These posts about The Experiment are starting to get boring because…Joey’s not pitching any fits about drinking his daily dose o’ coffee anymore. None. Zero. Zip.
Take this morning for instance. It’s Sunday. His alarm went off at 6:00 (so he could do some final lesson-prep) but for some reason he failed to wake up. So since his alarm woke ME up, I shoved him (with both hands and all the force I could summon considering I was not fully awake yet) out of bed. Twice. Because the first time it didn’t work.
I wasn’t planning to get up until 6:30, but soon I noticed the aroma of coffee wafting through the closed bedroom door and I couldn’t fall asleep again.
When my alarm finally did go off at 6:30, I grabbed my fuzzy robe and wandered out into the living room, where Joey was pleasantly sipping coffee and eating a cinnamon roll I had made him last night.
“WOAH! Why are you up so early?” He gasped. It IS Sunday, after all.
“MAAAAAAGGGGGGGHH,” I protested, and flopped on the floor.
“Here, let me make you some coffee,” he said. Two minutes later, he sat down on the floor by me and said, “Your coffee is ready. I made it special for you.”
“You did not,” I said. ”You just poured it in a cup, that’s not really ‘making’ or ‘special’.”
“Not true, I ground the beans,” he replied with an air of superiority.
He wins, I guess. I can’t argue at 6:30.
Ten minutes later, as I was dishing myself up a cinnamon roll and measuring out my daily dose of vitamins, I noticed I didn’t see Joey’s coffee mug anywhere. ”Did you finish it already?” I asked him.
“Yep,” he replied
He finished his coffee all by himself, and I wasn’t even there to see if he protested. Obviously he didn’t (unless he’s a sneak and dumped it down the sink.)
“Did…you LIKE it?” I asked.
“Yep,” he replied again.
Holy cows. Holy cows. Holy cows.
And, now, I feel sick because I drank my coffee, took all my vitamins, and ate a cinnamon roll in the space of about 10 minutes. This is a bad sign. Also, I need to throw the roast in the crock pot before I make us late for church.
Do you have any idea how domestic and established it makes me feel to come home from church and eat a roast for Sunday dinner? I feel like…MY MOM.
