Where the ***** Is My Coffee?

Okay, I’m actually awake. I think. After not quite two weeks of puppy feedings every three hours, Queen V is producing enough milk. I don’t have to get up in the wee (wheeeeee!) hours of the morning to coax the little devils (to hold still) to eat.

I woke up at 9. Really, 9, in the morning. As I staggered to my kitchen, my nose was assaulted by a smell. A very not fresh, make you want to gag, rotten, germ ridden smell. I was still moving slowly, so I could figure out where it was coming from. The sink was full of dishes, the trash needed emptying. The carpet needs to be cleaned, after Queen V’s adventures in what wet foods not to eat. Dust bunnies have floated down to the floor. That smell, did not get any better.

I struggled over to my coffe machine.

Ok, he’s not just a coffee machine.
His name is Via Venezia. He makes expresso, among other things. He has two red eyes, one for ‘on’ and one for ‘ready to make your dreams come true’. He has a handlebar mustache that I tweak several times a day. He is the first step in the process to make the nectar of the gods.

There is a ritual for making my coffee. Grinding the beans, foaming the milk. Tamping out the grounds. Preparing the cup… um, um, um

If you heard the Banshee scream in ‘Frisco, my apologies. The last two weeks I’ve lived off my lattes. I’m out of syrups! My coconut, raspberry, white chocolate, caramel. They are all empty. It’s the beginning of the month. I haven’t restocked. I ordered enough last month, that I shouldn’t have been due for at least two months, not :(. I do have some vanilla, if I can find a clean pump, a little orange, a little bit of chocolate. Chocolate orange it is. The world will not end today. If I order today, my stock will be in on Monday or Tuesday, at the latest. Drug Dealer of choice- Lollicup USA

Back to the freakin’ coffee, I’m dying here. I’m refilling the water cistern on my machine with the hose sprayer from the sink. That smell again. The right side of the sink, where I usually soak the kids’ plastic straws, is filled with stuff. It looks and smells like the ponds you see outside sewage plants. Huh.

As I wait for my milk to froth and expresso to fill my cup and replace the stink in my nose, I look around. My usually clean countertop is covered. I see milk stains, spilled coffee drops, crumbs, plastic shopping bags, duct tape, unused Clorox wipes… The stove I scrubbed last week, because hubby had not cleaned up after cooking for at least a month, was still white, with some crumbs. The pot I use for sterilizing the puppy feeding tools, is still there. I put fresh water in and start it up to boil again. There’s another pot on the stove. It has dried bean and what must be chili residue on it. That must have been Thursday nights’ dinner.
It doesn’t look like anything is growing in it. The sink is full, so I’d better check the dishwasher. Coffee in hand, I escape for a moment. The smell, the filth, it is overwhelming.

On my way out to the patio for some smokey fresh air, I tell Sebastian to get his laundry going. Outside, the sun is shining. The grass is short, so it has been mowed recently. Ghenghis and Queen V rush out to pee, then lounge in the sunlight. The wind is blowing, and I can feel the promise of a hot, hot summer coming.

Sebastian is banging the door to the washer. Slamming it, really. I poke my head into the laundry room. Three baskets of clean, unfolded laundry sit between me and him. I know I’ve been doing laundry, but no one else has needed clothing, apparently.

The floors to the kitchen and dining area are spotted with spills and sticky streaks. The kitchen table, my work table and knitting bench are all cluttered. And there’s that smell! It’s pervasive. Mouldering.

I hug my coffee to me. It’s bewildering this smell. This state of affairs. I know today is Saturday. The puppies will be two weeks old tonight. I know I’ve fed my kids in the last two weeks. I’ve slept a wink here and there. I remember taking them to school. I know my bathroom is messy, it has puppies in it, and I’ve spent 8 or more hours, sporadically sprawled on a towel on the floor in there. I did shower.

The fuzziness of the last few weeks has lifted, and it makes me want to run screaming. I haven’t really been here. I run out most nights After the 4 o’clock feeding, and got back in time for the 7. But this is not my house. I’m not a clean freak by any means, but this is disgusting.

My hubby? He’s gone today and tomorrow. He’s learning to ride a motorcycle. He turns 40 in a few months. Flashbacks to his bachelor pad. Beer bottles lining the walls around the trash can, a sink resembling the one I’m looking at. If I look in my bedroom, will I see a sea of dirty clothes on the floor? The sweaters and scarves I’ve made him, lying tangled in with dirty jeans and uniforms? Yup.

What have I done? What haven’t I done, that I thought my hubby would do, knowing I was puppy feeding and trying to make it to the next feeding? What did I expect? It certainly wasn’t this. Should I check And see if the twins have wiped their bottoms? I’d rather not. I would like to shut myself in my closet for a good cry, but I can smell the dog pee on the deployment bag and suitcase covering the gods know what, on my floor.

I think I’ll make some more coffee now.

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