Dear Kid,

Happy the first Monday of Daylight Saving Time. This is the day it really hurts. Because for many of us, weekend time is different. A few minutes extra sleep, a couple minutes one way or the other, are not a problem, not an issue.

But today we return to real life. To obligations. To appointments. To Being On Time. And our bodies have not adjusted.

So, being the kind of Mom I am, I’ve decided to bring you some little known factoids about DST.

If you’re involved in international business (or international friendship), beware. Different countries begin (and end) Daylight Saving Time on different days. Meaning what was a 2pm call last week is not a 2pm call this week. Consult The Google for local (here or there) time.

DST used to be even more confusing than it is now. (Now: Oh, look. My phone changed time. Guess it’s time to get up. Then: Oh, look. The headline in the newspaper says we are supposed to change our clocks. Is that now or tonight? Or last night? Or tomorrow? And which way do we change it? Spring forward and fall back? Or fall forward and I’ll catch you? Or always back? Never mind. I’ll watch the 6 o’clock news tonight and figure it out.)

Back in Ancient History (and by “ancient history” in this case I mean the 1950s and 1960s), each locality was allowed to start and end DST whenever it wanted. Which meant you could easily cross 453 time zones just driving to work. This was pretty much the textbook definition of “Arrrrgggh!” Also, it confused people. Enter the Uniform Time Act of 1966 (no, this had nothing to do with what people wore to work, just when they got there.

When we first moved to the Midwest, time in the state of Indiana was, um, different. Some parts of the year it was the same time in Indianapolis as in Cincinnati. Other times it wasn’t. This is because Indiana didn’t observe DST. Which made it hard to figure out what time to get to the airport if you decided to fly from there. They fixed this in 2006 so Hoosier time is now much more consistent with the rest of the universe.

Penguins do not worry about things like Daylight Savings Time because they don’t have any daylight to save when it’s winter and no reason to save it in the summer when they have daylight 24/7. Mostly they worry about lunch, not being lunch, and staying warm. The research stations in Antarctica observe DST anyway so that they are synchronized with their supply stations.

This might be my favorite: In September 1999, the West Bank was on DST and Israel had just switched back to standard time. A group of terrorists on the West Bank set time bombs and smuggled them to three comrades in Israel. No one said the comrades were geniuses. The bombs went off as planned, but the comrades didn’t understand the “as planned” time, and boom! went the terrorists as the bombs exploded an hour earlier than they expected.

In a set of “what are you gonna do?” unintended consequences, Daylight Saving Time impacts trains. Trains are not allowed to leave the station before their scheduled departure time. So in the fall, all Amtrak trains that are running on time stop dead still at 2am and wait an hour (this is called efficiency). In the spring, all trains instantly become an hour behind at 2am (or sometimes an hour further behind). In this case, the engineer shrugs and keeps going. This is also called efficiency.

Daylight Saving Time can mess up important things, too. For example (this has really happened), if twins are born under the right circumstances, their birth order will be reversed. If Twin 1 is born in the fall at 1:58am and the sibling is born a few minutes later (oops, change the clock, fall back) it is earlier (perhaps 1:10am) when Twin 2 is born. Absolutely no one cares about this except A) the twins who will have their entire lives to argue about which one is older and B) inheritance lawyers in the middle ages when so much of inheritance was based on birth order.

Hope you have an easy time adjusting to the hour.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Have you ever noticed that no one sets off fireworks on your birthday? They don’t on mine either.

And yet, as we celebrate America’s (faux) birthday (read about the faux-ness here), there will be plenty of fireworks.

And hot dogs. And beer. And concerts.

And more fireworks.

And rain. Lots and lots of rain. At least in our neck of the woods.

Which will make the aforementioned festivities much less festive.

Or at least soggier.

Now, just because the forecasters are predicting rain does not necessarily mean rain will arrive. Weather forecasters are notoriously good at being wrong. And still keeping their jobs.

Also, this is Southwest Ohio. So when they say “rain” they might very well mean sleet. Or tornadoes. Or purple unicorns.

Personally, I’d be in favor of unicorns, purple or otherwise.

Regardless of the weather (or lack thereof), my hope is that our country continues to thrive and provide freedom for many, many, many years.

Happy Fourth of July, Kiddo.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Some things age better than others.

The green beans I forgot to cook and eventually discovered in the back of the refrigerator did not age well.

Ice cream cakes do not age well.

Grudges do not age well. Too often the hurt and anger remain long after the reason for the grudge is forgotten.

Fashions do not generally age well. Style is – by definition – transient. Just think of some of the trends of the ‘50s, ‘60s, and ‘70s. Worse yet, think of the “must haves” from just a few years ago that you would never-in-a-million-years even consider wearing again.

On the other hand, some things continue to improve with age.

Much of the famous art in the world wasn’t worth much when it was created but is now way, way, waaaay out of your price range.

A great pair of jeans only gets better with age. As long as they are timeless jeans. The trendy ripped jeans will disintegrate and look dated as they age (which is OK, because they look GREAT now).

Leather jackets, the kind that are real, well-made leather, turn warm and buttery soft with age. Yum.

Antiques age well. Otherwise, they’d be called “brokens.”

Wine and whiskey age well. Usually they get better the older they are (unless the wine turns into vinegar, in which case you probably have the fixings for a really good salad dressing, so that’s good too).

Grandfathers definitely get better with age. Calls yours to say Happy Birthday.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I remember reading somewhere that people spend their childhood trying to grow up to get to their 21^st birthday and the rest of their lives trying to get back to being 21. It was probably said better than that, but you get the idea.

Some people consider 21 the age a person becomes an adult. You can vote—oh, wait, you can do that at 18. You can join the military—no, that’s 18 too. You can sign legal documents—again, 18.

I know. It must be that you can no longer be covered on our medical insurance—nope, that’s 26. It’s probably that you can no longer call me “mommy”—nah, that’s a forever title.

So what’s the big deal about 21? Oh, right. Alcohol.

I remember the joy and pride of being able to order an adult beverage with the certainty that your ID is legit and you can legally purchase whatever you want. Although—trust me on this one—it’s even better to be carded when you’re 35.

I also remember the joy and pride (not) of my first Really Great Hangover which I will not tell you about (except to say it was in close proximity to my 21^st birthday and I hope you are smart enough never to enjoy that experience).

At 21 you are also old enough to gamble, buy a gun, and get a concealed carry permit. Try not to mix any or all of the above.

So what’s so special about being 21? Check the mirror. You’re the Special.

Happy 21^st, kiddo.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Last night we went to MadTree Brewery for a celebration for Ohio River Foundation and Dad’s birthday. Unless it was Dad’s birthday and an ORF celebration.

Either way, we were there.

We had a goat cheese pizza and a variation on mac and cheese. One of these days I’ll remember to photograph food before we eat it.

Ohio River Foundation is the charity of the month at MadTree. So if you go to MadTree during December, you can throw a dollar (or many dollars) up on the screen, and at the end of the month the money will go to ORF. (They get the money down from the screens with a leaf blower!)

Happy today,

Love, Mom