Morning Cup of Coffee
I recently read the quote that the last thing the world needs is more coffee mugs. I tend to agree, but I seem to be a sucker for a great coffee cup. Although we are focused on “less” in our home (and in every aspect of our lives), I’m guilty of justifying the purchase of a mug as a souvenir. (Especially during our last few trips to Disneyland.) To be fair, the cups we’ve bought are used every day. I still have the all-white “set” that matches my dishes, but I drink from some form of Disney mug each morning. I have some really awesome cups that don’t get used regularly. I love them, but they are not practical for everyday use.
Interestingly, Leroy always uses the plain, white cups. I don’t know if this was a conscious decision by either one of us, but it makes distinguishing between “who’s is who’s” much more straightforward. On one of our Disneyland trips together, we each picked out a mug to bring home. It didn’t take long for me to break Leroy’s mug. (Of course, it had to be his that I broke.) He liked the cup, and we replaced it (with the exact same one) on our next trip to Disneyland. (It was so unlike him to latch on to a thing. Especially since he doesn’t use it.)
In the end, it’s not about the things, but the meaning behind them. The story I want to remember is that Leroy makes my coffee for me every morning. He brings it into the bedroom and sets it on my nightstand, waiting for me to wake up enough to drink it. The coffee is brewed just before our alarm clock goes off (thank you automatic timer) and smells delicious, but it tastes even better when someone else has prepared it for you, with love.
How I take my coffee is just as complicated as I am. Our mugs are big, so I require 2 packets of Truvia, enough cream to drown a small bird, 1 tablespoon of grass-fed butter (I’m not kidding) and 1 tablespoon of MCT oil. Then, because of the oil, the entire mixture has to be mixed with a frother. Once that’s complete, the cup is topped off with cold whipped cream (very few carbs) and a sprinkling of cinnamon. Leroy teases me that I don’t really like coffee, I prefer sweetened , brown water. I won’t even mention how many times I have to warm it up before the cup is empty. (Let’s just say, more than twice, usually.)
Yeah, I’m that girl.
Leroy takes his coffee black but does add the butter and MCT oil for dietary purposes. (And yes, he uses the frother on his too.) This ritual has become such a habit that there is no thinking behind it. If the routine is interrupted for any reason, Leroy tends to forget the Truvia in my cup. As soon as I taste the (Truvia-less) coffee, I’ll yell out a sound of disgust, and he remembers the omission immediately.
In my defense, I am the one responsible for washing out the pot, cleaning the coffee maker and refilling and resetting it for the next morning. I definitely have the better end of the deal as my chore is not time sensitive and much simpler than the morning preparation.
The world may not need more mugs (and I know we certainly do not), but it could sure use a bit more Leroys.