Softball tournament on the weekend feels WAY too early. They've built ("they" being, evil men who want to make money at the expense of my sanity) an indoor playing field near us and although it's great for the girls to practice batting and eat nachos, it's a whole other thing to be able to host a 24 hour indoor tournament when there's still snow on the ground, with the girls playing at 9:30pm Saturday night and 6:30am Sunday morning, daylight savings time. Four games in 23 hours. Allison crumpled on my bed at 9pm last night, with that sort of over-exhausted panic that sets in when sleep deprived. She couldn't even make it for the last five minutes of Cold Case. Chip crumpled two hours later.
The spring ahead of the clocks also feels way too early. Perhaps coupled with the winter storm yesterday that went from rain to sleet to snow over the course of Sunday, it was just too much. I don't ever remember understanding the why and when of changing the clocks--farming maybe? I just don't know nor do I have any interest in it. It could be Communist for all I know. I just wake up two Sundays a year and twirl the clock hands when the newspaper says it's time. When newspapers go out of business for good, I suppose I just won't set my clocks back and forth anymore.
Icy willowFrom playing in the mud back to playing in the snow, it's like being attached to a bungee cord where we snap from cold to warm to cold and hope our brains don't slosh too violently inside our heads until spring finally comes. The neighborhood talisman signaling "impromptu happy hour at this address today!" will have to wait a little longer.
Sad fellow
Raspberries will have to wait as wellI'm glad I don't have a job right now, coinciding nicely with a job market that is glad I'm not looking. Could be seasonal affective disorder, could be a delayed response to returning from England...but the girlies are requiring the kind of structure that toddlers enjoy. And I'm just out of practice and a little out of gas myself for this level of supervision and intervention. Just running through my side of the story alone yields insight into our winter fatigue.
"....get a snack, pack your lunch, where's your homework, when's the test, oh, shut up, let's go, I'll pick you up, where are you, how long will you be gone, be home at 5, do you need a ride, I hate you too, where are your boots, what classes will you miss, where's your trumpet, no, I'm not saying you're fat, put your dishes in the sink, walk the dog, wear a hat, take a shower, feed the animals, are your legs broken, get it yourself, how much, don't forget, you suck, too, wear your big coat, yes, it's cold, no, it's not that cold, it's going to rain, wear your boots, fix your hair, you're butt's hanging out of those pants, really..., don't be an idiot, it's in your cubby, it's in your room, it's in the family room, I may have thrown it out, I didn't throw anything away today, I haven't seen it...."
It was _five_ games! And you should've told your readers - 2nd place, 14U Division. Green Lightning rules! But yeah, we were kind of out of gas there at the end. Ugh.
ReplyDeleteHow can you not love an extra hour of light in the evening???? Us once-Communists didn't invent turning the clock. We were too busy providing health care for all. But we sure do LOVE the idea of light!
ReplyDeleteAs for mothering -- I will repeat this warning throughout your blogging career: they'll take as much mothering (differently translated over the years) as you're willing and able to give. Kids are smart that way.
Go Green Lightning!
ReplyDeleteAnd the time change is earlier than it used to be. When we moved to MN from TX at the end of March 5 years ago, I vividly remember it was pre-DST because we were awakened our first morning by the most ungodly amount of light at 5 a.m. (It gets that way, I learned quickly, up here near the Arctic Circle.) I don't like messing with time, and my internal clock -- such as it is -- doesn't either.