Cursing the End of Daylight

Daylight Saving Time has ended in Pennsylvania and once again the sun crawls into the sky at the ungodly hour of 6:29 a.m., with its accursed forerunners arriving in the dawn twilight at 6:15 or even earlier. It strikes terror into the hearts of vampires and parents everywhere, sending the former fleeing to their dark and hidden coffins and the later stumbling out of bed as their kids demand that they rise with the sun’s first rays.

They say that ancient people worshiped the Winter Solstice because it marked the longest day of the year, and the coming triumph of the Sun over the Darkness. I think not. I think it was the one time of the year they could be sure their kids would sleep past 7 a.m.

This morning, as the sun conspired with my alarm to chase me from my bed and to my reluctant rendezvous with the gym, it found itself unexpectedly aided by Jordan. Her hair was the normal tussled mess, and she snuck into our room like a thief … albeit a thief who then proclaimed that she really, really wanted to watch TV. Sue looked at her groggily, and then muttered “how about you come and snuggle for a while”, which is mom-speak for “please, oh ye Saints of Time and Space, give me five more minutes of Sleep.”

Then the dogs started to mill about, assuming that if the three year old was up, then by rights they should be able to be walked and fed. And the cats, seeing that the canines were about to start their morning ritual, began to petition for their breakfast.

So of course, the baby woke up.

I’m not proud to say I fled into the dawn, backpack slung over one shoulder, duffle bag in hand, but the gym waits for no man. And besides, my respite from the chaos is temporary at best. Sue has yoga tonight, and the night, it will come all too soon, bringing a certain whining banshee suffering from the effects of having gotten up way too early.

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