The M Cafe

While driving away from the drive-thru coffee shop earlier this week, my daughter sighed and said longingly, "I really want to do that one day." 'That' in which she is referring to is being the barista, the maker of all things delicious in this world. Becoming a barista when she grows up has replaced Maddox's old dreams of being a waitress. And she has determined that her coffee shop will be called The M Cafe. These are big dreams, folks.

While this mom can't visit coffee shops as often as I used to, I am a paying customer of The M Cafe at least twice a day in our house. The service is bad, the drinks are inadequate, and many times I am forced to sit in a child size chair, yet The M Cafe is one of my favorite places to hang out. Just yesterday, I ordered a tall dry cappuccino and received a venti mocha with cream and cinnamon. Talk about miscommunication! And should I try to let Henry or Harper sip my special treat, Miss M herself screams, "Don't let the babies drink that latte! It's not good for them!" You'd think the surgeon general was giving orders or something.

Here are a few other problems with said cafe. Sometimes I wait for hours to receive my drink. If daddy is around, my order is forgotten entirely. Also, the espresso machine is broken far too often and I have to settle for tea. Cleanliness of The M Cafe leaves a little to be desired. M reuses cups without washing them out and I've personally watched her sneeze into the creamer. Finally, acceptable currency leaves a little to be desired. Some days I can pay her in play money. Other days, she will only accept candy. The best is when she pays me for my patronage.

For now, The M Cafe lives on in Maddy's imagination. But today, we went to a real coffee shop in town and watched intently as the barista made my pumpkin pie latte. M and I drew a diagram of the experience then talked about it all the way home. The dream lives on. . .