Spring forward, fall down

Every year, I check the calendar to see when Daylight Savings Time begins. I have to mentally prepare myself at least a week in advance for the schedule change. This year, it snuck up on me. I flipped my calendar to April, and there it was, like a tiger out of the shadows, knocking me down and wrapping its big teeth around my throat: April 2, Daylight Savings Time begins.

I felt trapped. I don't mind saying I was even a little upset. How could I have let this sneak up on me? All thoughts of a nice, restful weekend went out the window. We were losing an hour that night and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

By now, you're laughing at me. Go on, admit it. One hour? Is she nuts? What's the big deal? Let me tell you: we are all night owls around here. None of us (except the baby) has any trouble staying up until 2 a.m. But we all (again, except the baby, though I'm sure that will change eventually) like to sleep in the morning. Do you begin to see the problem? On Saturday, as the clock struck what would be midnight after the time change, our bodies were telling us it was only 11 p.m. We don't go to sleep at 11. I know I was awake until almost 1.

The next morning when the alarm went off at 7:45 (or 6:45 as our atomic clock, which is supposed to change itself but didn't, read) there was no fooling our internal clocks. I don't get up that early. By the time my body was ready to wake up, it was after nine. I had the same problem last night. The clock said midnight, my body said 11. This morning, I am a wreck.

I know by Wednesday I'll be fine, but it's almost worse than jet lag. At least with jet lag, you've been somewhere interesting and exciting. The most exciting thing I did this weekend was watch some of the last season of 24.