The cafe is insane today. FAMILIES have invaded my usual spot down the back. There’s a handful of adults and an army of preschoolers, all squawking and half-standing, half-sitting while they spill juice and fling egg around. (The kids. The adults are pretty well-behaved.)
Honestly. Get a take-away and go to the park. That’s what I used to do.
Coffee dates –
Actually, when The Athlete and The Socialite were preschoolers I didn’t do coffee. We didn’t have much money and in Indianapolis where we lived espresso was an exotic import, not the ubiquitous drink du jour it is here. If I needed to escape our apartment, especially in the winter when sub-zero temperatures stymied outdoor play, I’d bundle the kids into their coats and drive to the nearest Burger King. It had huge indoor play equipment and free soda refills. The girls and I would eat fries and drink lemonade then they’d play for hours on the climbing frame while I crocheted. I was pregnant with The Ballerina and hormones made me crafty.
Life as a stay-at-home mother crushed me. Too introverted to make friends with others like me, I just put my head down and ploughed through those early years, my sanity saved by daily walks and occasional gym workouts. I watch today’s coffee-sipping mothers groups with envy. And resentment. This is my cafe and my time to write. Bugger off.
For the record –
Remember the velvet cushions, the ones with the foam and feather inserts bathed in milky coffee? They’re taking a long time to dry. I put them out the back; elevated, but on the grass, chasing the sun. It’s going to take a few more days after the irrigation system burst into life overnight, giving them a further dowsing.