The other morning I made my usual half pot of coffee, allowing for a cup plus a bit more for myself, with one or two left for Jay. I ground the beans, loaded them into the machine, poured in water, and brewed it on the strong setting.
I love coffee. Everything about it. The smell. The taste. The warmth on my throat as it goes down. The large round mug in my hands. I take it with nut milk, replacing the half-and-half habit I had prior to learning I was allergic to all dairy products. And yes, I have grown to believe it is just as good … although I do have fond memories.
Coffee is my delicious morning ritual.
Zack observes this every day. He knows coffee is high-priority to Jay and me. And, because he is on an ever-vigilant quest to please us, Zack routinely pours whatever is left in the coffee pot into mugs, adds liberal amounts of half-and-half for Jay or nut milk for me, and brings it to us every chance he gets.
We always thank our loving son with great enthusiasm and take a sip or two, even if it’s too late in the day for coffee or there’s more cream than coffee in the cup.
Serving coffee to his parents has become Zack’s ritual.
So, the other morning when I went to refill my cup and the pot was empty I was not surprised, just a tad disappointed. I went in search of the good stuff and found three cups on Jay’s desk, filled with various amount of half-and-half, ready for him to enjoy for his morning routine.
I guess Zack thought I’d had enough for one day.