You know how you always console yourself as you watch your kid lose her ever-loving mind by saying it can only get better? Wait, what? That's just me?
Crap.
I thought I had company in my eternal parenting optimism.
When Alexis was a wee little thing (who never slept), I suffered through Daylight Saving Time by telling myself eventually she would grow up! And sleep! (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ME SO FUNNY!) And not be bothered by Daylight Saving Time!
Excuse me while I go slap myself for being so very wrong.
ANYWAY.
I'm going to stick with the thought that things will get better eventually, but now that I know that Seven is not The Magical Age At Which The Kid Recovers From Time Changes, I am developing a very serious hatred for the time change.
VERY SERIOUS.
Like, I want to set it on fire. When I figure out the logistics to that, I will do it. Twice.
Not helping the situation is the fact that it turns out that one of the first people to suggest we push the clocks ahead was a bug guy who wanted more daylight so he could go collect bugs. BUGS. I'm not making that up. The internet says it, so it must be true. And if it is even slightly true, my rage for Daylight Saving just grew exponentially.
I hate it so very much already, but I'm willing to make more room in my heart for a little bit more rage.
As Alexis said this morning, "You have GOT to be kidding me! It can't be morning already." That was before she completely lost her mind because she was convinced it wasn't time for bed yet tonight. Meltdown city. I drove through it.
Tomorrow is going to be so very delightful.
