I don’t have a problem with daylight saving time in general. Certainly not like my husband, who talks about “that time when we as a society collectively lie about what time it is.” For me, of all of the things that we collectively lie about as a society continual growth of the stock market being top of mind whether or not I can grab the morning newspaper in light or darkness is fairly minor.
That said, on Sunday, I was hating the idea of changing the clocks. It figures that the day we lose an hour is the day where the temperature is in the seventies and we’re spending time with my adorable niece. Except we spent one less hour with her than we would have otherwise thanks to daylight saving time. Why couldn’t we lose an hour last weekend when it was frigid, and I was fighting a stomach bug? I could have shaved sixty minutes from that Sunday.
My daughter, with the 6:30 a.m. bus, is dreading tomorrow. We talked about how wonderful it is to have more sunlight in the evening when we have free time, how exciting it is to know that Spring is on its way, and how much these next mornings are going to totally suck.
Well, I’m not going to lie to her.