But for now let’s talk about coffee.

When do you drink it?

After years of drinking it first thing, I’m currently on day three of waiting 90 minutes after I wake up to have mine. I read somewhere that it's “better for your system.” Something about cortisol and natural rhythms and not shocking your body into productivity before it has located its soul.

Why is everything over 40 about “resetting your system?"

I think I sort of know what that means. Does anybody else??

Anyway. It’s been hard. But also… good.

The reward is sweeter when you earn it.

My friend and fellow art teacher gifted me this mug. He knows I love midcentury design.

First: get out of your warm bed. Freeze while pulling on clothes. Shuffle downstairs to feed the crying cats. Eat the overnight oats. Make coffee for later consumption. Seven minutes of tai chi (brand new - we’ll see). Attempt to form thoughts that resemble prayer. Shower. Dress. Try to pack a lunch. Round up the teenager. Throw treats at the dog on the way out the door. Do all the things.

And then.

Drink it on the way to school as a mini celebration for making it this far. Slightly more regulated. Slightly more prepared.

The Mug Situation

My mugs are highly curated. Mostly gifts - from my sister-in-law, friends, students. I rarely buy them for myself. They just appear over the years, little ceramic artifacts of relationship.

Apparently I am someone who holds warm things and thinks.

Accurate.

“Mornings are for coffee and contemplation.” — Hopper, Stranger Things.

Somebody please buy me that mug on Amazon.

College Coffee (The Luxury Years)

I didn’t really drink coffee in college.

The only time I remember buying it was when we went to Barnes & Noble once a week to “study.” 

Or, we tucked ourselves into indie coffee shops with our sketchbooks and let ourselves believe the right song, the right table, the right cup of coffee might unlock something creative in us.

It wasn’t fuel. It was atmosphere. The hum of espresso machines. The smell of beans. The feeling of being serious about something.

And my husband, this should have been a sign, ordered steamers.

Milk. Steamed. No coffee.

Every time.

At the time it felt wholesome. Endearing. Now if he walked into our local coffee shop and confidently ordered a steamer, I’m pretty sure the barista would blink and say, “You mean a latte?”

No. He means hot milk. Like a Victorian child.

My newest mug from my sister-in-law.

When It Became Necessary

Coffee in the 90s was something your parents drank. It was Folgers. It lived in a red container and smelled like Saturday mornings and bills.

I didn’t become a daily coffee drinker until after my first child, when sleep became a depreciating asset.

The first coffee I bought was Folgers. I kept it in the fridge because that’s what my mom told me to do. I never questioned it.

And the rest is history.

Not a day goes by without it.

I tried to limit it during my second pregnancy. By the third, I was simultaneously pregnant and starting my first year teaching, so the limits adjusted accordingly.

Ironically, she is now the child who drinks the most coffee.

Make of that what you will.

The Ritual Now

I make it just for me in my small, very non-fancy drip coffee pot.

Medium roast. Prefer organic.Not loyal to any brand.

Sometimes, when I need a treat, I buy whole beans and grind them myself. It feels like one of those quiet scenes in a music biopic — not the triumph or the downfall, just the ordinary morning that later gets remembered as important.

Despite my girl's accusations of being a boring coffee drinker, as long as there’s a form of dairy and sweetener involved, I’m good.

I am not above cream. I am not above sugar. I am not trying to win an award.

Marriage, Somehow

Blake still doesn’t drink coffee.

He doesn’t drink wine either. (a rare treat for me)

I truly do not know how we’ve stayed married this long with no shared mutual love of such beverages.

This feels like something they should include in premarital counseling.

“Do you promise to love and cherish each other in sickness and in health, despite wildly different stimulant preferences?”

Apparently we do.

Because here we are. Opposites attract. 

Me, waiting 90 disciplined minutes for my medium roast. Him, fully functional without caffeine. Just… existing on natural reserves, maybe some chai tea.

The male species is honestly impressive.

A gift from a former student.

Final thoughts

So no, this isn’t really about resetting my system.

It’s about earning the cup. About the ritual. About the way coffee has shifted from luxury, to survival, to something quieter and chosen.

Tomorrow morning I’ll be downstairs again. Freezing. Feeding cats. Doing tai chi like a woman trying.

And then - coffee.

Contemplation optional.