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A Cup Of Tea


Sometimes, we take for granted the simplest things in life that we can do on our own. We can tie our shoes, take a shower, eat and chew our food, brush our hair, brush our teeth, put on deodorant, go for a walk, and the list can go on and on.

There are many things that we don’t mind doing for Angela. Can she put on her own shoes? Yes. Can she tie? No. Can she brush her hair? Yes. Can brush her hair properly? No.

On a daily basis, we help make sure she brushes her teeth the right way, eats the right way, help put her clothes properly (including a bra, when need be), and we make her a cup of tea. Like clockwork, Angela will ask me for a cup of hot tea…as soon as I press my Keurig brew button. I can literally hear the words coming out of her mouth before she even says the words of, “Bubba…can I please have a cup of hot tea?”

It is the one task that absolutely annoys me, and I have no idea why it does. Of everything that Stephen and I do, it’s the one dreaded question.

Does it take long to put water in the tea kettle and turn the stove on? Does it take long to take a tea bag and put it in a cup, and the press the hot water button on my Keurig machine? Neither of those things take long to do. I’ve sincerely been trying to figure it out.

Maybe it’s because my coffee time is my special alone time when I wake up, when I need that afternoon pick me up, or just want the taste of cup of brewed nectar. I feel so very selfish in not wanting to oblige, but I do. At least, 75% of the time I do. The other 25% of the time, I always say that, “I’ll make you a cup of later.” I totally just lied to her when I said that. In my head, I know I’m going to forget to do it. However, she’s more than happy to remind me. Yet…I still “forget” to do it. It’s like I threw it to the deep abyss of my mind because I don’t want to deal with it. Those times that I do forget, I totally feel just so bad.

I know, I probably sound like such a horrible person in admitting this. Most of the times that I make her a cup of tea, I wind up grumbling to myself…sometimes with silent profanity (in total whisper mode so she can’t hear me)…and I make her tea. Two small teaspoons of sugar, milk, and two ice cubes to make sure she doesn’t burn her tongue.

Wen I don’t make her tea by the end of the night, I feel just so horrible…like I’m the world’s worst brother. I ask myself, “Why couldn’t I just make her a cup of tea?” I think even rationalize it in my head. “She can’t make it herself. She wants her sense of normalcy, and maybe the cup of tea makes her feel normal…as if the world is right and safe in her head.” And the list of ideas grows exponentially after not completing such a simple task. It’s my job to help her maintain a certain systematic outline for her day. Everything has to happen around the same time of the day to help create her safe haven of normalcy and expectation.

It takes more time for me to brush and style her hair, pick out her daily outfits, and measure her body wash and shampoo into measuring cups for her, than it does to make that cup of tea. That damn cup of tea is going to haunt me, until I’m able to release whatever it is that is inside of me out. I wish I wouldn’t feel so annoyed 90% of the time she asks me for a cup. Honestly, 10% of the time it doesn’t bother me at all. It’s like my brain just does it with no griping or complaining. I need to make my brain feel like that 100% of the time. That damn cup of tea.

To just as another point of comparison, I can let her talk to me for hours on end while I’m trying to work with my headphones on….and I let her do it. Honestly, doesn’t really bother me for the most part. She eventually starts talking back to one of her favorite shows or sings along with a song on one of my iPhones. But that tea…like nails on a chalkboard.

I’m hoping to eventually not feel that way. I do want to make her  a cup of tea. I want her to have her moment of time of the day where she enjoys a cup…and feels fulfilled with her lovely cup of decaf tea, that she claims helps to wake her up lol. However, I’m sure it’s just the sense of flavor and warmth of love and sugar that gives her that sensation.

One day…I won’t complain about it. One day I won’t feel the way that I do in making her a cup of tea.

That damn cup of tea.

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