This morning as Brynna and I whined and stumbled around the house, looking not unlike the risen dead, Brynna asked, as she does each and every year, "What's wrong? Why are we getting up in the middle of the night? Why do I feel like I haven't slept? Why is it so dark outside?"
Typically, I refrain from answering because I don't trust myself to not pepper in a few pants. This morning, however, I answered thusly:
A long, long time ago, a bunch of morning people in government decided that if you and I get up and leave the house in the pitch black every morning, we can all stay out and play for a few extra minutes at night. This is apparently important to them, because they don't want the fireworks to start on July Fourth until all the world's children are cranky and mean, because they hate people with sleep disorders and want them to suffer and because they like for children to be hit by cars while waiting in blackest night for their school buses.
I think I handled that well.