Every mom has her thing. Some swear by yoga, some by wine, some by long walks where no one calls their name every 10 seconds. For me, it’s coffee. That humble, slightly burnt-tasting cup from my kitchen that stands between me and complete mental collapse.
I love love love that first sip in the morning. The kids can be screaming, Rex can be asking me where his socks are (seriously, why is this still a mystery?), the cat can be knocking something off the counter for sport — but once I have that mug in my hands, I feel like I can almost handle it all. Almost.
One time, I thought I’d be brave and skip it. Big mistake. Huge. I was like a dragon with PMS, snarling at anyone who dared breathe too close. By noon, I was googling “can children survive on Goldfish crackers alone?” and I nearly cried when Anthony spilled juice all over the floor. Rex walked in, handed me a cup, and whispered, “Please drink this before you kill us.” And honestly? He wasn’t wrong.
It’s not just the caffeine (though let’s be real, that’s 99% of it). It’s the ritual. The quiet moment of pouring, stirring, and pretending I have control over something in my life. That smell wrapping around me like a hug. It’s basically therapy in liquid form — except cheaper and it doesn’t talk back.
Miami mornings are loud. Between school drop-offs, traffic that makes me question humanity, and kids fighting over who gets to push the elevator button, there isn’t much space for peace. But coffee creates this tiny bubble where I can breathe. It’s like pushing pause before the chaos resumes.
And yeah, I know people say you shouldn’t “depend” on anything. But let’s be real, we all do. Some people depend on essential oils, some on Netflix binges, some on their perfectly curated planners (definitely not me). I depend on coffee. If that makes me weak, then hand me another latte and call me fragile.
The funny part is how my kids notice. Nico once drew a picture of me holding a giant cup and told me it was “so you don’t yell.” Brutal honesty, straight from a seven-year-old. Anthony, on the other hand, just knows to bring me the coffee pods from the drawer like they’re offerings to a queen. Smart boy.
So yes, coffee saved my sanity. It still does every day. And if I have to keep vacuuming Goldfish crackers out of the car, breaking up wrestling matches in the living room, and answering 9,000 “why” questions before lunch, then coffee is coming with me for the ride.
One day, maybe I’ll quit. Maybe I’ll trade it for green smoothies or whatever Gwyneth Paltrow is selling that week. But today is not that day. Today, I raise my mug, take a sip, and survive.