Remember the days when you were a kid, and the whole “spring forward” bit at Daylight Savings was kind of great? It meant you could stay out later playing tag and eat dinner while the sun was still out? And then, as you got older, and had a job to go to on Monday morning, the thought of Daylight Savings lost its luster. It was so hard to lose that one hour of sleep. You worked hard for your weekend, and dammit, you were not going to give up even one measly minute of it because some stupid lazy farmers need to harvest crops and can’t get it all done without more sun. Or something.
But then? You become a parent. Before becoming a parent, you may or may not be aware of the actual date for Daylight Savings. In fact, up until having Colin, Kase and I actually missed church one week simply due to the fact that we had no idea that our clocks had moved forward while we slumbered. We strolled right in thinking for once we were early, only to have heads shaken at us with tight little smiles. “Sorry. Daylight Savings!” So we went to brunch. Good news? We beat the crowd.
Winter is soul killing. Especially in the northeast. It’s cold. It’s dark. It’s basically what I imagine the middle ages to have been like. Minus all the torture and monks chanting and writing Bibles.
But like I said. Then you become a parent. A parent doesn’t need reminders, though thank you Sprout Channel for ramming it down my throat. For months, we parents shudder at the thought of winter, dying a little death every time we attempt to put our child into a winter coat only to be met with wails and screams. We endure world class temper tantrums after closing the patio door to let the dog out, our child throwing himself against the plate glass crying, “OUT!”. For parents, the promise of rising temperatures and playing outdoors sans torture device is reminder in itself. We count the days until Daylight Savings.
Until then, our days end promptly at 4pm when it becomes too dark to play outside and most indoor play gyms shut down. We are left in a winter abyss. We call those three ungodly hours leading to 7pm “Badtime” in our house. It’s kinda like “bedtime.” But horrible. We watch a lot of TV during Badtime.
And then there is the daylight savings brass ring every parent strives to grab: a child waking up one hour later, their little internal clocks not understanding they have been duped. That thought alone enticed me weeks ago to circle the date on my calendar. Well, if I had a calendar, anyway.
As I bathed Colin the night before, it was if Santa was coming to our house that night: ‘Twas the night before Daylight Savings, and all through the house….”
“Colin! Tonight is daylight savings! In the middle of the night, the clocks go forward! Which means that your internal clock is being secretly reset. AND ITS GOING TO BE FANTASTIC!!”
On Daylight Savings Eve, parents the world around can hardly fall asleep for all their excitement. And when they wake, they are surprised to find their present- a clock reading 8:00am, a restful night’s sleep under their belt and a happy child in the crib. We say a little prayer to sweet baby Jesus for finally bringing more daylight, warmer temperatures and puffer vests, one hour more of sleep and resetting our robot baby’s clocks.