Today, an immodest proposal: let’s stop with the Daylight Savings Time back and forth. Every autumn, I see some talking head on TV saying how I’ll get an extra hour of sleep on Sunday morning, when the clocks fall back. I used to feel that way. Then I had kids. For the last seven years, all “Fall Back” Sunday means for me is that I have to get up even more Ungodly Early then I do every other day.
This past Sunday, all three of my children were up by 5 a.m. “The new five,” my husband calls it, and admittedly that was a mitigating factor. Last weekend. Five was really six, and as long as I looked at the un-reset microwave clock, instead of the cable box, I actually felt OK. But this morning, six days after the time change, two of my children were up by 5 a.m., as they have been every day. And it no longer felt, in any way, like six. It felt like five. It felt like the middle of the night. I have been so tired all day that I can barely function. And there is no end in sight.
Seriously, should parents bond together and stop the madness? I agree that kids shouldn’t be waiting for the school bus in the dark, but if we never sprung forward onto Daylight Savings Time in the first place, it wouldn’t be an issue. I think. Or maybe I’m just really tired.