See, I have this problem.
Rather, I don't see it as a problem. The whole thing makes sense to me in my own little crazy wonderland. But five other people in this house have to live with it. The kids just have to suck it up; they're the kids, so they just have to deal with it. But it's a little harder to do that when you're an adult.
Like, oh, a husband.
Here's the thing: My poor man never knows what time it really is.
I don't recall exactly which recent event prompted the comment (I think it had something to do with setting my alarm earlier to reflect a different time for my snooze but not adjusting the actual clock time). It was something crazy and illogical but made perfect sense to me in a bizarro world kind of way when it was late and I was tired.
In a fit of laughter, he called out, "blog post!"
He was spot on; if he had a personal blog (which he doesn't), it would have made great fodder with which to mock me (which I know he wouldn't have).
So, hon, I'm going to mock myself here on your behalf. Because really, such great material can't be passed up, even if it is me making fun of myself.
The problem: I like to set clocks ahead. That doesn't make me too different from a lot of people, but apparently, I've taken it beyond a hobby and turned it into an Olympic sport.
With the exception of my husband's personal ones, nearly every clock in the house is set ahead by a different amount of minutes.
Contrary to what it might seem, it's not a bunch of random craziness. I do have a system. (I can already hear the men laughing. Shush. I do, too, have a system.)
The stove clock is set ahead by two minutes. I do that because when I'm leaving the house, I know that's the time it'll actually be by the time I get my shoes on, grab my purse, get in the car, and pull out of the garage. See? It makes perfect sense.
The clock on the mantel is set ahead by ten minutes. This is more for the kids' sake so they see it and think they're late for school and get moving faster. But it helps me, too. It takes them about ten minutes to finish brushing teeth, getting on shoes and finish zipping up backpacks, and for me to then gather the family for morning prayer and finalize all the little things. So if we're at the final "prep" stage when the mantel clock says it's really time to leave, I know we're right on time.
(Totally logical. Told you. Is, too! Okay, maybe it's a tiny bit weird . . .)
My nightstand clock is eleven (twelve?) minutes ahead. It tells me roughly what time it'll be if I hit the snooze once in the morning, crawl out of bed, and then stumble downstairs to wake up the kids . . . that way they wake up right at seven, but I've been up two minutes before that. (See? I'm such a genius . . . Or a nut case. Whichever.)
Setting my own clock ahead by twelve minutes also helps me know what time it'll be when I actually fall asleep, because pulling up the covers doesn't count as sleep, and I really do need over 8 hours to function. So seeing the clock ahead actually helps me get enough sleep; it encourages me to get into bed earlier.
My extra twelve minutes also help me get ready faster in the morning. If I need to make it on time to an appointment, I should be walking out the door when the clock says I should be there.
(Dang. The longer this goes, the nuttier I sound, even to myself.)
Then there's the minivan clock. It's set four minutes ahead. That's about perfect for letting me know when I'll be arriving at the school to pick the kids up or for other minor trips.
See? It all makes sense. (Shut up. Does too. Fine. I might be slightly off my rocker . . .)
I have two clocks running on exact times. One is above the pantry. It's a giant, decorative clock hanging so high up it takes a 9-foot ladder (and a death-wish) to reach. So half the year it's the right time, and the other half it's off by an entire hour, because I'm not about to risk breaking my neck to change it when daylight savings ends.
The other clock that's on time is the little one in the bathroom next to my sink. It's an atomic clock, so I can't set it ahead. I have to live with the insanity of the correct time on that one.
My downfall is the school clocks. The elementary school and the junior high school clocks aren't in sync with each other. One is supposed to have its five-minute bell at 7:55 and the other is theoretically at 8:10. But even adjusting for my clock resetting, one is really at 7:56 and the other is at 8:08.
What the heck?!
I recently ranted and raved about this disparity to my husband. My time-keeping system requires that other clocks work around the proper, exact times. Having the schools not run on the correct time seriously messes with my mojo. One is a minute late and the other is two minutes early?
Sheesh, people! Get your act together!
My husband looked over with a chuckle. With a smile, he said, "Welcome to a small piece of my world."