Daylight Stupid Time

The start of Daylight Savings Time this weekend, a good six weeks or so before it's appropriate, reminded me of back-in-the-day when a friend visited shortly after we'd finished remodeling. She took the tour, and oooh-ed and aaah-ed at the appropriate places. Then she gave her appraisal of the project.

"I think there are two things we now know about the QueenBeen family," she said. "They want to know what time it is, and apparently, they don't see very well."

She may be right. Consider the clocks found in the bathroom (above), the dining room (left) and the living room (right).

I love clocks. The clocks I'm showing here happen to be  enormous (leading to Friend's observation), but I'm fascinated by clocks of all shapes and sizes, of all colors and designs. I prefer analog clocks--there's something about the hands going around that reminds me of my place in the current of time--although I'm happy with digital timekeepers, too.

There are clocks in every room of the house, so Spring Forward day is no picnic for Husband, whose job it is to re-set all the timekeepers.

The mass re-set is easy compared to when the Boys were babies, though, and the clock adjustments included advancing their biological clocks to adapt to new mealtimes, naptimes, and bedtimes. As the stay-at-home mom, that job fell to me, and that was when I first realized that not every law is a good law, and that we definitely needed more mothers in Congress.

So, daylight savings time. My first instinct is to call it an idiotic effort to control Mother Nature, leading to six months of feeling just a touch out-of-synch with the universe until sanity is restored when we fall back. But now that the boys are old enough to adjust their own clocks, both actual and biological, I can appreciate Congress's generosity in letting me shop and garden later into the evening.

I think I'll do just that, but the alarm rang awfully early this morning. I might need a little nap first.