I have a walking alarm clock. It’s loud. This morning it bounds up to the edge of my bed. It yells, “Wake up, daddy!”
“I’m awake,” I mumble to my son.
“Wake up your eyes!” he replies.
I lie still for a moment, but I know it’s useless. I can no longer resist my three-year-old fire alarm. So I rub out the night and slowly wake up my eyes.
“Good morning, daddy,” Thomas announces, pulling at the sheets until I swing my legs out of bed.
“G’morning,” I sigh.
And so begins our Sunday, for which we have a family trip planned to the flight museum.
soggy corn flakes—
my son tells me
to put a smile in my mouth