Each day, my wife makes a concerted and persistent effort to consume some small bit of caffeine. After being up and down all night with a newborn, and after being up and down all day with a two- and five-year-old, she’s well and truly tired, as her energy flags and her emotional well-being turns fragile.
So she seeks out a balm from the maternal chaos in the form of coffee. In between nursing and comforting and cleaning and holding and loving and soothing, she finally makes herself a quick cup of joe. But that’s not the hard part.
No, any fool can MAKE a cup of coffee. Only a master can actually DRINK it.
The kids can sense, from any point in the house, when exactly Mom seats herself on the couch, gives a slight sigh, and brings the cup to her mouth. At that moment, their ears vigilant for the precise second the cup reaches her lips but before she can consume a drop of the life giving substance, they throw themselves wholeheartedly down the stairs or off a bed, crash their torsos to the ground, and emit a screech of such agony and suffering that even Satan himself takes notes on the dehumanizing effect of this particular howl.
So she places her cup down on the end table or the counter or the window sill, races to confront this latest catastrophe, and is swept away on the winds of life as her patient and faithful coffee cup sits by itself, lonely, forgotten, full, and slowly growing colder and colder.
Maybe Mom makes it back to rescue the remaining dregs through a quick microwave warm up before giving her efforts a second try. But just as often, I will discover the cup (or cups) spread throughout the house when I return from work.
For its in their fullness of life and liquid that I can see a concrete and ever-present example of a mother’s love, kindness, and sacrifice.
The Summ Of All Tears 