I had coffee grounds stuck to my feet earlier this morning, a result of my carefully orchestrated rush to enjoy “me time” and still get everyone out the door, properly dressed, by 8:00 a.m.

I was off to a promising start before dawn. That is to say, I moved exactly an inch to hit the snooze button that, by precarious design, is a clumsy finger’s width away from the off button and the domino-effect consequence it has for everyone in our household. I repeated this process for another thirty minutes, slightly peeved by the need to hit anything but the pillow every five minutes, until dawn gave way to a frosty morning glow.

My one hour of “me time” reduced by 30 minutes after shower, makeup, and wardrobe, and miffed once more by the loss of time, I briefly entertained cutting myself some slack and going back to bed, but that would have required reprogramming the alarm, and what’s the fun in that?

So I went downstairs to boot up the computer before I had to wake up the kids. Voila – I stared at the blank Word document, curser and eyes blinking, with twenty minutes left until hullabaloo. I put my good intentions to work and started to formulate an anecdote about coffee, a busy mom’s invaluable accessory. After typing in exactly one word, and feeling neurotic about writing so much about coffee, I convinced myself that this process would be much more productive with a cup of said Joe. So I abandoned ship and headed for the kitchen, where I hesitated for a moment and considered clearing up some late-night snack morsels on the counter. The blank screen in the other room called me back to my senses though, especially since a fresh idea had just popped into my head, and I was eager to put it in writing. But before returning to the desk, I opened the canister, scooped out some coffee, and promptly made a considerable mess. Somehow, I managed to trip the scoop in my right hand over the left arm that held open the coffee maker lid. Sleep deprivation, coffee making protocol dyslexia, or a subconscious writing sabotage – whatever was at play, somehow those extra thirty minutes in bed sounded like a completely missed opportunity. 

Here I was, with coffee grounds on the counter, floor, my shirt, pants, and bare feet. I spent the next ten minutes on damage control, but couldn’t shake or wash off the gritty feel that lingered between my toes all day. Folgers eau de toilette. Nice.

I did eventually enjoy another cup of coffee, scooped under careful supervision, while having breakfast with the kids, ten minutes later.  

What have I learned from all this? Improved scooping skills and a vague ambition to do better on time management. I’m a busy mom, like all of us, but there’s always a bit of downtime if you look hard enough. Carving out a few minutes for myself makes me a happier mom come 7:00 AM. I love nothing more than seeing their disheveled, bed-haired, snuggly faces in their respective French poodle and Lightening McQueen pajamas. And having Folgers between my toes this morning was the only thing that kept me from crawling under the covers with them to borrow the ultimate moment of mommy time.