Coffee. The struggle.

6:03am

We've been up since somewhere in the 0500's when the boys joined me in bed.

I trumble (trudge+stumble) downstairs and head directly to the coffee pot.

The youngest child is circling me, crashing and ricocheting off my legs like a moth with a light bulb. 

I must concentrate fiercely, lest I pour OJ into my coffee or something. Mug. 

"Mama?"

Put Coffee in mug.

"Mama? Can you read this book?"

Spoon. Sugar.

"Mama? Where is Yoda's light saber?"

Milk. Put Milk in, too.

"Mama? Mama!" He crashes into my legs, bounces off and falls to the floor. Now there's crying.

"Maaammmaaa"

Where did I put my mug?

There there, buddy. Shhh.

Seriously, I just made it. Where is it?

"Mama? Can I have breakfast?"

"Sure bud, what would you like?"

"A muffin?"

"Sorry bud, we're all out."

There it is! 

"A cookie?"

"What?"

"One of the cookies we made yesterday?"

"We don't eat cookies for breakfast."

Cold?! How?!

"A waffle?"

"Sure. Go get in your chair."

Now the big one chimes in from the living room, where he is nestled on the couch under a blanket,

"MOM?!CanIhaveCheerioswithmilkandalsomilkinacup? And can you tell me when it's on the table?!"

God forbid he emerge from his blanket before absolutely necessary.

"Sure bud."

A moment of silence while both children eat.

I locate my coffee in the microwave.

Cold again.