Of course, we had a great day and got so much accomplished. Of course I feel good about the items crossed off our list, and I love that I managed to do our day without yelling once. I didn't even raise my voice other than to call over the noise of all the other people in our house today. (At least, I don't think I did. Hmm.) Regardless, it was a good day. But it went by so fast!
What exactly determines a fast day verses a slow day? On days when I am sick and all I need is for the day to tick by with alacrity, it creeeeeeeeeeeeeeepppppppppps along slowly while I glance at the clock every few seconds. Then, other days, it seems that every time I glance at the clock, I've spent hours. How does that happen?
Perhaps it is because of the clocks. Do they meet together the night before and determine ahead of time how our time will go? Do they huddle up, yelling at the microwave to detach it's big butt and get into the meeting pronto before somebody comes downstairs and they all get caught? Perhaps my watch is the ringleader, since he is the one with me all the time.
"I'm telling you guys - she's getting cocky. I just know she thinks she's got everything under control. It's time to throw her a curve."
"Oh, no," says the school room clock. "There is so much in their day. Let's give them a break. Slow down and make sure there's plenty of time to get it all done."
"Actually - that would be nice," the microwave concurs. "They all visit me more when the day is dragging. Something about slowing down time makes them eat a lot more."
"Now boys," sighs the patient stop watch. "I've been around the block with this crowd and I'm telling you, they need to be rushed. Timing them is the only thing to get some of those kids to move!"
"What are you talking about!" screams the watch favored by Dawson. "The kid never stops! I don't know how he gets any math done -- he is just go, go go!" A closer inspection of Dawson's watch reveals a whirring that shouldn't be occurring. Perhaps his assessment can't quite be trusted - the kid might have made him go a little crazy.
"Listen, gang. I'm with her all the time. I'm telling you - she feels too good. Like she can handle anything these days. It's time to shake it up." My watch, the traitor, is bent on my sanity's destruction.
"Well, if you think that's wise . . . I guess I should trust you. I'm only the lowly toothbrush-timing clock, anyway. I just think it's really great of you guys to include me. I know I'm an upstairs clock and all and that you really don't have to invite me to these meetings since I really only count twice a day, and let's face it with some of these kids it's only once a day and I'm not really sure they are even looking at me then, so I guess I'm not really important enough --"
"Are you kidding me?" the microwave sighs. "I didn't rip myself off the wall to come over here to listen to your ridiculous whining. Keep it up and we uninvite you. Again."
"OKAY! I'm telling you - it's time." My watch is getting impatient. He's certain he is hearing little feet moving above his head. And evil grin creeps across his face. "Do you hear that? Kids are up. She won't sleep well. It's always more effective when we speed things up and she is tired. She really respects us clocks then. She really feels our power."
"Well, if you're sure . . ." the timer is in on it, but trying to sound hesitant. She doesn't like to come across too evil. After all, one drop on the tile floor and she'll be in the trash can like her Uncle - the first timer to try and subdue our crew. And, to be honest, she isn't convinced he was simply dropped.
"Okay - so we're agreed." The footsteps above are getting louder - definitely a Rutherford out of bed. My watch is in a hurry to close the meeting. "We shave off 15 minutes from every hour tomorrow. Do it when she isn't looking, but make sure it isn't all at once or she'll notice. She may be tired but she isn't stupid."
"Okay, okay." The other clocks agree and quickly return to their posts.
And thus, my day flies by and no matter how efficient I think we're being, we are no match for the clocks. Where did their power come from anyway?