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The alarm clock spoke this morning at 5:35.  It said in a low voice, “Pierce is really sad.”  Then it said, “I’m starving.  Can we go eat?”  Then, hoping for a little more sleep, I said, “It’s too early, lay down and snooze for a bit.”  Dad went and rescued Pierce, and for a bit all was quiet and restful.  Pretty soon, though, I have a squirmy little mite disrupting me, and another one tapping out Morse code on the side rails of my bed.  With a little shushing, the S.O.S. calls abate a little, but the squirmer is still agitated and soon crawling over me; pushing his foot against my face to leverage him into position to slither off the bed.

Let the circus begin!  The boys version of copycat commences, and we’re off!  Mikey is telling Pierce to “Say Mama.  Say Papa. Say Puppy.”  Then he starts saying gibberish and Pierce makes a valiant effort to mimic it.  It’s not long before mimicking escalates to running around, falling and bumping his face on the bed.  All is quiet for a moment, so we think he’s unhurt.  Then the horrible screeching begins slowly and quietly and ramps up to the usual pi$$ed off cry.  Pretty soon, he’s back in bed with us, and we’re starting over.  Pierce is squirming and Mikey’s starving.

The Atomic clock projecting it’s giant digital numbers on the ceiling says 5:54, then 5:56, then 5:59, and thinking I can outsmart my non-time-telling kindergartener.  I say, “Mikey, it’s not even 6:00 yet, it’s too early for breakfast.”  Within 60 seconds I hear, “It’s 6 o’clock, mommy.  I see the 6 on the ceiling.”  Pretty hard to argue with the truth.  We get up and have breakfast after I negotiate a couple of minutes (seconds) of snuggle time with him.  Morning has officially broken!