That’s right. The madness continues. And you thought I was done last week after that whole whirlwind of culinary mayhem?

Well, so did I.

But the food-related issues continue to plague me. My whole kitchen (a.k.a. The Enemy) has evidently banded together to take me out.

It’s getting more cunning and more dangerous every time, too.

Yesterday, we reached a new low.

My coffee machine quit working, out of the blue. No warning signs, no sputters, nothing to indicate it’s about to have the last laugh.

On a hectic school morning at that, when I need all the help I can possibly get.

Well, that’s just fabulous. What am I supposed to do?

Eat the ground coffee?

Oh yeah, I can see it now. I could grab a spoon and start shoveling it down my throat like the caffeine-deprived gluttonous junkie that I’ve apparently become.

No. I am not that desperate. Yet.

Or am I?

More importantly, is this the example I really want to set for my kids?

Still fuming over the injustice of a caffeine-free morning, I open the freezer to grab a package of frozen blueberry waffles.

Before I could even reach the box, a glacier comes down hard on my right foot.

It’s not any random frozen object that attacked me. It’s a full quart of ice cream.

Its name is Coffee Bean Blast.

Coffee? Seriously?

Such irony.

How cruel to taunt me like that.

And Blast? As in blasting like a malfunctioning rocket out of the freezer and on to my unsuspecting appendages?

Tally:

coffee: 0, injuries: 2

(1 physical, 1 psychological)

Not a good start.

My son suggests I use the ice cream to make a Starbucks-style iced coffee drink.

Great idea!

Oh, right. The blender blew up two weeks ago.

Never mind.

Besides, it’s a rather stormy morning. What about that sounds like a good idea? Electrocution, anyone?

Guess that would eliminate my need for caffeine, at the very least.

Maybe it’s just as well the blender had kicked the bucket.

This is almost as bad as that time I ran out of milk and had to drink my coffee black.

No. Actually, this is worse. Much worse.

If I want to go caffeine-free for a day, that really ought to be my choice. Not the spitefully possessed coffee machine’s decision.

I do stupid things when I’m not properly fueled.

Like call my boys by the wrong names, feed the same kid breakfast twice while the other one gets none, and then proceed to drive in the complete opposite direction of their school while those two sit there all oblivious, listening to their Ipods.

Oh well. These things happen.

Coffee is sometimes the only motivation for even getting up in the morning. Especially around the holidays, when I can buy my favorite Gingerbread coffee.

I end up settling for Perfect Energy tea. Except that nothing about it is perfect.

I’m disgruntled, it’s sorely lacking in caffeine, and it simply isn’t hitting the spot on a crazed morning, as I struggle to wrestle a groggy heap of teenager out of bed.

Somehow, I still need to drive the kids to school. With no caffeine in my system. Well, that, and a swollen foot.

The very foot used to operate the gas pedal. So it may or may not willingly retreat from the gas pedal.

It takes forever to even work up the motivation to shower after I finally manage to shuttle everybody out the door to their proper locations. By the time I do, it’s already time to pick them up from school.

I didn’t even make it back out of the house after dropping them off in the morning to go look for a new coffee machine?!? Where did the time go?

Did I fall asleep?

Did I seriously just waste the whole day away, drowning in a caffeine-less pity party?

I suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t reach for alcohol instead.

Truth be told, I’ve been getting injured around my own kitchen more so than any other way.

So for all of you out there who think dirt biking is dangerous, let me tell you something. The kitchen is a much, much more dangerous place than any trail out there.