It’s Sunday morning, and daylight savings “Spring Forward” just happened. That’s the worst half of daylight savings.
I am not really affected by light or lack thereof. My mother is, and I know others are. When there is not enough daylight in their lives, they feel off. Perhaps this will help my mom feel happier in her day.
For me, daylight savings mostly messes up my delicate family schedule. It’s a very sensitive ecosystem of things that must be done at certain time, most particularly bedtime for my daughter Veronica. She requires a lot of help to get to sleep.
In a lot of ways, though, this is Sunday like any other. This is the day that I get stocked and loaded for the week.
Do I have laundry done so that I have the right things to wear? Are there particular events (meetings at work or events in the evening) that I need to have an outfit ready for?
What events will happen this week that I need to get supplies for, or do prep work on?
Do I have enough food for everyone’s meals this week? Are there other non-food items we are out of, like toothpaste or toilet paper? What different stores do I need to visit to get these?
And what windows of time in the weekend will that all get done? which parts of the day are already taken?
Because once I hid the pillow on Sunday night, whatever is undone will most likely STAY undone for the rest of the week.
Sure, I might be able to order a needed item for delivery from Amazon. I might have a chance to do a load of laundry during the week.
But mostly, if it hasn’t happened by Sunday night, it’s going to have to be done later.
This lends a certain pressure to half my weekend. Because I’d really love to lay around. And I know the cost of laying around too.
Somehow I always think I can do more than I actually can. I’d really love to weed the flower patch, but that has to come second behind the special homework assignment my daughter has (why are all homework assignments more work for the parents than for the kid?!) to turn in on Thursday.
And after we give the poor dog a bath. She’s been scratching, so I can’t tell if she has fleas or is just dirty. Probably both.
But it’s all got to be done on the ‘day of rest.’
That’s what it means to be a working woman. And especially a working mother.