01 02 03 The Dayton Houghs: Two hour delays = hangover 04 05 15 16 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 31 32 33

Two hour delays = hangover

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For me, two hour delays feel an awful lot like a post-girls night hangover.

You know that you should just get up at your regular time. You could get so much extra stuff done, before "they" wake up. But instead, you just lay there for a minute, just one more snuggly, comfy, cozy minute. It should be fine because after all, you have an extra 2 hours. But then your thoughts get a little bit fuzzy and you succumb to it, sleep, beautiful wonderful sleep. There goes you extra two hours...

It's sort of like that extra glass of wine. You know that you shouldn't have it. You feel fine and you should just grab a cup of coffee instead, but NOOOO. Instead you fill your glass up, just one more time. You can feel the warm fuzzy wine feeling turn into the Ouch-I-have-a-headache-from-that-one- last-stupid-glass-of-wine feeling. Your face starts to get a little bit flushed and you may or may not say something stupid, mistakenly thinking that you sound like a genius. You realize that you have pushed the limits a touch too far...

Now, with the 2 hour delay, you lay there in a stupor, willing yourself to get up. It takes a while, but finally the smell of burnt toast and the smoke alarm shrieking does the trick. You stumble out of your room into, what could only be described as, chaos. Kids are running amok, the tv is blaring, the refrigerator door is hanging open. The baby is building a snowman out of flour on the living room floor. Like I said, chaos. You stand their looking about in disbelief and can feel only one thing, guilt. Your head starts to pound and you know that you only have one person to blame...your own stupid-just-one-more-blissful-minute-of-sleep-wanting self.

The morning after a glass or two of too much wine is remarkably similar. Same chaos because you can't wake up, same pounding headache and same self-induced, soul crushing guilt. You know that you only have yourself to blame.

No matter how you got there, the cure is the same. Pop an ibuprofen. Pour a giant cup of coffee. And breathe. Once you have begun to caffeinate and feel slightly human, you just have to face them head on. Turn off the smoke alarm, shut off the tv and sweep up the flour. The kids still need to get ready for school, so the normal routine begins. Shamefully, instead of being 2 hours ahead of the game, they barely make it out the door in time...

But they do make it out the door, thankfully. You look around at the remnants of their destruction, grab another cup of coffee and get started with the day...two hours late. Better late than never, I guess. You gradually let the guilt go, because that extra sleep was delicious...almost as good as a glass of wine...





35 36 37 38 The Dayton Houghs: Two hour delays = hangover

Friday, January 9, 2015

Two hour delays = hangover

For me, two hour delays feel an awful lot like a post-girls night hangover.

You know that you should just get up at your regular time. You could get so much extra stuff done, before "they" wake up. But instead, you just lay there for a minute, just one more snuggly, comfy, cozy minute. It should be fine because after all, you have an extra 2 hours. But then your thoughts get a little bit fuzzy and you succumb to it, sleep, beautiful wonderful sleep. There goes you extra two hours...

It's sort of like that extra glass of wine. You know that you shouldn't have it. You feel fine and you should just grab a cup of coffee instead, but NOOOO. Instead you fill your glass up, just one more time. You can feel the warm fuzzy wine feeling turn into the Ouch-I-have-a-headache-from-that-one- last-stupid-glass-of-wine feeling. Your face starts to get a little bit flushed and you may or may not say something stupid, mistakenly thinking that you sound like a genius. You realize that you have pushed the limits a touch too far...

Now, with the 2 hour delay, you lay there in a stupor, willing yourself to get up. It takes a while, but finally the smell of burnt toast and the smoke alarm shrieking does the trick. You stumble out of your room into, what could only be described as, chaos. Kids are running amok, the tv is blaring, the refrigerator door is hanging open. The baby is building a snowman out of flour on the living room floor. Like I said, chaos. You stand their looking about in disbelief and can feel only one thing, guilt. Your head starts to pound and you know that you only have one person to blame...your own stupid-just-one-more-blissful-minute-of-sleep-wanting self.

The morning after a glass or two of too much wine is remarkably similar. Same chaos because you can't wake up, same pounding headache and same self-induced, soul crushing guilt. You know that you only have yourself to blame.

No matter how you got there, the cure is the same. Pop an ibuprofen. Pour a giant cup of coffee. And breathe. Once you have begun to caffeinate and feel slightly human, you just have to face them head on. Turn off the smoke alarm, shut off the tv and sweep up the flour. The kids still need to get ready for school, so the normal routine begins. Shamefully, instead of being 2 hours ahead of the game, they barely make it out the door in time...

But they do make it out the door, thankfully. You look around at the remnants of their destruction, grab another cup of coffee and get started with the day...two hours late. Better late than never, I guess. You gradually let the guilt go, because that extra sleep was delicious...almost as good as a glass of wine...





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