JAVA MAMA JUNKIE

There’s no way to sugar coat this one. I am a junkie. Addicted. Hooked. Yes, say it loud, say it proud. I am a coffee whore.

As much as I love my children and my husband, they are not what I crave, want to caress and want to wrap myself around when I wake. Nope, when my eyes flutter open first thing in the morning, I want to cuddle up with something hot, camel colored and steaming in my mega sized sturdy ceramic green floral cup.

During the work week, there’s never a problem. I simply set my silver cuisinart state of the art coffee maker and carafe to brew a perfect pot at 5:50 am. By the time I drag myself downstairs at 6am, my morning coffee is waiting to be inhaled and ingested. With everyone else still soundly asleep upstairs, there’s no competition for my attention or affection. I can sit, sip and savor and indulge in my addiction. Just as my evening ritual of indulging in a glass of red wine when the kids are finally asleep signals the end of my marathon day, my steaming cup of coffee serves as the starter pistol. It doesn’t take much. About a half a cup sipped on the couch in a zombie like coma does the trick. I can get in the shower and get cracking on my day.

Now the weekends however, that’s a different story. While I love and look forward to the weekends spent with my husband and kids, those busy bustling mornings turn my treasured caffeine routine into chaos. I want nothing more than to spend the day snuggling with my family, but it's the mornings when mama needs a moment to herself. I’ve tried sticking to my 6am wakeup call, but by Saturday, I‘m usually so exhausted that I want and need every spare second of sleep I can get.

Sometimes, I get lucky, my eyes will open at seven or so and I’ll slip downstairs before Nico and Christiana will roll over and start the first chorus of “Mommy, Mommy.” Those mornings are pure paradise. I’ll brew a fresh pot, slip on my slippers and saunter out to the driveway – as quickly as I can checking up and down the street making sure no neighbors have spotted me in my nighttime uniform of boxers and tank top. Then, I come back inside and savor cup after cup of my steaming coffee with a healthy side order of the news of the day.

But, those weekend mornings are few and far between. Usually, in my exhausted and sleep deprived state, I’ll stay in bed until I hear the familiar thump thump thump of tiny feet heading for my bedroom as I brace myself for the cannonball that my kids are about to perform on my head. I scoop them up and head downstairs where the battle for my conscious begins. What do I do first – pour the kids’ milk or make my coffee? But it doesn’t end there – what’s more important, changing Nico’s pee soaked diaper, or savoring my first sip? He’s been lying in it for ten hours already, what’s a few more minutes gonna do? Do I break up the ugly battle over the remote or continue to ignore the eye gouging my kids are engaging in and pour myself a much needed second cup? Do I serve my kids breakfast or sit for just a few more minutes and try to savor my liquid crack in a cup?

I admit, usually, the coffee wins. Now let’s get something straight – there’s nothing in the world that matters to me more than my kids. I dote, indulge, play and obsess over them probably more than I should or need to. But when it comes to coffee – I admit defeat. I know I’m a mess without my morning fix, so what’s the fuss. Maybe a little diaper rash and sibling battle before breakfast are a small price to pay for a loving mama who needs her java.

KINDERGARTEN CONFESSIONAL

Forgive me Role Mommys, for I have sinned. Oh, it's been about five minutes since my last confession since I can’t seem to go more than a few minutes without doing something that another mom finds offensive.

It’s bad enough when I’m out with my children and I catch another mom staring at me with her toxic judgmental dagger eyes as she happens to overhear me engaging in my 2 ½ year old son’s favorite new pastime called “can’t say”.

“Mommy”, he leans in and whispers.
“Yes, Nico” I answer, bracing for what’s sure to come next.
“Mommy, we can say shut down, right?”
“Yes, Nico, we can say shut down.”
“But Mommy, we can’t say shut up, right?”
“No, Nico, that’s a bad word, we can’t say that.”
“And Mommy, we can’t say stupid, right. And we can’t say poopy…” and so on and so on until he’s

covered every single bad word he’s ever encountered – and trust me, he has quite the repertoire.

It’s always fun when I feel the disapproving stares and hear the muffled murmurs of other moms judging my parenting skills from the sidelines.

“Oh no, she just resorted to bribery and promised her children a trip to Toys R US if they’ll sit still long enough so she can finish her glass of wine. That’s a ten point parenting penalty.”

“Her son just said shit and she didn’t automatically put him in a time out – I’m afraid that’s an instant disqualification.”

I’ve learned to live with it, to ignore the looks and comments and gravitate to moms whose parenting styles are

similar to my own. There’s strength in numbers girls, we’ve got to stick together!

But just when I thought I was immune to all the color commentary – along came the first day of Kindergarten. Well, not REALLY the first day of Kindergarten, my husband stepped in for that one – yup, here’s where I start confessing and those other moms start judging.

Of course I wanted to be there for the first day of Kindergarten, are you kidding? I’d kill for the luxury of being part of every milestone and important moment. But, like so many other moms out there – I work. My husband’s schedule is far more flexible than my own so we tag team it and somehow manage to make it work. Dave took Christiana to school for her first week of half days and I arranged to take her in the following week for her first full day.( I never anticipated the angst involved in packing a lunch but that’s another sin filled confession that I’ll get to next time.)

So, in I walked, holding my little Christiana Kindergartner’s hand, feeling like the mother of the year as I proudly escorted my little girl to her class, when I had the most horrific reality check of my life. The moms aren’t the only ones judging me, the kids are judging me too.

We were barely in the door when a little bratty boy announced for all to hear.
“Christiana, you’re late. Why did your Mommy bring you to school late. You already missed announcements.” We were literally 3 minutes late, are you kidding me, kid?!

And if that wasn’t bad enough – another little Judge Judy in the making chimed in…
“Are you Christiana’s Mommy? We’ve never seen you here before. Where have you been?”

UH, how about at work, using my brain and making sure my daughter has a successful, accomplished role model to look up to so she can always be reminded that she can accomplish anything she sets her mind to.
But, that doesn’t seem to matter when your kindergartener wants to fit in with all the other kids in the class.
So, I’ve made a vow to repent, show up on time and make sure I leave little love notes in Christiana’s lunch so she can be like all the other kids who literally compare notes on how much their mommy’s love them.
I made a vow to be a prompt parent but once a sinner, always a sinner. Keep right on judging me ladies, but I never will issue a time out when Christiana slips and says a bad word. After all, guess who she probably heard it from.

Yup, I may always be a sinner, but I’ll never be a hypocrite.