightly, but hey! Coffee soup! That's what's for dinner!
I've needed this overdosing of caffeine this week. Trying to sort out flights, nannies, clothes, toys, stuff, crap, friends, dogs, life is intense. But I'm sure you already knew that. In about two weeks, everything changes and we have two months of nuts. Even though the knot in my stomach is for something positive this time, I'm ever so glad I can still drown the sucker in a nice strong cup of Guatemalan.
My first cup coffee in the morning is the most perfect because The Man brings it to me and we sit in bed, stare out at the hills behind the house, and enjoy the peace. These days are flying. We sip as slowly as the minutes can allow.
An hour later and my second cup is done, just as the sun peaks out from behind the church. I hear the boys yelling for Nutella and the background noise of Rosie's favourite Wallace & Gromit film.
My cup is empty. But overflowing.