The Morning I Forgot the Cup

It’s 9:05 a.m.

I’ve just returned home from the daily Olympic event known as school drop-off, and if the morning were a fitness class, it would be labeled something like:

“Chaotic Cardio: No Warm-Up, No Cool-Down.”

Last night the kids went to bed around 11 p.m. Not because we planned some late-night family bonding experience. Because they are apparently some sort of freaky creatures who do not require sleep.

As the night dragged on, energy waned, voices got louder, tears got closer to the surface.

Eventually everyone collapsed into bed and morning arrived far sooner than it had any right to.

I shuffled into the kitchen looking like a human tumbleweed. My hair still had the aftermath of the two messy buns I had worn the day before—think Zoe from K-Pop Demon Hunters, but less intentional and more… survival.

Coffee was step one.

Like a very attentive adult, I noticed the Keurig was low on water. So I calmly filled the pitcher, poured it in, selected my K-cup, closed the lid, pressed brew…

…and walked away.

Some of you already know what happened.

Because I forgot a very important step in making coffee.

The cup.

When I came back, coffee was filling the tray beneath the machine.

If we’re talking silver linings, the tray on our Keurig is impressively deep, and—by some miracle—I had not selected the largest brew option.

So instead of a full countertop disaster, I had what we might generously call “contained incompetence.”

I cleaned it up and continued the morning.

Wake-Up: The Least Gentle Parenting Technique

Next up: waking the children.

Every morning I walk into their rooms and throw open the curtains like I’m announcing the arrival of the British monarchy.

I don’t know why I do this. My husband does it to me and I hate it.

But somehow, here I am, passing the trauma down to the next generation.

Sun in the eyes.

“Good morning!”

Curtains open.

Repeat in the next room.

Then I give them a few minutes to wander out like confused woodland creatures.

Clothes—already organized in their weekly hanger system—go on the floor in front of them. Breakfast—pre-negotiated the night before to avoid debate—appears on the table.

Meanwhile I attempt the impossible:

Putting in my contacts and brushing my own teeth before 8 a.m.

The Sound No Parent Wants to Hear

While in my bedroom I hear my son head to the bathroom.

Great.

Bathroom is on the checklist.

What I was not pleased to hear was a very specific sound:

Pee hitting the trash can lid.

If you’ve heard that sound once, you know it forever.

I entered the bathroom with what can only be described as investigative energy.

He was distracted by a trending toy you may have heard of: a Labubu.

I grabbed said Labubu and chucked it back into the bedroom.

Which… in hindsight… may have escalated the situation.

Tears resumed. I instantly felt like a giant jerkhead.

We muffled our way through the rest of the morning.

The McDonald’s Iced Coffee Incident

But the story doesn’t end there.

After drop-off, I stopped at the pharmacy. Since I was already there, I wandered a couple doors down to McDonald’s for an iced coffee.

Now let me repeat:

I ordered a medium iced coffee with no sugar.

Important detail: McDonald’s iced coffee automatically comes with liquid sugar.

Not sugar packets.

Liquid sugar.

It literally says so on the menu.

So I’ve learned the system: Order with cream, no sugar.

Except today when I pulled up to the window, they handed me…

A plastic cup of black coffee.

No cream.

I stared at it like someone who had temporarily forgotten how beverages work.

“Does this have cream in it?” I asked.

She politely replied, “No, it said no cream.”

Which confused me because I had definitely ordered no sugar, not no cream.

So she took it back and added cream.

Then handed it back to me again.

And I said, “Well… there’s no ice in it either.”

Because remember:

It’s an iced coffee.

So she handed me a cup of ice and I assembled my own beverage in the parking lot like a caffeinated science experiment.

Did I spill on myself when I removed the lid?

Yes. Yes I did.

But do I now have an iced coffee with a skosh of cream?

I do.

And honestly, those little ice chips I snacked on while driving home were delightful.

So… What’s the Point of This Story?

Some mornings feel like a perfectly choreographed routine.

Other mornings feel like you:

• brew coffee with no cup

• throw a stuffed toy during a bathroom investigation

• assemble your own iced coffee in a parking lot

And yet…

The kids still hug you goodbye. You still get kisses at the car door. You still make it home with coffee in hand.

Not perfect.

But functional.

And sometimes that’s the real MoveMaker lesson:

Life isn’t about perfect mornings. It’s about recovering from messy ones.

Clean up the coffee tray. Apologize when you lose your patience. Add a little cream to the day.

And keep moving.

Because the truth is…

Most of us are just out here brewing the coffee and –sometimes– forgetting the cup.

—

Snack-sized sentiments, full-sized feelings. Follow @MoveMakerInc for more everyday chaos and emotional clarity.