I love to “fall back” – nothing brings me down faster than waking up in the dark… and eating breakfast in the dark… and greeting the dayhome kids in the dark… and standing at the school bus stop while the sun rises.
But the end of Daylight Savings Time is always poo if you have young children.
I don’t know why that extra hour fucks them up so badly, but it does. IT DOES. Good lord. Harry and Ron are handling it alright, and even George isn’t too bad although his whine/demand feature seems to be stuck in the “on” position. Daisy’s basically unfazed, if a little more tired by naptime. We can cope with all of that.
But Louis and Pixie. Sweet baby jesus, Louis and Pixie.
Pixie is now pouting at a grade ten level. At least. Oh, the pouting. About everything. She pouts when she’s sad, angry, slightly annoyed, interrupted, needs to pee, wants the book Louis is reading, if the wind is blowing, if it’s too rainy to go outside, if we do go outside and it’s sunny… her bottom lip is permanently protruding from her face, and while I’m trying so hard to be patient, inside my head it is this:
Louis, on the other hand, was doing much better… until the time change. Now, he’s like a zombie. Honestly! I watch The Walking Dead, and I know walkers when I see them, and this kid – I’m pretty sure he died last Monday and just hasn’t laid down yet. Everything is taking a million hours. EVERYTHING. Putting on his shoes. Putting on his coat. Picking up his toys. Going to the bathroom. Not only is he moving so slowly he might as well be going backwards, he’s stopped responding to people when they talk to him. I find myself clapping my hands and saying “wakey wakey eggs and bakey!” with maniacal cheeriness at least a dozen times a day. The last two mornings he’s been left in the house while I take the boys out front to catch the bus because he simply can’t/won’t get his shoes & coat on quickly enough. He doesn’t seem to care. I find him sitting in the same spot he was when I left, staring unblinkingly into the middle distance.
Today at lunch he spilled his milk while I was helping Daisy with something. I only realized it because I heard the sound of liquid hitting the floor. I turned around fast and he was sitting, holding a half-eaten sandwich, staring at the ever-growing puddle. “Good grief, Louis! I guess you spilled your milk!” I said, running for paper towel. He didn’t respond. “Do you need some more?” I asked. Still no response. I got down to his level, caught his eye, and said calmly but clearly, “Louis. LOUIS.” . He burst into noisy screamy tears and eventually ended up being put down for a nap twenty minutes early.
Through this whole proceeding, Pixie pouted like mad. I finally asked “Pixie, why are you pouting?” because I am an idiot and I never learn. “I am POUTIN’,” she said, “BECAUSE.”
Well. She sure showed me, I guess.