When caffeine is not your friend

This morning we went to McDonalds because we were bored and, frankly, have no lives. It was still early and both kids had the impetuous energy of dogs who hadn't been walked yet. It was, as ever, immensely satisfying to walk in to see other families in the same situation as ours. Kids who threw strops because it wasn't Happy Meal time yet; because we wouldn't buy yet another useless toy, because he was hungry and just HAD to have his babycinno then and there; and then mum was displeased when said babycinno was 90% milk and the froth that was present quickly dissolved into nothingness. Wait. That might just've been us. I asked Adam to get me a coffee as I took Keira to the toilet. When I returned there was - I swear - an URN of the stuff in front of me which I proceeded to down and spent the rest of the day regretting. Caffeine and I have a loving, if precarious, relationship. On a good day we afford each other good tidings and congratulations on making my life happier. On bad days, and I've had too much of my lover, I am jittery and my hands become palsied. Which does nothing for my typing skills, unless I'm trying to write in some WW11 code which I doubt even the Enigma machine could crack. I overeat to compensate in the hopes extra food will sop up the excess, which is redundant because by then its in my bloodstream. Spare a thought too for Riley. He gets it through the breast milk. Although I have as yet to see any affect* it has on him, if he grows up to be a IT genius, programmer-come-rogue hacker, with a Jolt Cola or coffee cup permanently glued to his hands, we'll know who to thank, won't we? Wait, there might've been an affect. The poor boy had come down with a bit of a fever this afternoon and had not been a happy chappy. Dang. *Or is that 'effect'. Please, enlighten me.