Daylight Spooky Time
Daylight savings time really jolted my system. I rise early in the morning (I know, that's totally crazy, crazy, crazy)--and by this, I mean at seven or fifteen minutes before. I know for most of you, sleeping until seven sounds like the height of luxury, but to night owls like me, I was always happy to slumber until 7:45 or 8, when guilt finally pulled my sorry body out of bed. Guilt: A great way to start the day!
And it may be my imagination, but a spirit of close-insanity has settled over the Cockroft house. Happy insanity most of the time, mind you, but battiness none the less. The children have begun repeating things but at high volume and in a sing-song voice. For instance, if I say, "Hey, Charley, you dingbat, get out of there," Bea sings back an echo: "He-hey, Charleeeee, get outta thay-re!" Early rock influences mixed with punk. It'll reaaalllllyyyy drive you nuts.
To top it all off, Elspeth has starting scatting nonsense words. So she adds to the chorus: "Get outta there, Charleeeey, zeeba-dooda-foozie-wagga!" This happens all the time, and I swear that the two of them are utterly unaware that any noise at all is issuing from their mouths.
Last night after dinner I stood at the sink, cutting up all the apples from our tree that I left half-rot before I finally processed them into apple butter (it smells like heaven in our house). The sink was full of soft, wormy bits and apple peel, and my paring-knife hand was just starting to cramp as the girls sang their little hearts out, punctuating their meandering tunes with high, shrill squeals that sent Charley scattering away on his toenails across the wooden floor. At the end of the day, a woman can only take so much. "Silence!" I finally bubbled over. "Everybody, be quiet." Guilty parent-creativity took over and I added in a sweet voice, "Let's play the silent game while we eat our pomegranate, ooooo-kaaaay?"
Then Martin started reading out loud and the world was an ordered place again.
What have I forgotten? Under the heading DAYLIGHT SPOOKY TIME, I would also include these things:
Charley rolling in a pile of poop just before I head out to the library with four girls;
Elspeth harming herself repeatedly in mysterious ways, such as sitting on a chair when two of the legs are on her feet, or falling out of the chair with her legs hooked through the slats. . .
and, oh, dear, here's a rather sad one:
See the cracks? It was only a matter of time before this happened, as the dining room table is our office, project table, homework station, and eating place. As I yelled, "Noooooooooooo!" a poor unsuspecting child tripped over the computer cord and pulled my open laptop to the ground. At first I thought all my non-backed-up files might be lost, but then I found to my relief that the computer still functions wonderfully--it just has a bit of a Bride of Frankenstein look. Thankfully, the cracks are off to the right side and I can still see everything fine, and since I am not a gamer (hee, hee, what a funny thought!), and just a key-pounder, I'm good to go. Maybe once Maple has been finally published, I'll get myself a new computer. But until now, it's Ole Crack'd Screen and me, and we make a pretty happy couple.
For the nonexistent farmers in the world, daylight savings time is a real wild thing. Just an hour changed--that's it--and we're thrown into an altered universe. One true boon is that now my clock, which I never changed last year, reads the right time again. I always figure, why change the clock when, in a year's time, I'll just have to change it again? (If Martin were here instead of in his office, he would say, "This points to the fact that perhaps the insanity was there all the time, living inside, and has nothing to do with daylight savings time at all.")
Ah, well, chickadees, time to switch off the apple butter. It's been simmering all night long. Nothing crazy about apple butter. I am tempted to eat it with a spoon.
And it may be my imagination, but a spirit of close-insanity has settled over the Cockroft house. Happy insanity most of the time, mind you, but battiness none the less. The children have begun repeating things but at high volume and in a sing-song voice. For instance, if I say, "Hey, Charley, you dingbat, get out of there," Bea sings back an echo: "He-hey, Charleeeee, get outta thay-re!" Early rock influences mixed with punk. It'll reaaalllllyyyy drive you nuts.
To top it all off, Elspeth has starting scatting nonsense words. So she adds to the chorus: "Get outta there, Charleeeey, zeeba-dooda-foozie-wagga!" This happens all the time, and I swear that the two of them are utterly unaware that any noise at all is issuing from their mouths.
Last night after dinner I stood at the sink, cutting up all the apples from our tree that I left half-rot before I finally processed them into apple butter (it smells like heaven in our house). The sink was full of soft, wormy bits and apple peel, and my paring-knife hand was just starting to cramp as the girls sang their little hearts out, punctuating their meandering tunes with high, shrill squeals that sent Charley scattering away on his toenails across the wooden floor. At the end of the day, a woman can only take so much. "Silence!" I finally bubbled over. "Everybody, be quiet." Guilty parent-creativity took over and I added in a sweet voice, "Let's play the silent game while we eat our pomegranate, ooooo-kaaaay?"
Then Martin started reading out loud and the world was an ordered place again.
What have I forgotten? Under the heading DAYLIGHT SPOOKY TIME, I would also include these things:
Charley rolling in a pile of poop just before I head out to the library with four girls;
Elspeth harming herself repeatedly in mysterious ways, such as sitting on a chair when two of the legs are on her feet, or falling out of the chair with her legs hooked through the slats. . .
and, oh, dear, here's a rather sad one:
See the cracks? It was only a matter of time before this happened, as the dining room table is our office, project table, homework station, and eating place. As I yelled, "Noooooooooooo!" a poor unsuspecting child tripped over the computer cord and pulled my open laptop to the ground. At first I thought all my non-backed-up files might be lost, but then I found to my relief that the computer still functions wonderfully--it just has a bit of a Bride of Frankenstein look. Thankfully, the cracks are off to the right side and I can still see everything fine, and since I am not a gamer (hee, hee, what a funny thought!), and just a key-pounder, I'm good to go. Maybe once Maple has been finally published, I'll get myself a new computer. But until now, it's Ole Crack'd Screen and me, and we make a pretty happy couple.
For the nonexistent farmers in the world, daylight savings time is a real wild thing. Just an hour changed--that's it--and we're thrown into an altered universe. One true boon is that now my clock, which I never changed last year, reads the right time again. I always figure, why change the clock when, in a year's time, I'll just have to change it again? (If Martin were here instead of in his office, he would say, "This points to the fact that perhaps the insanity was there all the time, living inside, and has nothing to do with daylight savings time at all.")
Ah, well, chickadees, time to switch off the apple butter. It's been simmering all night long. Nothing crazy about apple butter. I am tempted to eat it with a spoon.
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