Tea


The gentle hum of the electric heater fills the air, while the silly songs of Sesame Street play in the back ground. Nestled in the pit of an oversized light brown arm chair, with an ottoman put right up against it so its more like a day bed than an arm chair, I sit and breath. On the small round table next to me is a glass lamp with books stacked around it. With barely any room on it my Japanese cast iron tea pot sits, steeping with Russian Spice Tea, the perfect thing for a chilly morning.

I pour some cream into my Philadelphia Zoo cup, a huge cup that I can wrap both my hands around to warm them. I then pour the tea, getting an excellent mix of cream and tea in the perfect glass. After this I just sit and breathe. My daughter climbs up the ottoman and sits on my leg, as she’s nestles down, we pull a pillow up over us and snuggle. We both turn our attention to Sesame Street. The minutes tick away and we are warm and cozy, the whole time I can feel the love I have for my daughter swelling in my chest, threatening to bring tears to my eyes.

She looks up at my and points to my tea cup. “You want to try some tea?” I ask quietly. “Da,” she replies, vigorously nodding her head. The tea has cooled considerably by this point so I’m not worried about burning her. I gently move the cup to her lips and let her get the barest taste. It dribbles out of her mouth down across her pajamas and my windbreaker pants. The look on her face was one of disbelief. I can’t tell if she likes it or not, a second later she points to the cup, she wants more. I share my cup of tea, a ritual drink that I enjoy every morning, a drink that has taught me to take my time and enjoy things while they last. This morning my daughter gave me a gift, she let me share my tea.

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