I love my morning coffee. Like, really love it. When I was growing up, I always wondered why my mom loved her morning coffee so much. It intrigued me so much I even suckered my grandmother into letting me try a few sips of hers when nobody was looking.

I didn't really start drinking it until I moved in with my now husband when I was 22 years-old. It took me a while to figure out "my coffee" - as I prefer a creamier taste than straight black. But then, I did - basically it's half coffee, half milk with a bit of creamer. In more recent years, there's been more coffee to milk in that ratio because...kids.

Coffee and I have started seeing each other in the afternoons now too. Basically ever since the baby could walk and get into stuff. He's turned me into a 3 cup/day person.

Which is fine, until stuff like this happens. I should mention that I love animals about as much if not more than I love my coffee. So, when your 18 month-old comes up to you and tosses a clump of cat hair into what's left of your morning coffee you have to laugh. (And wish you had already vacuumed).

Our kids take so much out of us. Our time, our patience and our bodies and sometimes, our morning coffee, for which they are the primary reason consume it.

I could get mad about it. But, instead I laugh. I have an adventurous yet mischievous little guy, his less destructive older brother, their lovable daddy, a beautiful long-haired black cat (who obviously needs to be brushed) and there's always more coffee in the pot!

This post originally appeared on the author's blog.