Growing up, every morning started off with the same smell, the bitter, biting aroma of coffee. Before I was ten, my parents had already handed me a small cup of “coffee milk,” a less watery version of iced coffee. However, my love of coffee didn’t mature until I worked my first job as a barista at a coffee shop. From then on, it was pure love.
It didn’t hurt that the coffee we made was really, really good.
Fast forward a few years. Drew and I kept coffee in the house, but our coffee pot wasn’t used often. We both enjoyed coffee, but we didn’t care to have it daily. And we couldn’t afford to keep it in the house much, either.
And then, a few years ago for Christmas, we decided to have “weekend coffee.” At the time, it was a way to stretch out how long a bag of flavored coffee would last. And it doubled as our Christmas gift for each other that year.
We started buying regular coffee, actually keeping it around because it was a warm drink Drew could have on his way to work. But weekends? Weekends were for flavored coffees. Something special at the end of the week.
What began as a Christmas gift has morphed into a regular staple in our lives. Even when we don’t get our weekend coffee, we still know it will be there next weekend.
Some gifts are like that. My husband is one, and my girls are another. The big gifts, the ones I wondered if I would ever get, have become commonplace. Sometimes I hate that. Other times, I’m just thankful that I’ve had them at all. And it’s most noticeable when I’m away from them for a time.
So, hello again. I don’t have a plan here. I’m just sipping my coffee, thankful for the time that I have. Whatever that ends up looking like.