God is the madwoman in the attic.
I'm camped out on the threshold with my journal, camera, and plenty of snacks.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

making coffee

We've had a rash of uncontrollable inconsolable tantrums lately.  Little N gets wild with emotion, kicking, banging, spitting... and nothing and no one can reach him.

Nothing, except making coffee.

The first couple of times it happened I thought it was a fluke.  He was in the throes of his fit when he said, "I make coffee."  Then he bouncy walked to the kitchen with purpose and authority.  I filled the back of the percolator with water and he measured out two scoops of coffee.  He hovered over the top of it to "eat the steam" that rose up as the coffee dripped out below.  When the coffee stopped bubbling he poured it into a mug and waited for me to add the milk.  

A fresh cup of coffee seemed to issue a new attitude.  It's now become one of my resources when we hit those impassable places of mood and energy.  "Do you want to make coffee?"  "Yeah, I make coffee."  It grants him a little pause, and focus, predictable steps, control, and a finished product; a solid and solidifying process that seems to shift him from the bad reality into at least a neutral one.  

By the time it's all said and done, I usually need a cup coffee.  

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