I wake up most mornings feeling like I'm utterly hammered. I have grown to accept this dreaded morning feeling because I've known for most of my life that I am a "night person." And being a "night person" when you have young kids simply means you're screwed.
But alas, I have been blessed beyond description with a partner-in-crime who happens to be a "morning person." Growing up in Southern California close to the water and surfing at a young age has instilled in my dude a desire to wake up before the roosters. I have often wondered if he missed his calling and should have been delivering newspapers to all the sleepyheads around town.
Not only is my man a "morning person", he is also my very own personal barista. For many years now, on most mornings, he stands at our kitchen counter slaving over the espresso machine. You see, I'm not a coffee drinker. I actually don't like just coffee. I'm way too snobby for that. We don't even have a coffee maker. (Actually we own one but it sits in a box in the garage until my parents come for a visit.) I only like one thing - cappuccinos. At Starbucks, it's actually a double tall dry cappuccino. (And half the time, it shows up either like a latte or a super duper dry cappuccino) At home, I don't need to say a thing. My man knows exactly how I like it.
My barista prepares the perfect cappuccino and delivers it to me either when I stumble down the stairs into the kitchen all glurry (see previous post for definition) or on the really special mornings, it is delivered to my bedside where I take my first desperate sip before my eyes are even open.
I know it sounds glorious, doesn't it? Well, we MWOBS need daily divine intervention in order to get through the day and mine arrives in a coffee cup hand-delivered by a hot dude.