Dear fellow parents: It’s a trap!
You think it’s going to work. You think, just maybe, if you put your kids to bed super-duper late the night before we “spring forward,” you’ll never miss that hour of sleep.
(In italics, bold, caps AND underlined, plus every other way you can possibly emphasize this.)
Please, don’t do it. Because undoubtedly, they’ll be up at their normal time anyhow, likely because of some twisted “biological clock” ticking inside of their diminutive demented Daylight-Saving-aware bodies. Because, let’s be honest: They’re tiny freaks who know when you’re trying to pull a fast one.
Or, worse yet: They’ll somehow manage to get up a full fucking hour earlier than normal. So the usual dawn visit of 6 a.m. will actually happen at 5 a.m., which today for a limited time only is 4 a.m.
This has totally happened to me. And I’m telling you, it’s not cool.
So let’s explore all the awesome ways Daylight Saving Time is the actual literal legit worst.
1. It fucks with sleep schedules. Did you not read all that stuff above ^^, people?!?! Because this will happen. You think you’ve got it all figured out, but trust me when I say: These kids of ours have some sort of sick sixth-sense about this time of year. And don’t even tell me it’s because I’m so stressed the night before worrying about how early they’re going to wake up super early, that I somehow telegraph my anxiety to them. That doesn’t happen. These kids can’t pick up on my vibes. Trust me, I’ve tried to “will them” to eat broccoli, or “inspire them with my laser eyes” to say “thank you” to the nice person giving them another sucker at the bank, or “Jedi-mind-trick them but in a nice supportive way” to forget the sucker the nice person at the bank gave them because they didn’t eat their broccoli for dinner and don’t deserve dessert. Nope. It doesn’t happen.
2. No one even knows how to say/write it. Is it “Daylight Savings Time”? Or is it “Daylight Saving Time”? Is there an apostrophe? Or is it singular? Capitalized? Trust me: NO ONE KNOWS!
3. You actually lose an hour, and not in a good way. I’ve lost time before. And it’s usually fun. You’re out with friends, there’s some wine, good music, you’re having a great time, you look at your watch, and poof: an hour, just gone. But no, this time, it’s the worst. You feel hungover, but not in that awesome, post-hanging-out-with-friends way. Nope, this time it’s in an ethereal fog of “Wait, didn’t I put them to bed late? Shouldn’t they be sleeping even later? WHY ARE THEY IN MY ROOM MAKING EYE CONTACT WITH ME?” But it’s too late. You’ve made eye contact. Game over.
4. You try to tackle higher math, and it’s not pretty. Every single time I wake up post-DST time change, I reach over, grab my phone, and think to myself: “It’s 5 a.m.: Does that mean it’s actually literally 4, or actually literally 6? Why did I just dream about my high school prom date dressed as an alien shopping online for huckleberry-scented candles at Bed Bath & Beyond? Wait: Spring forward means I changed the clock from 2 to 3, which means — dammit. He was hot dressed as an alien. But it’s actually 4.” FML.
5. People fucking die. On the Monday after DST begins, 24% more people have heart attacks than on other Mondays throughout the year. Also, a study in Finland links higher stroke rates with DST. And a 2009 study in the Journal of Applied Psychology shows an increase in the incidence and severity of workplace injuries on Mondays immediately following the switch to DST. Dude: Heart attacks, strokes, injuries — someone remind me why we do this again?
6.Consider the “what ifs.” What if that hour you lost is the actual hour when my future literary agent would have happened upon my brilliant writing, then sent me an exploratory email, signed, “Call me?”. What if that was the hour when I was to meet my literal soul mate, who just so happens to have just been jilted by his wife and be named Hugh Jackman. What if that was the hour when my kids learned to say ‘thank you’ to the nice bank teller who gave her a sucker that I tried to will her to forget because she didn’t eat her broccoli? So. Many. QUESTIONS.
Ok, parents. There it is. Daylight Saving Time (no apostrophe, no plural, all initial caps) is the actual literal legit worst.
Disagree? Fight me.
(But let’s meet at noon, which is actually 11 a.m. DST, because I’m fucking exhausted. Cool? Cool.)