Sunday started far too early yesterday. Curse that Daylight Savings Time thing. There I was, cuddling up with my youngest at 6:45am, feeling the full effects of missing a precious hour of snooze.
She, on the other hand, was radiant at that ungodly hour. She climbed in bed, looked up at me with a satisfied smile, tucked her hands behind her head and sighed blissfully:
"Ahhhh, it felt so good to get an extra hour of sleep last night!"
While it was inspiring to see someone so happy at that hour of the morning, I felt the need to correct her. I told her that I was happy she felt so rested! And that actually, we lost an hour of sleep overnight, instead of getting an extra one.
"Oh no, no, no, mama! I went to bed early last night! I was asleep when you all skipped that hour of sleep, and then I stayed asleep even longer, so I got an extra one!"
Little T springs forward with panache.
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