In the morning, K and I routinely face the Star Wars vs. Cars underwear selection conundrum, the slow dribbling of cereal milk down the front of clean shirts and the guaranteed arguments about brushing teeth.
When we finally (and miraculously) herd The Mayor and The Rooster out the door for the morning commute, they ask,
"Which instrument are you going to be?"
K and I have to choose.
We can pick the drums, the tuba, the trumpet... any instrument that strikes our fancy.
Then The Mayor and The Rooster organize us into a line and we march.
Single file we march out the back door, down the steps and all the way to the car, all the while imitating the sound of the instruments we have chosen.
The morning struggles are forgotten and every day begins with a parade.