Young Sophisticate

With our son in preschool three mornings a week, I have my first-ever time alone with our two-year-old daughter. While the two of us sometimes use our two-hour window to do laundry or complete projects around the house (a recent one was the seasonal "clothes switcheroo" in the kids' closets), at least once a week I spend some time cultivating a precocious taste in my daughter, one that I did not develop until my last year of college--enjoyment of small cafes.

There's a wonderful one in downtown Neenah, just blocks from the preschool. They offer coffee and espresso roasted in Chicago and rushed to our little hamlet while it's still fresh. Oh, and their scones...the special autumn offering, pumpkin pecan, is a perfect way to put on a little extra insulation before winter.

The beverage of choice for the wee one is the strawberry steamer, milk flavored with syrup and frothed into a billowy warm fluff. On really special days, it's topped with whipped cream. And always, always, it is drunk through a straw. This the little diva demands as an essential element of the experience. The straw...and the lid. They're just as important to her as the saucer and the spoon are to me when relishing a really fine cup of coffee.

Tonight, we made an unorthodox evening trip to our favorite haunt. It's right across the street from our church, where big brother had a half-hour choir rehearsal just before dinner. The two of us sat at a small table, sipping our warm drinks and watching the cars go by. "There are a lot of black cars, Mommy," she told me. "Why do lots of people drive black cars?"

In that moment, I hoped that in a decade or two, she'd still be asking me over coffee about all the things in life that stymied her. And I hoped that her life would still be as sweet as her strawberry steamer.