Ben Franklin vs. Your Mom

A conversation with Eve during our run last night.

Eve: Mom, do you know we were all WIDE AWAKE at 6:00 this morning?
Kelly:  Yep.  That's because your body thought it was 7:00.
Eve: So we should be able to get up at 6:00 tomorrow.
Kelly:  No way, dude; Mama needs to get some stuff done before you get up.
Eve: What time do you get up?
Kelly:  5:30.
Eve:  So tomorrow you can just get up at 4:30.
Kelly: *snort* Seriously?  Dude, I'm the mom.  I'm not getting up at 4:30 so you can get up at 6:00. You're crazy.
Eve: But should we just sit around bored for an entire hour?
Kelly: You could always get up and clean a bathroom.
Eve: No thanks.
Kelly:  Besides, how will you get used to sleeping until 7:00 again unless you practice? (I'm totally reminding her of this conversation when she is a teenager.)(Also, this conversation was during the trail part of our run.  It was getting darker way too early as we neared sunset.)
Eve:  Mom, what's that smell?  Is someone burning leaves?
(This is when I looked over to see the teenagers hiding in the woods to smoke weed.)
Kelly: Yep. Someone's burning leaves.

I'm sure that during the 18th century children were milking their fifth cow by 6:00 a.m., but here in the good old year 2012, at oh six hundred hours mine are busying sawing their ninth hour of figurative logs.  Or at least they should be.  6:00 a.m. is Mommy Time.  It's a time to drink iced coffee, snuggle under a quilt at the computer, and read or write to my heart's content (or until 6:30 when I need to get ready for the day) all by myself.  I do my daily editing, post, and catch up on blogs I read habitually. The children get up at 7:00 a.m.

This time is important to me.  It keeps me a little sane(r).  But when Daylight Savings Time appears we all turn the clocks back supposedly gaining an hour which is a joke if you have children  and it totally messes with my Mommy Time.  Because the children who used to happily sleep until 7:00 a.m. now are awake at the crack of dawn, and that effectively ruins any hope of some chilled out Pinterest time.

Which is pretty much why if Ben Franklin (inventor of the beloved DST) was in my house I would sucker punch him in the throat.  Or at least make him babysit while I finish this post.

"Ben, here are my lovelies.  You've proven yourself with the invention of the lightning rod; well done on that BTW.  Since you know something about the safe conduction of an electric force here is my two year old.  His name is Ezra.  Try not to get hurt."

Don't mess with my iced coffee time.
For real.