Dear Mr. Daylight Savings,
If I may have a word. I’m sure you had your reasons for coming when you did, but may I be so blunt as to remind you, no one likes an early houseguest. I don’t care much for your clock advancements anyhow, but did you have to come when there was still snow on the ground?
I understand this whole hullabaloo of pushing our clocks forward grew out of an effort to ration candles in the early days and later electricity, but can’t I just promise to not turn on the lights until after 7:30pm?
Early to bed, early to rise. That’s been our motto. So why is Daylight Savings purported to be Ben Franklin’s brainchild when it flies in the face of his most famous maxim? Do you know how hard it is to rise early when every cell in your body moans that it’s 4 o’clock in the morning? The pitch dark and bitter cold aren’t helping your cause. My eyelids have gained two pounds.
Mr. DS, did you know my young children have piano lessons at 7am? 7am. The sky used to be swished with pinks and yellows as they walked to the neighbor’s for lessons. Now it’s black as ink in a don’t-forget-your-flashlight, frightening sort of way. It used to be a pleasant time slot. Now getting them up, fed, dressed and out the door all while fumbling around in the dark so as not to wake the baby that finally fell asleep, well, our new routine feels more like hazing.
And that’s another thing, MR. DS. My baby used to go down every night at 8pm like clock work. Emphasis on “used to.” Now I have a very fussy, very shrill baby on my hip during the whirlwind of everyone else’s bedtime routines. And remember–I’ve been up since what feels like 4am. And believe it or not, the virtue called patience, ironically, has a time limit.
To be frank, I wasn’t thrilled to have you stay through the summer– it’s nearly impossible to put tired children to bed before 10pm when it’s still light enough outside to sunbathe, but I was willing to put up with your summertime shenanigans because summer is summer.
But now I hear you intend to extend your stay until November? This is unacceptable. This is a deal breaker. Just how many weeks into the new school year will you insist my children march off to the bus in the dark? Only to re-invite yourself to stay again 4 months later? Your hostess needs more time to recover. My apologies for my boldness, but there it is.
I know you mean well. You’re trying to give me the gift of time. The gift of daylight. I do not wish to be misunderstood, so I will use small words: I do not want it. You believe your gift is time, but I assure you your “gift” feels as though time is being ripped away. Each time I glance at the clock, I’m horrified to find the hour is more advanced than I had originally supposed. The afternoons are passing at a lightening pace since you settled in and I don’t like it one bit.
I only have a few precious years with all my children living at home. A few precious years is all I get. The time is passing faster than I’d like without your meddling. Please stop insisting on pushing these hours forward because in a few years, November or no, I will never be able to turn these clocks back.
I look forward to your response. Until then, I’ll be Googling the Internet for real estate in either Arizona or Hawaii.