'Tis the season to make small-talk about time change. My usual approach to a time change conversation is to grumble and growl and wish for legislators to boot the whole thing right off of the official calendar of the United States of America. But you know what, I'm starting to think I have it all wrong.
Over the last month or two we've been creeping off schedule at my house. 7:30 should have been bed time. But 7:30 was usually 8, and could push itself right into 8:30, or even, egads, 9. Regardless, my 2 and 3 year old would wake up at 6:30am the next day. Their morning attitude and my sanity was partially determined by how late 7:30 was the night before. The kindergartner who never naps was getting pushed to his limit by late nights and early-morning school bus dates. I had to put my courage firmly in the sticking place before waking him up in the morning. It is no easy thing to turn a bear mid-hibernation into a happy, non-pajamaified, non-cow-licked kindergartner ready for the bus.
Well Sunday night, the first night of the time change, the 2 and 3 year olds conked out at 6pm (their 7pm) and didn't wake up until 5:30am (their 6:30). Since it was still dark, I pulled 'em into my bed and we slept until 6:15am. My oldest came smilingly down the hall at 6:20am by the new clock and he gave me a big hug. We were all clean, breakfasted, exercised, grocery shopped and playing with friends by 10:30 in the morning. It was fantastic.
So here's what I want Tea Partiers or Occupiers or Republican Primary candidates or Barack Obama or whoever else is desperate for my vote, I want at least six time changes a year - we can negotiate up if you want. And I don't want any springing forward, I want nothing but falling back. Don't even try to tell me nature won't cooperate. We're America for Pete's sake. This, my friends, is gonna be great.
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