Every morning, my caring and considerate husband, Love Chunks, makes me a big mug of cappuccino courtesy of our gorgeous Gaggia machine. We've had the beloved shiny beast for nearly a year now and boy-oh-boy has it improved our breakfast time.
Not only does it make a delicious, full-frontal, eye-opening caffeine kick-up-the-arse that we both need - nay, crave - each day, but it gives us about five minutes together before our little 8 year old bird starts chirping from her bedroom. We sit up at the bar in our kitchen on our black'n'chrome stools and for those 300 seconds we sip the warm nectar and are content to just 'be'.
My meditation class teacher reckons that this morning ritual is a modern form of meditation in that we are in the moment: we are fully mindful - or appreciating - the act of making, drinking and getting the full benefit from the coffee and we are alone together. Good.
Lately too, this time has become more valuable because Love Chunks has been left to provide about 99% of the parental supervision, entertainment, transport, social coordination, excursions, shopping, cinematic experiences and discipline required to ensure that Sapphire remains alive, sane and relatively unspoiled. He has also cooked a gourmet-standard dinner every evening and still found time for piano practice and muscle-pumping in our backyard gym.
His mediocre marital reward is seeing me like this first thing in the morning (and at night) and hearing my endless stream of complaints about sore neck and shoulders, being too farty from the new fibre diet, pining for chocolate, crying about my weight gain from said chocolate, insomnia from worrying about how the chapters in my book are panning out and the odd visit from Mr Migraine. My poor swindled soulmate!
Even so, our coffee time together is the time I long for. I lean against his side, feeling his warmth and strength and am so grateful for the support and encouragement he's been giving me.
After our coffees we'll chat about things that matter to us - Sapphire first and then stuff about our upcoming house renovation, a future holiday, his overseas trip for work and how cute Dogadoo is. If he's made me two cups of coffee, he'll even be able to coax me into having a lively discussion about politics and the ills of our society; perhaps even raise a few suggestions for improvement.
Mostly though, we're silent and happy to enjoy the silence of long love and companionship. His blue eyes are always glistening, full of intelligence and foresight. Yesterday morning I asked that question that all males dread. No, not "Sweetheart, will you please pull over so that I can get out and ask that bikie over there for directions?" but the other one: "Love, what are you thinking about?"
And my physicist/meteorologist answered with, "Oh I was wondering about something..."
"What?" I asked eagerly, ready for an illuminating discussion on the progress of the Labor Party and the demise of John Howard.
"I was wondering why premature ejaculators hadn't died out already."