Here Comes the Sun

One of my colleagues reminded me that this weekend it's time to change our clocks, music to my ears. For most of my life, I always preferred the fall time change. As a little kid, the time change meant I could stay up an hour later; as a teenager, it made my 11 o'clock curfew midnight, which was a much more respectable curfew in my teenage opinion; and in my twenties it meant another hour at the bar, which obviously meant another beer. Who doesn't want or need an extra hour in their day? The possibilities on what to do with that extra hour-- endless. Although in most cases, I spent it having an extra hour of fun followed by some good sleep.

My joy in the "falling back" though disappeared after having children. Before I had children, when parents would complain about the time change, I would respond with, "Just put them to bed an hour later." It's simple mathematics. However, when I had my own children, I quickly learned reason and logic, well, they run contrary to the daily business of raising children. After spending months establishing a clear, definite sleep pattern, the extra hour was no longer a blessing but a cruel, ridiculous curse. After changing the clock, I would hear the cries of my first born and look blearily at the clock which read 5:00 am. His body clock told him it was time to go, while my body clock told me it was time roll over. Some mornings I would bring him in to bed with me in hopes the warmth of the bed and the familiar smell of mommy would lull him back to sleep, which never seemed to happen. He would stare back at me with big, bright eyes and smile, and I would begrudgingly begin my day in the dark. These "shorter" days ironically seemed interminably long.

 Before my children, the shorter days meant longer evenings watching TV or reading a good book curled up on the couch. After children, the shorter days meant longer evenings trapped inside the house trying to sap their boundless energy--an exercise in futility. Our two favorite activities on long winter evenings included "Pillow Pile" which involved pulling all the cushions off our couch and loveseat while the boys would precariously balance on the arm of the loveseat and gleefully dive into the cushions over and over and over again. Our second favorite indoor winter activity was called "Running Songs" where we would blast music videos and race around the house in the dark with glow sticks. I consider it a small miracle that we have avoided the ER for the past five winters.  

To say this winter has been "a long, cold lonely" one is quite frankly the understatement of the year or perhaps this century. But I have noted the past few weeks the increasing glow of light in the mornings as I drive in to work, a welcome sign that spring will be here soon; although, not soon enough for most of us. 

Even though I will be losing an hour of sleep this Saturday night, I know I will wake up on Sunday morning with a spring in my step, and there's a pretty good chance the clock will read 8:00 am instead of 5:00 am when I hear the pitter-patter of my children's feet. I know I'll be plunged back into the darkness for a few weeks during my morning commute, but I will gladly make this sacrifice for the daylight after dinner, the prospect of the fresh air that tires my children out, and the happy laughter of them playing with the neighbors. 

Last week as I was driving in to work, I found myself subconsciously humming The Beatles' "Here Comes the Sun" and released a great sigh. This simple song so fully encapsulates my physical and mental state, and I know soon it will feel "all right."