Tiny Red Maraca

In a row of laptop users, I boot my machine, take a sip from my iced latte and play cool like all of the others.

The first rule of coolness is to avoid eye contact. You must be too busy to glimpse at mortals. Your eyes have an exclusive relationship with your monitor.

So, I'm getting important work done, sipping $5 coffee with ice cubes and swinging my flip-flops carelessly under the table. Then, I plunge my hand down smoothly into my bag for a pen - one motion, eyes never leaving the screen. In my hand, I find not a pen but a small red maraca instead. I cradle the maraca in my palm and think of the little hand that shakes this toy and how the blue-eyes laugh at the sound. I take a quick glance at the hip twenty-something's around me and try to imagine how many of them have maracas in their bags. I bet not one of them.

Sometimes, it feels like motherhood drains all of the freedom and coolness right out of you, but there is nothing better than finding a tiny red maraca in your bag.