You are currently browsing the Soapbox category
I’ve got a bone to pick with George Vernon Hudson, the man who first suggested Daylight Savings Time. He made this suggestion, mind you, so he would have more daylight hours in the evening to study bugs. Yup. B.U.G.S.
George Vernon Hudson (Wikipedia)
But I think the night we spring ahead is just about the the worst night of the year.
I hate that night.
It is the night that the “powers that be” punish sleep-deprived mothers in favor of…. well, I am not sure what we are actually supposed to gain from SKIPPING an hour ahead. (See? Just saying that… writing it… feels wrong.)
I know what I gained.
First, my baby is totally thrown off her sleep schedule. Ya know, the one we carefully crafted and molded into something we could all tolerate. Yeah, well that nano-moment of bliss is over.
Next, I am pretty sure I overdosed on caffeine Sunday morning. Resulting in the jitters. Which resulted in a lot of pacing around. Which hurt my foot. So, now I have a hurt foot. Well, to be fair, my foot already hurt. But now it hurts more.
The whole day reached confusing levels when we kept using the terms “body clock” and “actual clock” back and forth in an attempt to decipher what time it really was.
And how should we refer to this day? As a “holiday? Well, as far as holidays go, this day is really lacking. Really, FLAG DAY is better than Spring Ahead day. Even LABOR DAY which is a day dedicated to, well, labor, is better that losing that precious hour. In fact, I am pretty sure this day ranks below NATIONAL CROCHET WEEK and NATIONAL BUBBLE WEEK — which were both last week. I kid you not. In fact, here are a bunch of holidays in the month of March that I am sure I would rather celebrate than losing that precious hour of sleep.
March 1 – National Pig Day. Who doesn’t love bacon?
March 6 – Dentist’s Day (and you all know how I feel about dentists…)
March 9th – Be Nasty Day. This one actually sounds good, if you can pull it off. I pretty much honor this day each morning in the minutes between waking up and my 8th cup of coffee.
March 10 – Middle Name Pride Day. Mine is “Lynn.” Woo-Hoo… Go LYNN!
March 13 – Ear Muff Day, strategically positioned the day BEFORE Spring Ahead.
March 23 – National Chip and Dip Day. Now we’re talking!!!
March 31 – National Bunsen Burner Day. Dave will love this. It’s a chemistry teacher’s dream come true!
But my favorite day, the day I most look forward to (and my husband will attest to this) is the day we FALL BACK. Now, that’s a day I can fall in love with.
Please tell me that I am not the only one out there who tilts their head and says “huh?” when their husband does something the “wrong” way.
I mean, okay, I will stipulate that I need to chill sometimes. Micromanagement is a genetic disorder in my family (yes, mom, you have it, too…).
But sometimes I am simply stunned into silence (well, not really…) at the things that Dave does.
While making lunch: ”You did NOT just put syrup on the kids’ peanut butter sandwiches?!”
While helping with the baby: “Are you actually going to change the baby’s poopie diaper while she is STANDING UP?”
While sorting laundry: “How did you confuse my t-shirt (or stranger still, my underwear…) with Jade’s?”
I am very lucky to have a husband who helps, but sometimes… no, no… most of the time, I just don’t get it.
A while back at a dinner party an acquaintance said that she felt sorry for kids in large families, because the older kids “gave up their own childhood” to help raise the younger kids.
I could not disagree more.
While it is true that in large families the parents become less of a focus. Mom and dad can’t do everything or even as much as parents of 1 or 2 kids. If we tried, we would turn into gelatinous blobs of goo and the kids would be on their own anyway. But what does happen is that a tribe mentality develops. Everyone chips in and, most importantly, we all take care of each other. Now, I am not talking about a democracy… hell no! In this tribe there are chiefs! But there is also the reality that we ALL make this family work.
That means that the oldest kids sometimes read the bedtime stories to the youngest or cook dinner one night or babysit so mom and dad can go out for coffee or just get a private conversation with each other. This is not a bummer for anyone. Not even that older kid. What they get in return (beyond the skills it takes to do these things) is trust, responsibility, and a relationship with their younger siblings that goes beyond bickering or vying for attention. I know Jade would throw herself in front of a bus to save her little sister. And that kind of love does not always come naturally when you are 13! The oldest(s) get the best hugs. They get to be the favorite. They get to be the heroes.
When they score a goal at their soccer games, they get the sloppy wet kiss of a 4 year old. They get to see their little sister snatch up their hand-me-downs like they are gold so she can imitate them. They get tackled the moment they get home from school and, sometimes, sometimes, they get to rock the baby to sleep. It is through these experiences that they actually hold on to their childhood. They get to build legos longer, play dress up more often, and watch cartoons without excuse.
The love that flows between these oldest and these youngest and all the ones in between is not for us parents, us adults, to understand and certainly not to judge. But we do get to enjoy it. And occasionally we get a night “off” as a result of it.
Ty (4) hugging Jade (13) after his preschool graduation!
Look, Santa at our house – in the technical sense – is a combination of Amazon.com, Costco, and Target. I know he is not real real. But in the bigger sense, the sense of the magical… I completely believe that he is for real.
Too often I think that we adults try to squash the imaginative life of our children (and ourselves, for that matter) – perhaps we see Santa as un-Christian, or too commercial. But I see him as magical, as someone who embodies hope and fun and whimsy. A figure who lets us be playful and childlike and forget about the “rules” for a few weeks.
I will not fall victim to the people out there who think believing in Santa takes away from the birth of Christ, or that he is creepy, or that Santa is fake. To me, and to my kids, he will always be real. And kids get this. I promise you. My 13 year old just asked me if Santa was real. I answered with, “Well, if you mean some weird guy that comes down our chimney and delivers presents, then, well, no. But, I still think he is real and I believe in him.” She nodded knowingly. See, kids know how to use their hearts and their spirits and their imaginations to hold on to the unknown. I love Santa because he lets me do that, too. Just for bit. Long enough to eat the cookies and drink the beer we have left out for him.
