I love seeing things through the eyes of a child. Morning is not a time to dread or be defined by your alarm clock, rather morning is as soon as the sun begins to light the sky. A perfect breakfast is not oatmeal or fruit, but a perfectly round sweet bread with icing and a hole in the middle, just right to look at the dog through, washed down with a glass of milk full of crumbs. As I begin to clean up, I glance over to see a set of tiny hands retrace every move I make, dishes to the sink side by side, it looks like the dog will get two treats this morning and twice the love. As I pat him on the head and begin up the stairs, so do the little hands. One little hand grasps mine and as we reach the top it lets go. We go our separate ways to dress for the day and before I have chosen what to wear I hear a knock on my door, she pokes her head in sheepishly followed by a bare arm, a pink swim suit, and flip flop covered feet. She twirls, and with bright eyes asks, "can we go to the park?" 
The Park, her perfect day. Hot or cold, wind or rain, the park is always perfect to a child. As we arrive she can hardly wait for me to open her door, she grabs my hand once more and we race to the playground. I take a seat on a near by bench and watch as her perfect day becomes mine too. . .
