My two year old is broke, literally. His little internal time clock is obviously damaged in that he thinks 7AM on Sunday morning is a perfectly good time to wake-up and start playing Hotwheels - on top of sleeping Hubby. He normally begins testing the waters around 4:30 AM by letting out just enough of a scream that one of use will come and check on him. It's as if he's asking, "Are you still there? Are there parents in this house who love and respect me? If so, show your face...NOW!"

It's amazing the type of bribery that occurs between Hubby and I when our cantankerous alarm clock goes off at this ungodly hour. Whoever can tempt the other one with the most appealing item - usually a promise of changing the next two stinky diapers or ending world hunger, top the list. And no, sexual favors are not used in this precarious game of cat and mouse; the demanding, angry voice in the next room is one hell of a libido killer and a strong reminder of the terminal diseases sex can cause. I'm just kidding, of course. Well, sorta.

As usual, Gun-Gun woke up and followed his routine of early rising and rumbling. I went in and retrieved his cherubic little body from his crib and brought him back to bed with me, promising him an unending flow of cartoons if he'd just let Mommy and Daddy sleep a bit more. He seemed to be game and settled back into the pillows, jabbering about "Bob Bob" (Spongebob) and "hopsicleys" (popsicles). He'd occasionally lean over and give me a raspberry on exposed skin and ask me if I was going to "waked up, Mom? Mom? Mom!"

His "Moms" were escalating and becoming even more demanding, causing me to open one eye-up in order to inspect for problems. Seeing none, I told him to give me a smooch and then to beat on Hubby, who was still sleeping like a baby. Gun-Gun continued his torture of wet kisses, slaps to exposed skin, and "chickle, chickle, chickles" (his version of tickling) and in turn, we alternated between Nickelodeon to Disney in order to keep his one minute attention span.

For about an hour, we were able to keep this process going and then Gun-Gun starting bringing us breakfast in bed; yogos, fruit roll-ups, Cheetos, and the occasional pudding cup. I'm not quite sure what Gun-Gun ate, 'cuz Hubby was blindly opening packages in order to keep him happy but more importantly, quiet. Judging by the stains on my pillows and the cheesy residue on my skin, I'm betting he had a smorgasbord of a little bit of everything.

Once Gun-Gun was again pacified and settled into cartoonies, Hubby and I eventually fell back asleep and he was left free reign of the house. Before you start calling Child Welfare Services on me, let me begin by telling you that I have a very child-proof house (but somehow, they still keep getting in). The padded beach towel walls, lack of metal silverware (we only buy sporks), and no running water or heat pretty much ensure the safety of all our children. Even though we are safety conscious enough, for that fleeting moment when I woke up and realized that Gun-Gun was loose; scared the crap out of me.

I immediately called out to him and heard the thumping of little feet running towards my room. It had only been about five minutes but it seemed like so much longer, especially when you're trying to wake-up. He burst through my room with a "Hi Mom!" and I was immediately relieved to see his dirty little face and little butt hanging out of his saggy diaper.

I decided to finally get up and survey the damage caused by tornado Gun-Gun. In the duration of my down time, he'd managed to wake up his siblings as well as Taterbug's buddy who was spending the night, and then tackle his brother's room by emptying out all the toys and books from the shelf. He's also polished off the rest of his snacks leaving a trail of squished Cheetos and gummy items in my carpet as well as in my hair.

The hour of cleaning up the aftermath in actuality only bought me about ten minutes of extra sleep. And Hubby? Well, he got a little bit more than I did because he has this insane ability to sleep through the torture practices of a talented two year old. I only wish I was that good.