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I don’t drink coffee, but I do drink tea – a lot of tea. On average I drink at least two cups a day, sometimes three or four. I drink tea at home. I drink tea on the road. I drink tea at work. I drink tea at lunch. Black and green tea mostly, but sometimes, if it’s really intriguing, I’ll choose roobois too and hope not to be disappointed. And while my tea selections can sometimes be fancy in name (white chocolate chai, cream earl green, jingle bell) the teas themselves are not spruced up in any which way. It’s just tea and boiling water. And that’s always been perfect for me. But then something changed… I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why I suddenly got this strange urge, this never before craving in my head. I don’t know if it was because it was snowy outside and

Oh child, That look you give me, you know the one… The one where you’re about to open a drawer that’s off limits, or you’re about to climb from your chair up onto the desk, or up the book shelf for that matter… The one where you’ve spotted papsy’s remote, or mama’s book, or the keyboard – all within speed crawling reach… The one where mama keeps screwing up what you want no matter how many times you point and say dat. Dat! Dat! Dat! … The one where papsy doesn’t give you a bath right after dinner, or where mama doesn’t grab for your night-time book as soon as your pajamas have been zipped up… The one where you put a clean diaper, or a dirty dinner plate, or a book on your head and say “HAT!” The one where you’ve just stood up so determined to toddle the