peevish mama

I’m obsessed with tea.  I’ll admit that I wasn’t always such a fan.  A couple winters ago, the winter that Devil Baby was a red, squalling, bundle of colic, to be specific, Doctor Dash started into an infuriating little nighttime tea ritual.  He of the poor circulation and chilly extremities would endlessly putter around the kitchen, readying his steaming cup of whatever, while I watched with growing irritation, usually with the baby attached to my nipple rendering his offers to prepare a cup for me impossible to consider.  I don’t know, something about drinking a scalding liquid over my squirming baby’s face just seemed like a bad idea.  I would watch him through narrowed eyes, feeling my skin prickle with annoyance, thinking he looked so nebbish – so self-indulgent as he sipped and slurped his cuppa.  

I resented his doing something to make himself comfortable when I felt so very uncomfortable.  I resented his making me feel like we were eighty.  Every once in a while, no longer able to contain my disgust, I’d let rip something super mature and intelligent like “Tea is so gay,”  or “You look like Steve Perry when you purse your lips like that.”  

As with many things over the years (i.e. fish, Radiohead, black coffee, Goodfellas, the Yankees), I have come around to Dash’s point of view and then some.  I have taken his penchant for tea and rolled it and patted it and marked it with a P . . . because now Peevish Mama can’t live without it.  I’m especially keen on Lotus teas, with their attractive whiff of the orient packaging and seemingly endless therapeutic benefits.  Heaviest in my rotation are Bedtime, a soothing blend of valerian, chamomile, passion flower and skullcap to help reduce occasional anxiety; Detox, a healthy balance of burdock, dandelion, Indian sasparilla and juniper berry to give my body a natural advantage over pollutants (i.e. liquor, salt); and Immune Support, a lively combination of astragalus, elderberry, echinacea, lemongrass and peppermint to strengthen my body’s defenses (against the petrie dishes that are my children in winter).  I also indulge in green tea, English breakfast tea (with milk and sugar), and hot cider (which is not tea, but is still steamy and old lady-like).  

Why the tea?  Well my house is freezing, for one thing, so I’ve always got my hands around a warm mug and a scarf around my carotid arteries (another Dash tip).  Those chilly Brits are most definitely onto something with the tea and scarves.  And truth be told, I like the ritual of it.  If I were really serious about this, I would forgo the microwave and wait around for the merry whistle of the tea kettle. I would steep loose tea in a mesh ball (like the one I wanted to put tiny Beck in). I would drink out of dainty floral tea cups with matching saucers. I’d be all spot of tea this and spot of tea that – and I’d cultivate the yellowest set of choppers you ever laid eyes on.