At 5:00am on Sunday morning (or 6:00am, depending on which clock in my house you were looking at), I was awakened by a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass. I immediately sat up in bed, heart pounding and knees absolutely weak, thinking for sure that someone was breaking into the house. What freaked me out even more is that my husband didn't even move. I swear, that man could sleep through an air horn held to his head. I kicked him (literally) a few times and whispered "Did you hear that?" to which he replied "Huh?"
I jumped out of bed, realizing that the phone was in the other room, that my children were sleeping upstairs, and that I had nothing I could grab as a weapon. So, armed with the only heavy thing I could find -- a copy of Hilary Mantel's "Wolf Hall" -- I crept out of the bedroom and into the living room. My husband finally got up and snuck up behind me, almost getting himself Manteled in the process. While the smart thing to do would have been to turn the light on (thereby surprising any possible intruder), we stumbled around in the dark trying to find who or what made the crash. And finally, we discovered what it was.
Our Wall Clock
Apparently, my husband had come home from a work party late Saturday night after I was already asleep. He decided to change the clocks before retiring. He changed the wall clock and replaced it on the wall, but managed to miss the hanger on the back. It took approximately four hours of ticking for the clock to slide off the end of the nail.
Next year, I'm going to skip daylight savings all together and just keep my own time.
*This is a repost of a post I did back in March. Last night, I forbade my husband from touching our new clock.