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             It is 7:00 in the morning and the alarm has started. The buzzing noise sounds like a blow-horn going off at this time. He is starting to wake up; I can tell because his plastic mattress sounds like crumpling newspaper as he moves. I smack the alarm clock as if swatting a fly and doze back to sleep. My return to bed only lasts a minute. I awake to his warm fleecy touch rubbing my forearm. I open my eyes, and see my only little offspring staring directly at me.
             Ethan is 4 years old and stands 42 inches in height (perfect size for the McDonald's play-place). He stares down at me with his gleaming round golf ball shaped eyes, waiting for a reaction. Watching me with his mahogany colored pupils he shouts, "I want cereal," in his usual excessively loud, high pitched voice. He repeats himself again; he thinks the more he repeats himself the faster he will get things. Ethan is a bright child. I am unable to answer because I become the human trampoline within a matter of seconds. His tiny feet feel like sharp little punches poking into my legs as he jumps. The pain continues for about three more jabs until I start to progress upwards. .
             As I rise I am blind to everything in the room except him. His face acts as a flashlight shining through the dark. With his glowing eyes and bright smirk. His smile causes me to gaze directly at him. Even though it consists of half rotted teeth it's the most wonderful smile I have ever set eyes on. His tiny pink lips seem to stretch a mile over his remarkably large grin causing his cheeks to raise up right under his eyes. The smile fades and the morning begins. .
             As I pour the cereal, I listen to the consistent stomping of two feet carrying 38 1/2 pounds of pure muscle. THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP. I tell him to stop running and cause a collision between him and the floor. I do not know how but when he falls it is somehow always my fault.

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