I’ve been burned before by Airbnb listings that say there is coffee but there isn’t, so I was sure to double check before leaving for this last Airbnb.

“There is! Fair trade and organic” was the host’s answer, so I was happy to not have to pack coffee.

I smile when I see the coffee maker, though.

It’s not that I can’t figure out the mechanics of this pour over coffee maker, it’s that I don’t know what the ratio of coffee to water is, and it looks like that’s a metal filter, but there are also paper filters, and it’s already bedtime. I really should figure it out now.

Time to find the coffee. Fortunately, this particular cabinet is labeled.

Unfortunately, the coffee is not what I expected.

Fortunately, I know how to use a coffee grinder. It just makes me laugh. Also, now I need to figure it out before bed so the sound of the grinding coffee doesn’t wake everyone up too early in the morning.

Somehow google is not as helpful as I want it to be. It’s all complicated diagrams and things in grams. The electric kettle they show does almost exactly match the one next to the coffeemaker though, so that’s good news.

I decide to just estimate the amount, and use the advice I see to wet the paper filter.

Unfortunately the coffee grinder doesn’t seem to work. Fortunately, that’s just the outlet.

In the morning my daughter gets the coffee party started. We enjoy the time figuring out an outlet for the kettle and the ratio of the coffee, and then watching the water drip, drip, drip.

We agree that this is a little like Little House on the Prairie, especially because this Airbnb doesn’t have any paper towels, or kitchen towels, or plastic trash bags for wet coffee filters. I hand a dripping rinsed coffee mug to her and she says, “At least Ma had like a rag to dry things off. Or, did she use an apron?”

None of it matters though, because I would drip hot water over any kind of coffee beans, ground or not in order to sit with my college daughter for coffee any morning, any time.

The next morning, she’s back at her dorm. I’m making coffee myself missing her. The boys and I will be checking out of this Airbnb any minute.

I watch the coffee drip, drip, drip.

I wonder why watching coffee slowly drip is something I can only appreciate on vacation.

I throw the wet coffee filter into the plastic bag we brought from our dinner last night.

My daughter texts me that she made her espresso this morning and actually kinda misses the fun coffee drip method.

And I write.

(And now my coffee is cold.)

Being mindful of the moment is nice but
Can you do too much noticing?
This is my thought today
at the bookstore
riding the escalator back up to find my kids

I had gone down the elevator
since the down escalator was broken
and I guess there were no stairs
which upon reflection seems odd

The elevator had been dark and creepy
The bathroom had a dispenser labeled “Healthy Soap”
what’s the other kind?
The sale table had the cutest multiple choice bag
50% off but if I got it,
would I be a walking advertisement for standardized tests?

Riding the one working escalator up
I heard a kid, not mine, yell
“No! I have too many at home.”
books, I think, he must be talking about books
“Jimmy!” He yelled, excited
“Watch me!”
I sensed, with my mom-senses, him running towards the broken escalator

“Max. Don’t!” a grown-up said
calm, firm
I laughed because it’s nice to be out of those days
of hoping my kids don’t climb broken escalators
and then I laughed because that’s both true
and not true

I found my kids near the games
searching for games I wouldn’t buy them
lightly arguing about where to get dinner
we walked to the elevator
my middle child, 17 now, started towards the broken down escalator
mumbling something about how
he could still use it

You just don’t know what 17 year-olds are going to say. This is the one thing about parenting that I feel I can say with confidence.

Like today in the van for example, when my 17 year old was telling my 14 year about some suffixes. I believe they started by talking about the words ending in “some.” They were intrigued by awesome being used in place of “amazing,” when it really should mean causing awe.

“Do you know what a suffix is?” H asked.

E started to answer, but H interrupted to say, “I was asking mom.”

I answered, and then was quizzed on prefix and affix. And then he started telling me about infixes – an affix in the middle of a word.

“It’s too bad you can’t teach kids this,” he said, and I wondered why he was thinking that.

“Really there’s only one infix, and it’s f***. Like in ‘absof***inglutely.’”

“Ahhh,” I said, “Like Ms. McDonough’s Valentine.”

I didn’t need to remind him of when he was making Valentine’s for his whole class and all of his teachers and he got to Ms. McDonough. He was doing an acrostic poem for her and needed a u adjective. We looked up a list of “positive u adjectives” and unf***withable was on the list. Fortunately and unfortunately, this was the perfect, if unusable adjective for his amazing teacher, one of my best friends, now gone.

You see, when your son’s teacher is his mom’s friend, an amazing meet-once-in-your-your-lifetime woman who was truly unf***withable, even before she battled cancer… you do contemplate letting your sixth-grader write unf***withable on his Valentine’s affirmation. (Instead you just text her the word.)

And, if you’re judging me about my kids’ language — which surely some of you are, at a certain point after going through things… you decide it’s okay for your teenagers to use the words they want to use. And you hope that maybe one day they might describe you and themselves as unf***withable too.

“Well yea,” H said. “But that isn’t really in infix. It isn’t interrupting a word in the same way.”

The conversation shifted a bit. We talked about our dog’s upcoming birthday, when suddenly H looked up from his phone,

“Oh my God.” He said, startling me.

“What now?” I asked him, not expecting his next query, and laughing as soon as he asked it with a lot of passion:

“What is your opinion on split infinitives?”

Part of Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life

I’m looking across the circle at family book club. Moms and dads and their kids are sitting together, and we are sharing out to the whole group.

The kids are quiet, shy in the way kids get when it’s evening and they are with their parents and teachers and principal, all in the school library.

A third-grader seems to want to say something, but she puts her head down, shoulders up, not sure if she wants to speak. Her mom smiles at her, encouraging.

There’s something about the exchange that takes me briefly back in time.

My daughter and I went to a book club together – a Mothers and daughters book club. We met at the library every so often. We talked about a book we had read, did a craft.

We didn’t always finish the book we were supposed to read, but we went, we did the craft, we talked.

I don’t remember the books, I have a sliver of memory of one or two of the crafts.

But, I can picture the photograph of us laughing during one of those book clubs – it hangs in my parent’s house. And, I remember the feeling: sitting next to my young daughter, encouraging her to speak.

Part of Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life

Loud Music. I blast it in the car. I’ve always loved loud music, wanted the sound to fill the space.

Of course, this tracked at 16. Picking up friends on the way to school, I must have slipped a cassette in. Tori Amos filled the ol’ Hyundai, but also The Doors, Nirvana, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez. I had the best mixed tapes. I’m wondering if I turned the music up or down when I pulled into the school parking lot.

Once, freshman year, I blasted Jewel in my dorm room. I don’t know why this memory pops in my head so often. Was I getting ready for something? Was my roommate there? Did the entire building hear Who Will Save Your Soul?

On my way to work these days, I choose a playlist to turn all the way up. My team started a “Hype” playlist, so that’s a good way to start a day with positivity.

Playlist poetry should be as popular as book spine poetry, don’t you think? What’s your current Playlist Poetry?

Hype!

Make Way
Good Morning
Rise Up
Rise
Be Cool
High Hopes
Glitter & Gold

Not that I am always strong enough to choose the “Hype” playlist. It takes a certain strength to set intentions like that every morning.

Sometimes my morning playlist is just a shuffle. I skip through songs until I land on the one I need. But, I don’t know the one I need until it starts. I say, “No.” to my van as I skip through, sometimes listening to a few seconds, sometimes going backwards giving a song another chance, always annoyed that the shuffle doesn’t know me better.

Morning Shuffle

I am -
no
What I am -
no
Therefore I am -
no
Unstoppable -
no

Truckin’-
no
Invincible -
no
I Will Survive -
no

Run the World (Girls) -
no
Don’t Give Up -
no

I’m the Best - 
no
Mad Woman -
no
Mad Woman - 
no

Exactly How I Feel - 
no
Players - 
no
Touch the Sky - 
no
Kings & Queens- 
no

Rap God

I turn the music down when I pull into the school parking lot.

I mean, not all the way down.

My son just got his license, and right before his test, the driving teacher went through an amazing list of things to know about having and using a car. She reminded him that cell phones and friends are the leading causes of accidents. She went over what emergency supplies to keep in the trunk, when to check the oil (every fourth or fifth time you get gas) and how he needs to watch a YouTube of how to change a tire and jump start a car before he’s stuck on a country road with no signal needing to do those things.

It was a great list, and I wondered how many other things have I forgotten to teach him? He’s 17. I am running out of time! Later I told him that even though I love listening to loud music in the car, as a new driver, he should not be blasting music. He needs to concentrate.

“Oh, no. I will be very focused.” He said this very seriously. He does blast music in his room some, but he also turns my car music down a lot. He might be embarrassed by my music. He is a teenager.

I’m not a teenager or in college still so I don’t know how to feel about my propensity for loud music. Is it embarrassing? I’m not sure how I’m judged for it, but I know I’ve been judged.

“Turn it down!”
”Can you turn it down?”

A few years ago I found out I had a 30% hearing loss.

Check yourself reader – did you have a moment of assumption?

“Duh. You shouldn’t have been playing all that loud music!”

But actually the hearing loss was something I was born with, they say.

So maybe my loud music is how I hear.

Maybe my loud music is
HOW
I hear

People might judge my loud music, tell me to turn it down. They may sigh with exasperation when I need them to repeat themselves.

I try to remember this feeling, remind myself that you can’t always notice other people’s struggles. I try to remember it when I sigh with exasperation at others.

I try. But I’m a work in progress. So sometimes I just turn up my music.