After months and months of begging from me, Eric finally remembered to bring our coffee maker home from his office. He wasn't using it there, and now that I'm drinking coffee again (why did I ever stop? Oh, that's right: pregnancy), I thought it might be nice to have the ability to, you know, make my own.

I've had half a large pot so far today. Oh, boy, am I wired.

It's funny how my dependency on caffeine seems to go in cycles. As for many of you, I'm sure, it all started in college. Before that, I drank the occasional soda, but I was by no means hooked. Coffee didn't do a thing for me, so my most usual method of ingesting caffeine was via chocolate; my early morning classes in high school allowed us to perk up by whatever means we felt necessary, and I used the proffered coffee pot to heat water for cocoa.

Then came college and 8 AM classes after late nights of partying studying. Chocolate wasn't giving me the edge I now needed, so I started down the slippery slope of caffeinated beverages. A little Diet Coke here became a large mug of General Foods Suisse Mocha there. Eventually I was slugging down mug after mug of straight black coffee, keeping myself on my feet long after I should have been in bed. Sometimes the coffee was a chaser for a couple of caffeine pills. It wasn't healthy, but it seemed to be doing the trick for me.

I finally hit the wall, so to speak, one evening late in the first semester of my freshman year. I was in a flute studio master class, and the professor had me playing in front of the group. When I finished playing, I stood there, shaking uncontrollably; I was operating on about six hours of sleep for four days, and the added adrenaline of the performance was doing a number on my nervous system. One of the upper classmen, unknowing of the precariousness of my situation, was asked to comment on my playing. He approached me, stood in front of me, and, in an effort to show me the correct way to quickly inhale before playing a fast passage, faked a punch at my midsection.

I screamed and ran out of the room.

If that were the end of the story, I might have been embarrassed enough. Oh, no, though; I needed to be on a bus for a road trip for the band at six o'clock the next morning. I wasn't even in coherent enough shape to get back to my dorm from the music building that night. A couple of brass players, friends of mine, found me and helped me home; they got me to bed, packed my suitcase for me, and came back for me the next morning to get me to the busses. (The guy who packed my suitcase must have been a little embarrasses himself about going through a girl's clothes, since he managed to pack me six pairs of socks for an overnight trip and no underwear.) My suitemates, hearing of the problem, went around the floor collecting everybody's caffeine pills to dump down the garbage chute.

I never used the pills again. After that, too, I made sure that I at least managed to sleep five hours a night (unless the next day's assignment was a major one, of course). Coffee remained my friend, but I put the brakes on our all-encompassing love affair. In grad school, I rarely even touched it. When I entered the work force after that, we had a brief but passionate reunion, and then we parted company once more while I tried for Sam.

We're back together now, though. Oh, the initial jitteriness is so worth it in the end. I missed having a good cup to warm my throat in the morning, filling me with heat down to my toes. I missed enjoying a strong cup after dinner in the evenings, finishing the evening meal with a heady flair. And oh, the afternoon mug to relax! I don't think anything can compare to a nice, hot cup of coffee when it comes to easing tight, cold muscles, yet giving the drinker the energy to get through the rest of the day.

Think I'll have another cup.

I hope everybody had a good Valentine's Day. For the second time in his life, Sam spent the evening with a sitter. Actually, this was his first "evening"; the other time he stayed with a sitter was an afternoon trip when he was almost a year old and Eric and I went out for our anniversary. This time, like the first, went spectacularly well, due in no small part to the fact that he was sharing the sitter with Zach, his best friend in the whole wide world. I doubt very much that he even noticed we were gone for more than a few passing moments.

Zach's parents, friends of Eric and myself, went with us to Ann Arbor for the evening. Alysia, the owner of the store that sells my knitted hats and I wanted to check out some of the display ideas at another children's store, so we didn't mind the long wait for a table at Mongolian Barbecue. (The cold was another story, but the street was lined with ice sculptures, so it was at least quite lovely and appropriate.) We had a great time window shopping; the men had each other for conversation, so they didn't mind so much when we girls wanted to stop and goggle over the various shoes and jewelry in the shop windows.

Dinner itself was scrumptious, but I don't think it was the food that made the meal more enjoyable than any in recent memory. Anybody can stir-fry a bowlful of vegetables and meat; the conversation, on the other hand, was a rare treat. Thoughts of our beloved children remained at the backs of our minds while we savored the experience of being adults on the town. Bliss!

(In the meantime, little Sam and Zach ran around the house, chasing kitties, playing cars, and eating bowls of macaroni and cheese.)

After dinner, we went searching for entertainment. A club seemed an appropriate destination for a couple of couples enjoying a night of freedom, so we looked for a likely candidate. Unfortunately, our lack of knowledge about the town proved a stumbling block. We found one candidate, and we stood in front of the door reading about the night's events.

"Hmmm," I murmured, "it says that Fridays are 'gay and lesbian friendly.'" We stood there a moment, wondering if this was the club we would choose; we only had money for one cover, so we wanted to make sure that the one we entered would be a blast.

"It's mixed," said a tiny person hurrying past us and into the bar, out of the cold. We looked at each other in confusion, not certain of even what she had said. She glanced back at us, saw our befuddled expressions, and poked her head back through the door. "A mixed crowd," she clarified. "Nobody will bother you. It's a lot of fun!"

Wondering what she meant by "bother" us, I assured her that we just wanted to make sure it was a good time before paying the cover.

"It's only five dollars," she responded. "It's cool!" I nodded, saying I was sure that it was, and thanked her as she ducked back inside. Then we looked at each other and cracked up laughing.

"I think she thought we were afraid, or something," I said.

"She seemed really motivated to get you to come in!" said Alysia. We didn't rule out that particular bar, but we decided to keep looking, just in case we found another one that looked more lively.

A few minutes later, we were in a Starbucks, waiting for Eric to use the facilities. The kids behind the counter looked like they might know of a good place, so we asked them. A girl with black lipstick, looking no more than thirteen years old (Old fogey? Me?) cocked her head to the side and asked if we were looking for "something weird."

"Do we look like we're looking for something weird?" Alysia responded with raised eyebrows. She didn't answer the question, but began to list the various clubs within walking distance. The other workers helped name and describe the ones they knew, until I spoke up and said that the only local one I'd ever actually been in was the Bird of Paradise. Suddenly conversation stopped.

"Well, you could go there if you wanted to, I guess," one guy said, and they all set about looking anywhere but at us. I could actually feel the individual "uncool" molecules settling on my skin and I stood there in uncomfortable silence. I'm guessing that particular club is something of a geek hotspot, though I'm not sure why. Still, it was obvious we'd get no further help, so we thanked the stony wall of now studiously busy workers and turned away.

(Back home, Sam was falling asleep in front of The Lion King without complaint.)

We didn't end up going to a club in the end. After searching for some of the ones the Starbucks workers had named, we found ourselves becoming increasingly freezing and tired, and we finally decided to buy hot chocolate and go home. Feeling sheepishly and decidedly aged, we made our way back to the car and back to Ohio. Next time, we decided, we'll pick out the entertainment ahead of time.

But, oh! Just knowing there'll be a second time makes it feel worthwhile!

And may I just say that, up until this morning, I was actually beginning to feel a little jealous of you guys with all the snow? We'd only had one real snowfall this season, and, well, when it's just cold and windy and dreary without even the beauty of snow on the trees, winter just hurts my soul.

Then, this morning, it began to snow. The forecast called for only an inch, so I rolled my eyes and decided to go ahead with my plans for the day. Once I got on the road, though, I discovered that even an inch is just too much for this idiotic town to handle. No salt, no plows, no nothing. It was like driving across the frozen tundra, with snow packed into firm mounds of solid ice over the streets. I quickly changed my mind and went home.

Nope, not jealous anymore.