Coffee Break

I am troubled by the paradox of loving my kids with painful intensity, while longing for the peaceful times before my house was filled with their noisy existence. As Hannah chases Ben in screaming circles around the living room, I try to focus on the slow sipping of my coffee, inhaling its welcome fragrance, like the comforting presence of a faithful friend. I miss the days when I could curl up like our cat in the sun, savoring my coffee and the silence of the morning… Ah, but like so much of my life, I only truly appreciate the silence in its absence. Long days alone in a quiet house once left my heart feeling like an empty cup – nice enough, I suppose, but so much better when full of my favorite brew. These days, my cup is filled to the brim with noise, just a touch too full for my liking. I can’t quite squeeze in as much cream and sugar as I used to. And some days, even a loud radio can cause my cup to overflow, and I spill a little of my own noise out onto my poor kids…

“I know you like the song “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” but can’t you sing it a LITTLE softer. And can’t you find a new song after you sing that one a HUNDRED times?”

“Yes, I know your screams are playful and that your fun can’t help but overflow in raucous laughter… but can you laugh a little more quietly PLEASE? Mama has a headache!”

As I drain the last few swallows out of my cup of coffee, having enjoyed as much of a break as I get these days, the empty cup looks achingly sad. How long until my home is empty again, with only my memories of their heartwarmingly joyful and dramatically distraught noise remaining like the dregs of coffee in my once overflowing cup?