The Post Where I Become A Cat AND A Coffee Critic. Because That's A Real Thing*.

I love coffee.

And I love cats.

But, because Jon has decided to be selfish allergic to cats, the type of joy one takes in the mundane everyday stuff of life has been thrown all lopsided like. Awry. Disproportional. Irregular. Strabismic. Yes. Strabismic, Jon.

Even the cats feel it.

But!

Then!

I started hearing rumors about a new coffee shop opening up in my neighborhood.

Me: (in my head) Cool. A new coffee shop to try out. Maybe they'll have good snacks..... For the children.

BUT!!

THEN!!

People started saying it was going to have cats!

Me: (internally. hopefully.) CUTE LITTLE KITTIES!?! REALLY!?! I'll hold them and squeeze them and love them FOREVER!!!!

Suddenly, my morning runs took on a whole other purpose as I systematically, in a logical grid like manner, began to scour the neighborhood streets for an empty storefront with a sign placed in the window that said something along the lines of:

CATS HERE! 

COFFEE HERE! 

MARTHA! WE OPEN NEXT TUESDAY! 

COME! SPEND ALL YOUR DAYS HERE!

DRINK COFFEE! 

PLAY WITH CATS! 

JON NEVER HAS TO KNOW! 

P.S. The cats love you. 

A lot.

And, one morning, I kid you not, I found it, just blocks from Katie's school.  It was all curled up in the rain, with it's tail over it's nose, cozy and cuddly, purring away.

Yes, buildings purr.

(Shut up.)

And, my mind flew off on a flurry of imagniariums.

Each image

more

fantasmical

than

the

next.

My life was going to look exactly like that! Drop the kids at school. Walk to the coffee shop. Play with cats. Pick the kids up from school. Go to bed. Wash, rinse and repeat. Every! Day!

But, first, I thought it would be nice to share with the children my new found life goal of spending 16 hours a day, minimum, at the cat coffee shop. Because, as every parenting class teaches you, as parents of young children we need to take care of ourselves first so we can take care of the children. Later. After we play with the cats.

So, after school the next day, Katie, Ellie and I skipped over to the cat coffee shop. We sang Ellie's "Cat Song" the whole way. Because she's five. And she asked us to. (Spoiler Alert: Ellie's song has just one word, "meow". Repeated over and over and over. Sung. You guessed it. Loudly.)

But.

Then?

On the door, there was a sign. It said:

CHILDREN UNDER 8 YEARS OF AGE, ARE NOT ALLOWED IN CAT ROOM.

Me: (in my head) Well....shoot..... Wait. Dude! I'll just, you know, go over that whole stranger danger thing again with Ellie and buy her a cookie. She'll just sit at a table. She'll be fiiiiiine. (out loud) Would you like a cookie, Ellie?

Ellie: Meow!

Me: (in my head, again) Problem. Solved.

But.

Then....

I read further down the sign. And it said:

RESERVATIONS REQUIRED TO VISIT CAT ROOM.

Me: (thinking quickly) Shoot. I don't have a reservation. Wait! I buy both girls only one cookie. I make them split it, and then, while the staff are distracted by the inevitable "I don't want to share with my sister diversion" this will create, I'll just sneak into the cat room! No one will know! Brilliant!

But.

Then....

The sign ended with these words:

CAT ROOM, $10 AN HOUR PER GUEST.

And my heart broke.

Because I did math.

And, even without Katie's help I know, 16 hours X $10 is more than my daily budgeted latte expenses.

By a lot.

So this. This is as close as we got to cats that day.

And, as we wiped the last of the cat shaped cookie crumbs from our hands, we finally left the cat coffee shop. Shoulders drooping. Dragging our woebegone selves home. Through the rain.

But, somehow? I don't think we were the only disappointed ones.

* This is the internet. I don't lie about these kinds of things:

And You Thought I Was Just Being Lazy. Duuude, That Hurts. Because...

I'm pretty much sure I'm a Disney Princess:

Obviously.

See, I heard some kids talking the other day at, I don't know, the bank, or an art museum or while I was nursing two sore buttocks at the ice skating rink, whatever, it's not important, what's important is that they said that there are, like, real live actual requirements to be considered a member of the Disney Princessdom.

Seriously! The PRINCESSDOM!

Now, the kids didn't actually list out the requirements, but, Dude, I've seen like five princess movies, I've got this.

So, grab a pencil and keep track of all the requirements you meet.

Because you might be a Disney Princess too.


1. Must own dinglehoppers.

People! I own dinglehoppers.

That sparkle. Like the treasure untold they are.

2. Have a fascination with the fiber arts.

I made this once! With needles! That were pointy!

And then I took a nap.

3. Own shoes, that you leave in inconvenient places.

I leave my shoes on the stairs all the time!

Sometimes Jon finds them. And brings them to me.

4. Must be good enough friends with the animals of the forest that they will do household chores. 

Totally! I mean, I have a squirrel friend! Who makes beds!

I believe in you, little guy! You can do it!*

*Princesses. We're notoriously overly optimistic.

5. Own a lot of books. Put them on bookshelves.

I know what you're thinking, but, no, owning the complete Twilight series does not count against your Princessdom application.

But only because Bella doesn't discover that Edward's a prince in disguise 'til chapter three!

So, which Disney Princess are you?






P.S. Now that you're a real Disney Princess, remember, take time for the little people. And their mom.

Conversations. Face It. We All Have Them.

My kids. They're going to send me over the edge one day.

Ellie: (on monkey bars at playground) Mommy! Watch this!
Me: Weeeeee! Very Cool!
Ellie: (stopping. staring) Why did you make that face?
Me: (confused) What? You mean smiling?
Ellie: Yeah. Why?
Me: (re-evaluating every facial expression since Ellie's birth) I...I...guess
Ellie: (Runs off to the swings. Laughing.)


Katie: (on walk to school) Mom! This bush looks just like a dinosaur!
Me: (looking, unconvinced) Reeeeally??
Katie: Yeah! You have to squint hard.
Me: (squinting)
Katie: Squintier than that.
Me:

Katie: See it!?!
Me: Well, look at that! A dinosaur! Right there! (pull out phone) Want a picture? (click)
Katie: (laughs) Just kidding! It doesn't. I made that up. It's just a bush.
Me:  Ohhhhhhhh....

Ellie: (holding up a paper from school) T is for turkey, Mommy!
Me: (Putting on my vegetarian hat. It looks like kale and smells of self righteous nutrition.) Oh, Ellie... What's wrong with the poor turkey?
Ellie: (looking at paper) Oh, nothing. It's just killed and baked on a plate, Mommy.
Me:  THEN what's going to happen to the wittle turkey!?!
Ellie: (with a glint in her eye) Someone will eat it.
Me: (getting...) Is that a good thing?
Ellie: YEAH!
Me: (ser.i.ous) Why?
Ellie: Because. Then there will be less sound in the world.
Me: Less sound?
Ellie: Yeah. Turkeys are noisy birds.


Of course, I could bring it on myself too.

Jon: (walks into kitchen) How's your coffee?
Me: Deliciously caffeinated!
Jon: Um, where'd you get that mug?
Me: The dishwash- (shoulders dropping, in realization, or smartness, really its your choice) It's not clean, is it?
Jon: Nope.
Me: (sipping, thinking, but uncaffeinatedly) Hmmm.... No. It's still good.


But, then, I looked at Katie's "dinosaur bush" again:

And I thought, "Nope. Definitely not my fault."



P.S. I've been away for awhile. Because I'm lazy. Or because I became a Disney princess.

Either could be true.