Dos Pears

6:15am
The puppy wants to eat. Click clack of nails on wood floor wakes up Grant, our light morning sleeper. "Me up! Me out! Dadda, Open door!" Matt opens the door, and Grant stumbles out of his room into our room. Me, sleepy, "Hey buddy, wanna climb in bed?" Grant, awake, "No me go eat." Me "OK, whatever, go grab some cereal."

6:30am
Sound of cabinet doors slamming. Grant appears at my bedside bearing a huge bag of cheese puffs and a plastic bowl. "Me want eat puffs. Me get bowl." I sleepily protest that cheese puffs are not for breakfast. Grant disagrees, pours himself a bowl of puffs, and happily eats them inches from my face as I try to fall back asleep. After he finishes the puffs, he climbs into bed with us, monopolizes half the space of a queen size bed despite being 3 feet tall, and we all back asleep- or so I think.

7:15am
Sound of fridge door closing. Grant appears at my bedside again, and two cold hard things land on my pillow right next to my face. I jolt awake. "Me get dos pears. Momma you go cut pears. Me eat pears."

7:20am
I finally get out of bed. Grant has kindly placed a butter knife next to one of the pears on a cutting board. "Mamma cut pear, me eat pear table."

And so begins a morning around here lately. Grant is a morning person, while the other three of us are not. I blame my sister.