It is early on a lazy winter morning at my daughter's house. All is ominously quiet since there are three little kids that live here who could awaken at any moment with amazing energy that has been restored by a good night's sleep. Actually two of them find mornings a bit of a challenge and on cold winter days burrow deeper into their soft blankets begging to be left alone.
This leaves the oldest, now at seven, who has always been an early riser. He used to rise in the mornings by screaming his lungs out as if having a root canal. Thankfully he outgrew that in a year or so and now awakens gently with a mischeivous smile on his face. He skips downstairs to where I am reading my kindle and drinking my first cup of coffee.
After greeting me, he then snuggles for about three seconds before the squirming and stretching kicks in. He had a bad dream that he tells me about in glorious detail. Then he had a waking dream which he begins to explain. Finally he changes the subject to Harry Potter and how well he can read small parts of this book with his mother and I tell him I am amazed at that. Then we switch without segway to discussing comic books. He asks if I know about Loud Boy, which I must answer in the negative as my reading genre is somewhat limited. I must admit that my eyes begin to glaze over when he explains in all the dreadful detail how Loud Boy makes his escape from a video game and also saves the world from an asteroid with a configuration of rubber bands.
Finally he sighs and then asks if he can play some Wii before breakfast.
I never realized how much I could love a ball of imaginative energy.