As the parent in charge of mornings, I’m the guy who gets to wake up the kids every day. This used to be easy, as they were always up before me, anyway.

These days, though, I’m always the first one up, and I celebrate that by waking them up with singing –  loud, enthusiastic singing. I don’t just quietly open the bedroom door and whisper good morning. I explode through the door showtune-style.

Good morning, Merry Sunshine!
Good Day, Misty Moon!
It’s time for you to get up now.
That’s why I sing this tune!

They cling to sleep with an admirable desperation, pulling pillows over the heads and groaning dramatically. I flip lights on cheerfully grab ankles, physically dragging them out of their nice comfy beds.

Get up, wake up!
Wake up for your life!
Get up, wake up!

It is, all things considered, quite a fun start to the day.

This morning, however, when I exploded through my oldest son’s door, I found him standing right in front of me. I mean, he was like two inches from my nose.

“Ninja!”

I just about had a heart attack.