Last Friday, I successfully managed some “me” time. One full pattern repeat of Icarus in a beautiful denim blue. Over the weekend, I even managed to watch “V for Vendetta” again. Yesterday we aced the intake for VMRC (thank all of you for your wonderful comments and support! They really meant the world to me!). Life is really good. Even the postman brought a package for me…….

He delivered it yesterday. Sandy had told me yesterday morning that she had sent it, but I had no idea that it was due to arrive that day. When the postman came up to the door, he seemed to walk just a little bit slower than usual. Almost like he didn’t want to reach my door at all. He had a decent size box in his hands, and I knew that it must be the package that Sandy was speaking about. When he finally reached the door, he asked me if I knew what was in the package and I replied yes, I did.

He smiled at me and said, “it’s coffee, isn’t it.”

“Yes, Sandy said that she was sending some to me.”

“I’ve had it in the front seat with me all day and it just smells so good.” he replied.

At this point I didn’t mention that I noticed he didn’t deliver the package as early as he normally does. In fact, he was a couple hours later than usual.

“Did the smell help you stay awake?”

“Yes” and he smiled at me and wished me a good day.

Sandy sent six bags of coffee, all different roasts and blends. Oh yeah, life is really good!

Before Spurg came home from work, I gave him a quick call to run by the store as I was low on basic mocha making supplies like sugar, ground chocolate and whipped cream. He said it wasn’t a problem and that he would pick them up on his way home. Oh yeah, life is really better than good!

The alarm went off at 6:30 this morning. Time to crawl out of bed to get Nick ready for the day. Even crawling out of bed felt great today. For the first time in ages, I didn’t wake up in pain from muscle tension or arthritis. The migraine I had from the night before disappeared, when usually they last for days. I could breath! Not just breath, but deeply and fully and it felt good. Everything felt good, even the early morning chill in the house.

I made Nick his oatmeal, and gave him his medication. Then I rummaged around in his dresser to pick out his clothes for the day.

“Nick, would you like a hot chocolate this morning to help you warm up?”

Nick mumbled something that sounded like he didn’t but it wasn’t very clear to me.

“Nick, was that a yes or no?”

“Okay mom. I guess so.”

Nick was really dragging today. He had a rough day at school yesterday and I knew he would want to stay home, so when he asked if he could have a mental health day, it didn’t really come as a surprise. He’s been trying to get out of school a lot this year which isn’t typical for Nick unless he is having a difficult time dealing with normal situations that may arise during the school day.

“I’m sorry Nick. You’ve already missed too much school this year. I can’t let you stay home unless you really are sick.”

Nick is the great procrastinator in our household. What would take anyone one else just five minutes to do, Nick can drag out for eternity. It’s the same every day, and every day I gently prod him along.

“Nick, you need to get ready honey, or you’re going to have to get on the bus in your pajamas.”

Nick’s room is next to the kitchen. I wander in there to start my daily ritual of making a mocha. Sugar and chocolate in the cup. Milk in the frothing pitcher, and freshly ground coffee in the espresso machine. I fired that baby up just waiting to enjoy the instant caffeine infusion into my system.

While the water was heating in the reservoir, I went back to check on Nick with his hot chocolate in my hands. He was sitting on the bed with his comforter draped over his head.

“Nick, you need to get ready now. You are going to school today and the bus will be here soon.”

“My head hurts.”

I knew this was coming. He’s trying to avoid school. I had the migraine last night, so it was no surprise that he was claiming that his head hurt. Usually, once he gets to school, his symptoms will magically disappear.

“Nick, you need to go to school. If you don’t feel well at school, you can go to the nurse’s office and lay down. Now, please get ready. The bus will be here soon.”

I went back into the kitchen to check on the espresso. There was only about a tablespoon of espresso in the decanter. Ok. I looked carefully. No more liquid was going into the decanter, but I could hear the pressure of the steam building inside the espresso machine. Crap. It’s clogged somehow.

I decided to froth the milk so I could relieve the pressure building up inside. Then I shut off the machine and unplugged it. Time to find a screw driver.

I passed by Nick’s room and finally he was dressed, shoes on and not tied. He couldn’t find his jacket so he was waiting for me. I rummaged around his computer chair, it was under his robe. I handed it to him and told him to please go brush his teeth. He complained about his head again. I reminded him that he could go to the nurse’s office at school if it didn’t get better. He went to go brush his teeth.

I went downstairs looking for a phillips screwdriver. The bus honked. I yelled up to Nick to hurry up before the bus leaves. They only wait for three minutes. Somedays, it just isn’t enough. But thankfully, today, it was. Nick came downstairs, shoes still untied. Nick has never been able to tie his shoes. We tried to teach him for years, but he just doesn’t get it. He can explain Einstein’s theory of relativity to you clearly, but he cannot tie his own shoes. Standing in front of the door, he puts his foot on a chair so that I don’t have to bend over. One shoe at a time, the laces are double tied. Then he goes out the door. I call to him to have a good day and I will see him in the afternoon. He boards the bus and is on his way to school. I resume my mad search for the right screwdriver.

Found it. I race upstairs. I need that mocha desperately. No matter how good I feel today, I disassembled the plate above where the filter fits. It was clogged with sediment from the hard water we have. Crap. I scrubbed it out and clean it up until it shined as if it were new. Okay, let’s start over again.

Coffee in the filter. Water in the reservoir. Plug in and turn on.

I could hear the water heating up from the coils. I could hear it bubbling. I could hear the cycle over and over and over and over again. Nothing was coming out. Oh crap, crap crap!

My Mr. Coffee espresso machine is dead.

I pulled out my french press. I’m sure I could make some regular coffee strong enough to make a semi decent mocha. Yeah, right. Chocolate dishwater. Oh well. It’s what I have. I’ll live with it.

Back downstairs with the chocolate dishwater. It’s time to wake Spurg up so he can get ready for work. Our alarm clock has a double alarm, but I’m much more effective. I don’t have a snooze bar.

While he’s waking up, I tell him about the espresso machine dying tragically and unexpectedly. I ask him if he wouldn’t mind picking up another one during lunch. I don’t think he was conscious enough to understand. He sleepily wandered upstairs after mumbling something and took his shower. He came back downstairs and the earlier conversation seemed to have begun working it’s way through his brain.

“The espresso machine died?”

“Yep. Would you mind picking up another one for me?”

“With what money?”

“Oh, I have money. You know me, even when you think there isn’t any, I’ve got some stashed.”

“That’s true. You want me to go at lunch? Can’t it wait until later?”

“Babe. The cup I have is crap. I can’t survive past lunch. Why, you want to go now?”

A strange smile crossed his face. Spurg doesn’t do coffee. However, Spurg does know that the magic brown elixir is the only way I manage to keep up with the kids, have energy to clean the house, knit, spin, and deal with all the professionals that I do. Me without coffee is me without a brain. Not a pretty thing to experience. He ran to the store for me and picked up a new espresso machine. When he came home he proudly handed it to me and exclaimed’ “Babe, this one makes Cappuccinos too!”

I couldn’t help it. I smiled and tried to hold back the laughter. “Um, honey. All espresso machines can make Cappuccinos if they have a milk frothing arm on it.”

“Oh.” Poor guy doesn’t have a clue about coffee.

I thanked him profusely. The second he went off to work, I ripped open that box and set about making a decent mocha. The new machine worked like a charm. I sat down at the table and began drinking it, then I picked up the phone and called Sandy.

“Hello?”

“Do you know what irony is?” I asked.

“Um, yes.” She sounded totally confused.

“Do you really know what irony is?”

“I think I do.”

“Sandy. Irony is your coffee package arrived yesterday. Irony is Spurg picked up the rest of my mocha supplies on his way home from work.”

“Ok.”

“Irony is the espresso machine picked today to die without warning.”

She started laughing. I told her the complete story to which she replied, “oh, you have got to blog about this!”