For no other reason would I ever be awake drinking coffee at 6:32am on a Sunday morning. The new time is 7:32 but for those that love and tolerate my eccentricities, they know I abide by the old time for a few weeks. In theory, what is not to love about the concept of springing forward? We gain an hour of daylight which is the best part in my mind, particularly for a family where daddy gets home around 6pm. We can be fed and ready for a bike ride, playground pilgrimage, or just playing basketball in our parking lot. Yes, it is really nice. I am also ready for it to not be light at 5 in the morning. That light has reminded me the last few weeks that my cozy slumber is coming to an end and the anticipation keeps me from going back to sleep, fuel for the inner critic poking me. In the early days, when my three children were preschoolers, I often just missed the memo. Days before iPhones that change themselves left me blissfully unaware and missing church for a valid reason, at least a legitimate excuse.
However, despite the apparent benefits, I am left feeling confused and disoriented about when and where I should be. Already I am puzzled with an invitation Blair received for today. She is to be picked up at 8am by a kind family for a trip to the beach to see the St. Patrick's Day Parade. Of course, Blair is still asleep at 7:41am, a rare occurrence and I am conflicted about waking her. I also hate to text any normal person at this hour on a Sunday, since it is really 6:42am. I am certainly the only person awake in our small town analyzing a schedule change that affects me but I have no power over. I text reluctantly but do not wake her up. Breakfast will be a disappointment anyways as I just used the last smidgen of milk for my coffee and my refusal to go to the grocery store in the name of clearing out the pantry has left little but grape nuts and oatmeal packs not tinged with a touch of flavor, particularly cooked with water. Back to the time change.
In order to cope with the abruptness in this change of schedule, I choose a method for my madness. We ease into the time change for at least a week, which means in the evening I will try to put Amos to bed early as no one told him our new times. This evening they will all be tucked in by 6:30, certainly the last year I can sneak it by my ten year old son who doesn't have a clock in his room for this very reason. He is already clearly tired and has just yelled at me to tell his younger brother to not play on the iPad while on the toilet. I told him it was Sunday and I'm trying to enjoy my coffee. Certainly it is important to be awake tomorrow as I deplore rousing people on a school day, nothing conjures up more annoying memories than my dad ripping the covers off and fueling the foul mood of his pre-teen daughter.
If you hear me talking about what time it really is, please know I mean the old time. It is now 7:58am and the news guy just chided me to make sure to change my clocks as I would surely not wanting to be running an hour late today. Why not? It is Sunday and the purpose of the Sabbath I usually ignore. Be late, lazy, indulgent with coffee and television and iPads. Bring on the rain and leave me in peace. I guess I will wake her up, find suitable clothes for church breakfast and Sunday school for the rest of us, a necessary part of this morning as the breakfast will certainly give me a brief reprieve on my visit to the grocery store.
Happy Time Change Day for whatever its' worth to you and yours! It's 8:04 (new time) and I just got a text that Blair is not running late as that family too, abides by the fall back time and will not be here until the "OLD 8". Perfect.