"If I could turn back time,
If I could find a way,
I'd take back all the words that hurt you,
And you'd stay." - Cher
Cher, last night I did turn back time. And that had me in the kitchen this morning, making flapjacks an hour earlier than I did last week. And tonight, I'll be cooking dinner in the dark; so don't blame me if I burn the chicken.
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I've written before about the battles and misunderstandings between parents and people without kids.
There are typical behaviors from each group which can rub the other the wrong way.
For people without children, listening to to parents drone on like a professor giving a lecture about how smart, cute, and talented their children are, can me mind-numbing. Especially since we all tend to describe our children using exactly the same vocabulary. Only in some cases (mine, for instance) are those glowing adjectives actually accurate.
For parents, listening to the childless get excited about the extra hour of sleep they get when we turn the clocks back can be torturous.
There are two necessary factors which allow someone to benefit from "falling back":
- The people they share their lives with have to care about the extra hour's sleep.
- The people they share their lives with have to be able to tell time.
A New Day Brings New Opportunity by Jason Mrachina
Both my children sleep for a defined period of time. Once those hours have passed, they wake up, and need to be parented.
My son, at least, can tell time. This means he will obey our instructions to remain in his room until 7am. So, though he won't physically report to our room until 7am, at this time of year we hear sounds of singing, train whistles, and music coming from his room as of what was 6am, before yesterday's time change.
My daughter is only 5 years-old. She doesn't tell time, and has no clock in her room.
Unlike my son, she's a sleeper. We don't need her to have a clock to dictate at what time she can leave her room.
At least she was a sleeper until the time change made it brighter outside...at 6am. It was then she called for mommy and daddy (at a decibel normally reserved for rescue whistles) to bring her to the washroom. See, her bladder doesn't know to sleep in an extra hour. It contracts after 11 hours; pee on us if we don't like it.
I suppose there are some advantages.
Since I began my whole routine an hour earlier, there's time to blog, showers both the kids, clean up from breakfast, wrap a present before a birthday party this afternoon, and make their school lunches, all before my dad comes over this afternoon to babysit so I can head in the office.
There is also a little more time to myself; to notice things like, despite having shaved 24 hours ago, the greyness of the stubble in my beard; to ponder the ineffectiveness of this new deodorant I'm trying; to wonder how I'm ever going to finish that library book before its due date - three weeks from now.
I know, I know. I asked for it. I wanted a child. Then wanted another child. I should be happy they are healthy. I should be happy for this time I get to share with them.
The problem is, the deal was 24 hours a day; not 25.
This time change is reneging on the deal I made heading into parenthood.
I suppose I'll lose an hour of parenting in the spring when we turn the clocks ahead.
Stay tuned for that post...when I complain about losing morning light, and burning myself on the pancake griddle.
