We have twelve clocks in our house and each one says a different time.

The big, round one that hangs on the wall in the kitchen reads 8:02. But the one on the microwave, directly across from it, claims it’s 8:13. The clocks on the coffeemaker and the oven hover around 7:56. A few feet away, in the garage, the timer on the automatic watering system says 9:07.

My husband sets the digital clock beside our bed 20 minutes earlier than something, but I don’t know what. When I open one eye to look at in the morning, I wonder: Have I overslept? Why is it so dark outside?

Olivia’s clock has stopped completely. Mateo’s ticks under his bed. My travel alarm is set to Guatemala time -- two hours before us when it’s Standard Time, one hour before us when it’s not. I synchronize it with the clock that tolls in the church tower on Fifth Avenida in Antigua. One of the reasons I love Guatemala so much is nobody cares if I’m late.

The problem is that I’m so familiar with each clock and its unique setting that I plan my life accordingly. On school days, we have eight minutes to walk down the hill to Olivia’s bus stop. The clock in the kitchen may say it’s 7:29, but I know it’s only 7:16. In the afternoon, school pick-up is 1 p.m. But I don’t get in the car until NPR announces the headline news before “Fresh Air,” which starts at 1:10, or thereabouts. My clock isn’t 100 percent reliable.

Last Sunday the newspaper said that Daylight Savings Time would be starting, and we should set our clocks ahead one hour.

Easy for them to say.

By Jessica O’Dwyer

Labels: Jessica O'Dwyer

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