It's the reason I get out of bed in the morning. Actually, to tell the truth, it's the only thing that keeps me from crawling back under the warm covers. My own mother tried to convince me that the caffeine would slowly destroy me, but she drinks tea. I tell myself if she really knew what she was missing, she wouldn't gripe at me. My husband stands at the kitchen bar, and slides the steaming cup into my stumbling hands. He seems to like the early morning escapade. Me slowly stirring from slumber, searching for coffee with eyes barely open. It's a routine and as long as I can get one sip in before the baby squeals, he can tease all he wants. I know I'm getting the better end of the deal. He's drinking tea.