Almost thirteen years into parenthood, I can fully accept most quiet moments will be loudly interrupted, most tantrums happen unexpectedly, and while I’m in full control of my trio, I have no control over my day’s adventures. I have fully accepted this.
From the moment those three set of feet hit the ground, I plan to be armed and loaded with peace and coffee.
It all starts the night before with a little bit of grinding.
It continues at 5:15 am as I wake with an eagerness and wave of possibilities. When my husband wakes 15 minutes later, we rarely talk. Sometimes, I greet him with an exasperated grunt from my Peloton spin bike. He knows how sacred these 45 minutes are to me. You see, most days, his work schedule gets him out the door prior to the kids waking and home after they have already unloaded backpacks, tantrums, and their bowels (seriously, why do they hold it all day?).
Just about the time I am finishing my workout, I can hear the same five beeps signaling the momentous daily ritual. I catch the aroma wafting down the basement steps as I climb closer. Then, we make contact, and I pour my first cup of unadulterated coffee and sip. From this moment forward, when their feet hit the ground running, I’ll be ready to handle it all in a semi-graceful way because I was in control (of that first sip).