Coffee / by Kate Brightbill


Seeing as its Monday, it seems appropriate to talk about coffee.

I had my first sips of coffee at 3 years old, if my mom's memory is to be believed. I think it doubtful she waited that long to share her cups with us. Half of my family is Scandinavian, which all my life I heard is the clear reason that so many of my cousins and I were pouring steaming hot coffee into styrofoam cups regularly by the time we were in junior high {before we recognized styrofoam as the demise of our ecosystem, of course. I feel like talking about styrofoam as a cup choice in childhood will soon date me clearly as an 80's child}. 

"It's hereditary," they told us of the coffee addiction. 

Though we know underneath it all that it is not truly hereditary, coffee is a thing around here. My husband didn't believe in coffee without a minimum of 35 grams of sugar when he married me; these days he'll drink the largest cup he can get in his hands, morning and night, with or without sugar {generally with}. At 2-years old, Sophie poured real black coffee into a friend's toy teacup during a playdate and was sipping like it was no big deal.


Cheers to coffee today. Cheers to waking on the right side of the bed on an early Monday morning during which I tortured myself with my second Pilates class of 2014. 

{And by "right side of the bed" I'm referring to the moment my alarm went off and I said "you have got to be kidding me," and got out of my fluffy covers indignantly only because I didn't want to be charged for missing my class- which I found out was actually scheduled for 6:30 PM, which I only found out after I exercised for an hour. Good morning to me! One of these days I swear I won't be a scatterbrain anymore!} 

Let's make it a good week.



Photo above by Pictilio for StyleSmaller.