In Which I Give Ben Franklin A Piece of My Mind

Dear Benjamin Franklin,

Hold it, Ben, just hold it RIGHT THERE. Yes, I know you didn't propose daylight savings time (it was actually proposed in 1895 by a man from New Zealand named George Vernon Hudson, the jerk--but just put a pin in that, I'll get to him in a minute.) Don't think for a minute that you are off the hook. YOU started this nonsense. I give you exhibit A:  "Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise." No, you didn't write that, but you did publish it in your almanac. You gave people ideas. My children were up before the sun this morning, shouting, scattering toys and eating huge bowls of Count Chocula and Frankenberry cereal. Maybe you think this is a good thing, and an excellent use of their time, and maybe you're right--but I hate you all the same.

Exhibit B: Your anonymously published 1784 letter suggesting that Parisians save on candles by getting up EARLIER. "That was satire," you say--but we all know that satire is truth wrapped in comedy. You meant it when you "jokingly" suggested that shutters be taxed, candles rationed, and people awakened by cannons. What kind of masochist are you, Ben?  Inventions can be invented after 10 am, you know. There is no good reason to get up before then, unless you're in the Army. My children? NOT IN THE ARMY.

And your accomplice, that Kiwi entomologist Mr. Hudson? (Shhhhhh! I know you were dead long before he was born. That's not the point.) Mr. Hudson took your adage to heart; he was early to bed, early to rise, and so probably also healthy, wealthy and wise. Because he worked a shift job during the day, he came to love those after-work daylight hours. In fact, he loved them so much that he wrote a paper about them, proposing that we all set our clocks ahead two hours so we can more properly enjoy them. One thing led to another and blammo!--daylight savings time was born. In that respect, 1895 was not a good year for the mothers of small children.

Did you have any children, Mr. Franklin? Did your entire day revolve around the delicate sleep/awake schedule that they run on? Have you ever had to explain to a three-year-old that it's bedtime, even though it's still light outside? Have you ever served dinner at 4:30 pm, just because your kids think it's really 5:30 pm? Have you ever covered a window with tinfoil to prevent any and all natural light from entering a room at dawn? No? Well, bully for you!

This afternoon I took the kids to the playground, where they played happily for about twenty minutes. (Well, sorta. The middle child had a tantrum first because his friend was not there and exhaustion makes stomping off to sulk seem like a good way to handle disappointment.) At the end of that twenty minutes, a switch flipped inside the youngest child (and you better believe the switch from stable to extremely unstable take about .2 nanoseconds) and he became hysterical. He surveyed the playground, noticed that there were at least six kids all doing something he wasn't doing, and then hit the mulch. Face first. As if he'd fainted or died.

"Nobody wants to play with me!" he shrieked, writhing around in the dirt as if his pants were on fire.

"Have you asked anyone to play with you?" I said.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"Why don't you ask Marisol and Francesca? They're your friends," I replied.

"NOT ANYMORE! I WON'T TALK TO THEM!" More shrieking. And then he grabbed his throat and made a horrible retching noise. "I'M GOING TO THROW UP!" he threatened.

I walked away. I ignored him. I returned and tried to comfort him. He snarled at me. I walked away again. He begged me to come back. I offered to take him home. He said he wasn't ready to go. I pointed out that some of the other kids were on the swings. He snarled some more. I walked away again. He rolled around, retching and shrieking and clutching his throat. I offered to take him home again, but he refused to go without his brothers. "I will DIE without them!" he countered. "I WILL DIE!" I considered calling a priest. But what would I say? "Father, please meet me at the playground. My kid is possessed--he has a bad case of the Daylight Savings Times." 

I finally got him home, where I parked him at the dinner table with a bowl of chicken soup. He picked at it, despite the fact that he was ravenous.

"Are these mushrooms?!" he asked incredulously. Meanwhile, the middle child came unglued when his spoon wouldn't hold all the noodles in the bowl without them slipping off. It was sadly comical to watch him try to get a spoonful and then say "Uhhhhhhhhhhh!" in a sort of drawn-out whine, while the little one cried about the mushrooms. The chorus of whimpering and tears was wondrous to behold, truly.

They were dropping like flies.

And when we finally finished dinner and clean up and baths and homework--it was only 6:30 pm. Too damn early to put them to bed, if I don't want them up at 5 am. I don't care what you think, Ben Franklin, no child needs to be up at 5 am to do anything. There are no cows to milk, no inventions to tinker with, no important documents to write. Not for little kids, anyway.

Thanks a pant load,

Marcy