Certain people in this world, who had better remain anonymous, have made some el-biggy boner decisions that have messed up a large portion of the female population. For example, some obviously well-intentioned but self-centered sexist committee of male golfers in high places must have dreamed up the modern solution to finding more time to tee-off. This ill-conceived idea is better known as daylight-savings time.
I believe all important decisions, like playing games with other people's clocks, should be mandated to pass the mother test. Somewhere it should be decreed that all sexist decisionmakers in high places must write home to their mothers and get permission before they pass any more legislation to louse up other peoples' lives.Making the day last longer might seem like a great idea, unless of course you happen to be a mother. Moms spend their entire summer vacation trying to figure out how to get their kids to go to bed and stay there when it still looks like 12 o'clock high.
My children refuse to feel even a tad drowsy unless it's dark outside. I have gone to great lengths through the years to fool my children into believing that nighttime has actually arrived while we're on daylight-saving time. I've tried nailing plywood to their windows, painting stars on their bedroom walls and playing soothing music - to no avail.
Children put to bed while they can still see their hands in front of their faces tend to discover their latent creative energies and find original ways to amuse themselves.
Take, for instance, the fake snow my children created the other night. When I walked into my young daughter's bedroom to find out what she was up to, I could't find her. Huge mountains of white fluffy stuff covered the entire air and floor space in the bedroom. I noticed a large giggling lump near the fan. I soon found out that my daughter had swiped a whole four-roll pack of Charmin from the bathroom, then proceeded to throw one tiny ripped squeezable square after another into the fan. Toilet paper snowflakes had been fluttering about for hours, thus creating a Canadian blizzard. My other daughter, oblivious to her sister's antics, was busy playing Michaelangelo on her top bunk bed with a red Crayola and the bedroom ceiling.
Children have an odd way of looking at the difference between night and day. To kids, light equals play and dark equals sleep. The other evening, long after my young son should have been in bed, I opened the back door to let in some fresh air. My young son hurriedly ran past me and slammed the door shut behind me.
"Mom," he said breathlessly with bugged-out eyes, "you'd better keep the door closed or you'll let the dark in."
Maybe that's what parents need, a little portable dark we could pick up on sale down at K mart. Then when the kids start acting like Mexican jumping beans by popping in and out of bed after we tuck them in, we could go to the medicine cabinet and get down the "dark" can. It would work like the sprays for offensive odors, only instead of covering up stink, we could give all our kids 12-hour night blindness by spraying a little dark into their bedrooms.
Well, it's an idea - the sort of idea some legislator worth his salt would put his mind to and finally make his mother proud.
(Janene Wolsey Baadsgaard is a Spanish Fork resident and mother of seven. She writes a biweekly column for the Deseret News Utah County edition.)