Cool Clear Water

I was watching my son brush his teeth last night. At ten years old, it's already become enough of a ritual that it was apparent from his movements that he was barely thinking about what he was doing. Dental hygiene has become automatic. Because we have a Sonicare toothbrush, he wanders about the house as he shifts the brush from side to side, front to back. When at last the buzzing stops, he steps up to sink, spits, and rinses. Then he did something that made me know that he is still a child: He took the blue plastic mug from the side of the sink, filled it with water, and proceeded to gulp it all the way down before he turned out the light and scrambled up the ladder to his bed.
I remembered that feeling. That was always the most satisfying drink of water. When I was ten, in the bathroom at my parents' house, we didn't have a blue plastic mug. Instead we had a Dixie Cup dispenser. Pulling down a new cup right after brushing was a simple enough joy, but my mother taught me another trick. In a world of water shortages and a state that lives on the edge of drought at all times, it's not one I would want my son to do, but my mother taught me to flush the toilet right before I got my drink of water. This ensures you of getting the chilliest possible refreshment. I drank with gusto, maybe even stopping to refill my fist-sized cup a couple of times. I remember the way the water sloshed in my belly as I made my way back to my bedroom.
Last night, or very early this morning, I woke up and stumbled sleepily into our bathroom. I poured myself a big blue mug and chugged it down. I went back to bed feeling fat and happy.