Devon and I have a secret little routine that we share about once a week. After I drop Cass off at middle school and take my turn with the high school car pool, Devon and I stop by the local coffee shop on our way to his preschool. I order a decaf vanilla latte and pretend that it is really a caffeinated one and Devon gets ice cream. I understand that I am just one of many harried looking moms who goes in for a morning fix, but the bistro fellows now know Devon so well that as soon as they see him running in the shop and snuggling up to the glass ice cream freezer they get their scooper ready for his needs. Devon always orders the same thing, a single scoop of mint chocolate chip on a cone, but the fellows always discuss his needs in great detail until the cone is packed and reverently handed over to the little guy. Then Devon says his thanks, sits down at the same table while I pay and take my place across from him. The two of us sit and chat while we enjoy a window of peace that we share virtually nowhere else together. See, the thing is is that as we sit there sipping and slurping both of us have just about everything we desire. Devon gets his ice cream fix at an hour when none of his siblings will bother him and I get to sit without any hassle from Devon pestering me about anything. It is a win-win situation.
This arrangement works amazing things for both of us but I do sense a certain level of judgment from the staff and morning patrons. One morning a woman simply stopped in mid-sentence when she spied Devon with green goo all over his cheeks and chocolate stained teeth. She looked from Devon to me and formed a scowling O with her mouth. I shrugged my shoulders and replied, “He’s the third child.” As if it obviously explained my deviant ways. Apparently the woman thought me substandard and just sort of harrumphed and ordered her coffee. Luckily the woman next in line patted me on the shoulder and said, “I have three, too. You have a wisdom that mothers of fewer children simply can’t grasp.” Then there are the others whom I know when they see Devon and me on our weekly excursions. Their reactions are knowing smiles, exclamations of surprise and the occasional hug. These people know that I have a teenager, a diva and Devon. They don’t say anything because they know I can barely keep it all together on a daily basis and the 15 minutes of serenity that a morning cone offers is more priceless that any MasterCard commercial.
The best part of the mornings is that once Devon has eaten and washed the evil stickiness from his hands that can bring his day to a screaming standstill, I drop him at preschool and let his teachers wonder why his energy levels are off the charts. I have never divulged our secret and intend to keep it as such. Eventually the news will get out, especially since one of the other mothers of the preschool class saw Devon and me this morning and was shocked to find out that not only were we late to school but that he still clutched the soggy green remnants of the cone in his paws. She raised an eyebrow and mentioned something about what a special day. I didn’t bother to tell her that it is a weekly gig, that would just be too complicated.