Tag Archives: coffee

Number 5

4 May

My dad gave me this French press a few years ago…

…and it’s become part of my morning routine with Henry.

He sits on the counter, next to the coffee press, watching me add the coffee grounds, then add the hot water, and add the milk and sugar to my cup. I pour the coffee in my mug and Henry stirs it all together.

He tries to steal my mug of steaming coffee but I’m a mean mommy and won’t let him have it.

Some day Henry, we can share a cup of coffee. Some day.

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Dang it! I like weeny coffee.

23 Oct

For as long as I can remember, my mom has had a cup of “coffee” every morning. Not real coffee but what we have always called “weeny coffee.” Why is it weeny? Because it’s really hot chocolate disguised as coffee. The people at Maxwell House International call their powdered sugar drinks “lattes” and “mochas.” And, to be fair, I suppose there is some instant coffee if these drinks. But they are a far, far cry from the black, roasted, caffeine-charged drink  that most consider to be coffee.

As a little girl, I occasionally made my mom’s “coffee” in the morning. The recipe never varied. Heat up the hot water. Measure two heaping teaspoons of Swiss Mocha mix into a mug. Fill the mug up most of the way but not all the way with hot water. Stir to mix. I remember it quite clearly. Every morning for years. And still continues to this day. Although, now the Swiss Mocha has been booted for Peppermint Mocha.

As I got older, I mocked my mom for drinking this weaker version of coffee. I was tougher than that. I drank real coffee. She could have her weeny coffee but I wanted nothing to do with it.

She eventually won me over.

It started right after I had Henry. My mom stayed with us for 10 days as I recovered from delivery and Deron and I recovered from the shocking change to our life. I was physically exhausted. I was emotionally drained. I was beyond tired. And my mom, caring woman that she is, offered to share her “coffee” with me early one morning. Sure, I said, too bleary eyed to protest. I remember chuckling to myself a little bit, unbelieving that was going to share weeny coffee with my mom. But, gosh darn it, it was tasty. Sugary, chocolatey, a very slight coffee flavor. There was something more, though. It was strangely comforting. The warmth. The tradition. The memories. It was my mom in a mug.

We shared weeny coffee every morning during that visit. My mom would bring it to me as I curled up on the couch after a long night with the baby boy. It was really nice.

Ever since then, she has managed to sneak a few tins of “coffee” onto our pantry shelves. I let them languish in favor of a stronger brew but, after this last visit, when my mom again made me weeny coffee every morning, I’ve become a bit hooked. I finished off the two tins on our shelves and actually missed them when they were gone. Those empty tins are so sad.

Well, I’m drinking real coffee this morning but it’s not satisfying the way it used to be. Where is the comfort? Where are the memories? It’s rough. It jostles you out of sleepiness. Kicks you out of bed. It’s the alarm clock that blares in your face too early in the morning. I don’t like it as much anymore. Sure, I’ll need it most days of the week. But, maybe there is space for some weeny coffee too. There are days where I’d rather wake up gently as I did as a kid, when my mom would poke her head into my bedroom and say in a soft voice “Becca, it’s time to wake up.” Maybe there is something to be said for the nice, cozy way to start your day. I think that’s just something I need these days.