Coffee is my drug…

I know that I really shouldn’t say that coffee is like my crack, my drug, but it is. I know it’s not everyone’s crack, especially not my kids’ crack because that would be (and sounds really) bad.  Besides, raisins are Arthur’s crack and Diego cartoons are Ian’s.

But back to coffee and crack. Take this morning, for example, I’m in the middle of making a lunch for my husband, which is rare, since I usually make my boys’ lunches and then quit so I can shower and get out the door on time with everyone, but I’m trying to do this new thing in 2012 which is be a better person: citizen, employee, daughter, sister, friend, mother, and yes, wife. And so, this time, I didn’t need to pat myself on the back for making said lunch in honor of being a good wife since I knew what the reward was going to be…or my nose knew: a fresh cup of coffee, prepared by my husband (who I am convinced makes coffee much, much better than I).  Anyway, he ground the beans (Arthur was not around to do the button pushing as per usual), and one whiff while it was brewing and I was pining for my cup.

Yup, it’s my crack.

Unfortunately, in our haste to get out the door, my husband forgot his crack, er coffee. At least he hadn’t forgotten the lunch I made him.


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Categories: Lifestyle


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