A child begins stirring. You hear a scream. I NEED WATER. Minutes pass that feel like hours. You stumble from your bed â€“ in the general direction of the bathroom, there may be a water bottle in there â€“ and head into the wailing boyâ€™s room. Thirst quenched, you go back to bed.
2 a.m. (An hour later)
A child begins stirring. You hear a scream. I NEED WATER. Minutes pass that feel like hours. You stumble from your bed â€“ questioning if this is a dream or merely dÃ©jÃ vu.
The same witching hour is upon you once more.
A mischievous laugh startles you from your slumber. You bury your head in your pillow and ignore it. This is why you had twins; let them entertain each other.
You hear a much louder scream. DESTROY SAY NO competing a fraternal scream of I HAFTA GO POTTY!
The time change has screwed with all the non-interweb affiliated devices. (OMG â€“ those still exist in Silicon Valley?) The coffee maker did not automagically turn on. Time has turned back and yet you must now wait longer for a morning caffeine infusion.
Fight the fading summer light! Homemade waffles on a Sunday morning. And a strong craving for powerful narcotics to dull the pain resulting from the ice cream maker that dropped on your head as you attempted to procure the waffle maker from behind the delectable creator and beside the fire extinguisher. (This totally happened.)
Time is relative. In this case itâ€™s relative to the amount of times a pair of 3-year-olds will throw a fit over the wrong color oatmeal packet â€“ the correct answer is dependent upon snackiness, which increases in exponential proportion to crankiness.
Despite the latest technological buzzword of a world comprising the â€œInternet of Things,â€ your home has approximately 472 items with LED lit clock functionalities that must be changed by hand. You are smarter than the two black plastic < > pinhole buttons. Or are youâ€¦ (You are not.)
Naptime. Kind of. Gird your loins for the impending meltdown of non-napping routine-edited muppets.
Wait. Did your spouse already change that clock? Is it 2? Or is it actually 1? Stare at the blinking lights a few minutes more. It is really only noon? Or did I just screw up the manual edit? Damn. I must have pushed reset.
For the love of all things holy how is it only 2 in the afternoon.
Screwing with the time/space continuum apparently caused Christmas to instantly explode into stores. Perhaps weâ€™re supposed to completely bypassing Thanksgiving this year; youâ€™re certainly not thankful for this involuntary stationary jetlag.
Dogs are freaking out. Will no one ever feed them? They are surely going to die of starvation. Congratulations, you may now clean pee off cardboard boxes in the garage because the pups felt they needed to make their message of displeasure crystal clear.
Daylightâ€™s done. Itâ€™s dark outside.
An extra hour in the day is an extra load of laundry! 25 loads in the allegedly 24-hour day. This is how adults party kids â€“ you excited to be on your own yet teenagers?
No matter what the clock says (did we ever figure out if it was changed), no matter how tired the no-nappers may be, they do not want to go bed. Tonightâ€™s tantrum will be extra exhausting.
Itâ€™s still early, but it feels so late. Rant about the time change an hour more. Maybe someone will take my diatribe seriously this time around. That is if they can pause their own time change Twitter snark momentarily.
Fall into a deep, dark slumber â€“ dreaming of a world with no time changes (Hawaii).
No one likes change. The time change is one we do not have to stand for.
I propose to you as I do every one of these confounded weekends colluding against our clocks: Let us all band together. And refuse to ever acknowledge another time change.
Leave the clocks where they are now forever more.