And so did almost everyone else this weekend, so it really isn’t that impressive. However, I would like to take a few moments to reflect upon this longstanding tradition of completely wreaking havoc in the lives of mothers everywhere.

I have a tenuous relationship with clocks as it is. I find them confusing and unreliable. At best they are gently reminding me that I don’t have time to do anything I’d like. At worst, they callously inform me that I’ve missed something important several hours ago. Most frequently, they are just yelling “You are late, late, late! Run! Don’t stop to pick up that random item you don’t know why is on the floor, Go! Why did you ever think you had time to tidy the kitchen when you knew you were going to have to leave the house in less than 7 hours??”

Twice a year, however, our strained relationship dissolves into utter chaos, an absolute chorus of weeping and gnashing of teeth. Two whole times each year, the dreaded clocks up and Change Everything. Before children, this completely random and unpredictable event merely made me early by a half hour or so, or late by two hours, as the case may be. I even looked forward to the extra hour of sleep and would stay up reading for an extra three to celebrate (tragic during the years I forgot which season meant the extra sleep and which meant an hour less).

Now I have four small Pickwickian blessings. With four small blessed Pickwickian circadian rhythms. Or at least I did, two days ago. Now, we are all Pickwickian monsters. It is remarkably like jet lag, without the possibility of having fun and exciting experiences in a different country. Also without the stress of travel, so I guess that is a plus. Last I read, it takes children approximately 3 days to recover from each minute lost or gained for Daylight Savings Time. So we should be back to normal by early spring.