My 5-year-old brother knows how important my mom's coffee is to her in the morning.
My son also understands and pays reverance to the magic, caffinated elixir that is my morning cup of joe. He knows not to touch it, blow on it, or fuss at me before I've poured it. In our marriage, there is never a fight over who makes the coffee because we just have an understanding that it gets made. There are days when I am near certain that the coffee fairy makes it.
My cup is the start to my day and the splash of heavy cream that I add to it is the small mama luxury that gets my day started off right.
No one need elucidate me on coffee's many flaws and disadvantages (nor the cream I put in it). I gave it up in some degree during each of my pregnancies and have sacrificed it during Lent a time or two. Having worked at a coffee shop to put myself through college (both financially and physically) brewed coffee with cream is my stepdown from the harder stuff like flavored lattes (and the daily donut that is now represented around my mid-section).
Someday I'll swear off of my caffinated crutch in favor of my other dear friend decaffinated tea. Someday, when I have a beautiful house overlooking a lake where I can sit and watch the sunrise while waiting for my grown children to call and give me the latest update on the grandchildren...Someday, when all that is on my plate for the day is cooking and reading.
Until then, this is my place in life. A place where the rich smell of roasted beans in my nose instantly clears away the cobwebs clouding my mama brain.