How does it feel to come in last place?
If you're answer isn't "Pretty darn rotten," then I would like to know your secret. Finishing last has to be one of the most horrifying, humiliating, and helpless feelings in the entire world. I know. I've been there. When I was in the fifth grade, I signed up for the local track team. I had been running with my dad for weeks, but when it came time for that first race, I was completely unprepared for the competition. I'll never forget the image of my cartoon character body, running and running, but somehow not moving. Throngs of people raced by me. I even got lapped. Yes, it's hard to type those words. I got lapped. Clearly, I didn't understand pacing, and I never even bothered to evaluate my competition prior to the race. More than twenty-five years later it's still horrifying and humiliating because in my memory I was helpless to do anything about it.
How did I respond? Well, it was four long years before I ran again. I forbid anyone from my family to attend the meets. Woe to the person who even hinted at coming to one of my races! On the day of the race, butterflies invaded my stomach and I turned into a ball of nervous energy. I dreaded every single race. My biggest fear: Coming in last. To this day, I can't tell you why I ran. Whether it was peer pressure or an innate desire to prove something to myself, I ran, though I never became a super-star. I did what I was supposed to do. I attended every practice and weight training session. I ate right. I drank lots of water. Then, I counted down the weeks until the nightmare was over. At the end of the season, to my great surprise, I even qualified for regionals. Accckkkk!!! Is there no mercy for the weary?
It's one thing to come in last; it's quite another to be picked last. And believe me, I've had my share of those, too. As a child, I was shy and soft-spoken. There was a huge gap between the me I was (shy, soft-spoken, and insecure) and the me I wanted to be (dynamic, chatty, and interesting). That "me" was buried so deep that no one ever saw it. And since they could only evaluate what they saw, no one placed much confidence in me. Except my dad. The same one who ran with me, who encouraged me to keep running, and who said, "It's OK" when I came in last. Whenever he could, he also said, "You're good enough. You're pretty enough. You're smart enough". Even if no one wanted me to be on their team. He did. And that was enough.
Now I have a daughter who is just like me. She's twelve, so she's trying like crazy to assure the world that she is nothing like me. But just yesterday, she too, was picked last. And my heart broke. Because I know how that feels. It's humiliating and horrifying. Maybe she felt helpless, too, but as her mother I was the one who felt helpless. I wanted to march up to that school and tell the world, "Look what you're missing! Look at this beautiful, creative girl! How could you not want her on your team? You're all a bunch of idiots!"
Instead, Gavin took her in her arms, and he said, "You are good enough. God made you, and he loves you, and no matter what happens, girl, don't you ever forget that. As you get older, you'll find people looking for validation in all kinds of places and from all kinds of people. But you--you remember that God made you. He's the only one that matters."
We were all together when she softly admitted her sadness, so I'm glad that I got to say, "If you lined up all the kids in the entire world end to end and I had to choose any one of them as a daughter for myself, guess what? I would choose you. I'll always choose you."
I'm not sure what kind of teacher allows Middle Schoolers to pick teams. Even worse, I'm not sure what kind of a teacher doesn't allow the kid who was picked last the day before to be a team captain on the second day she initiates this nonsense. But in a weird way I'm kind of thankful that it was my kid. I'm not winning any Outstanding Parenting Awards, but if there's one thing I understand it's that people matter. Words matter. As a mother, I have a unique opportunity to speak truth into my children's lives. I get to share Jesus with them. I'm thankful that I have a dad who showed me that I matter even when I came in last. And I got to share it with the kid who came in last. My kid. (Oh, the irony of the whole thing!) If it had been anyone else's daughter, I wouldn't have been able to tell her that she matters. That she's important.
Earlier this week, in this same class, my daughter came home with a failing grade on a project/presentation. She worked for weeks on the project. She researched her subject and made a beautiful visual aid. But she bombed the oral presentation. See? I told you she was shy like me. We're working on it, but she doesn't know how to look an audience in the eye and make a compelling presentation. Fail. Fail. Fail. Last place.
Traditional school boasts many fine qualities, not the least of which is the high value it places on healthy competition. When a child doesn't perform up to standard, though, does the school also have a responsibility to help that child navigate the disappointment, inspire them to achieve more next time, and validate their personhood, even while condemning their academic performance? In spite of the separation of church and state, I wish that Christian principles governed the way our schools respond to the kids they're entrusted to teach. They spout rhetoric about self-esteem and standing up to bullies, but is anyone really listening? How would our schools be different if everyone just did what Jesus did and considered others better than themselves? Wouldn't it be easy to say no to drugs if a child understood how much God loves her? Would the "cool" table even exist? Would we need it? Would the lowest performing kids hang their heads and cause trouble at every turn? Would kids be tempted to give in to the selfishness and greed that comes from comparing themselves to an unattainable standard found in magazines and on TV?
I doubt it because the Christian principle that would address so many of these issues is simply this: Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others (Philippians 2:3-4 NIV).
Problem solved.
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Monday, April 9, 2012
The Benefits of Boredom
We didn't go anywhere on Spring Break this year. As the academic year winds down, I realize that we've had no less than six weeks off school, in addition to a number of teacher furlough days. If our family traveled every time there was a school holiday, we would surely be in the poor house. Of course, I'm perfectly okay with that. As a mom of four kids ages 4-12, I'm never bored. My four kids ages 4-12, however, are always bored.
I didn't even realize that we were the only ones home this week until I got on Facebook and saw everyone's beach vacation pictures. Now, there's something that will take the wind right out of your sails. I was sitting there all content catching up on my laundry and spring de-cluttering when all of a sudden I realized that the rest of the world was lolling the day away in a sunny paradise. I thought, We have to do something! The kids can't go back to school on Monday after having been home all week! What will they write about when the teacher asks them to take out their journal and compose the dreaded theme: "What I Did on Spring Break"?.
But the thing is--we really didn't go anywhere. We couldn't. I'm trying to start a little non-profit and the van needs new tires and well, we just spent several days vacationing out of town in February. And honestly, with the way time is flying these days, that just seems like yesterday. So back to point: I'm never bored. I'm completely engrossed in a Stephen King novel and I'm doing a little writing and I'm researching this nonprofit thing, and every morning the kids are waking up and the first thing out of their mouths is, "What are we doing today?"
Blah.
I'm just thrilled I'm not getting up at 5:00 AM to squeeze in my workout before getting the kids up for school and I'm thanking the good Lord that we're eating dinner as a family every single night because no one is rushing off to soccer practice and I'm relaxing with my book and my laptop in the evening because I'm not having to help anyone with homework. Truly, if there is a heaven on earth this is it.
I don't need a beach.
And yet everyday during the last week, I heard the words, "I'm bored" at least four times because each kid had to say it at least once. We watered the neighbors plants, we planted our own garden, we decorated cookies and Easter eggs and made s'mores in our backyard fireplace. We played at the park and stopped at Starbucks for hot chocolate--just because. We turned on the lawn sprinklers and played make-believe store. How can we say we're bored? Our family played together. Did you get that? We stayed home and played.
Like I told you, I'm never bored. But these four kids (ages 4-12), well, I don't think they are either. It took a couple of days, but once they got used to the space they figured out how to fill it all by themselves. We didn't have to go anywhere on an airplane. And we didn't uncover this secret by digging in the sand. Boredom doesn't have a chance in a realm where space and time intersect. Creativity flourishes, and ultimately four kids (ages 4-12) realized how much they really do love being together. But don't ask them about that. They would never admit it. Ask them about their Spring Break, and the answer you'll probably get is, "We didn't get to go anywhere! And my mom is so boring!"
Oh, well. I'll take boring over broke any day of the week.
I didn't even realize that we were the only ones home this week until I got on Facebook and saw everyone's beach vacation pictures. Now, there's something that will take the wind right out of your sails. I was sitting there all content catching up on my laundry and spring de-cluttering when all of a sudden I realized that the rest of the world was lolling the day away in a sunny paradise. I thought, We have to do something! The kids can't go back to school on Monday after having been home all week! What will they write about when the teacher asks them to take out their journal and compose the dreaded theme: "What I Did on Spring Break"?.
But the thing is--we really didn't go anywhere. We couldn't. I'm trying to start a little non-profit and the van needs new tires and well, we just spent several days vacationing out of town in February. And honestly, with the way time is flying these days, that just seems like yesterday. So back to point: I'm never bored. I'm completely engrossed in a Stephen King novel and I'm doing a little writing and I'm researching this nonprofit thing, and every morning the kids are waking up and the first thing out of their mouths is, "What are we doing today?"
Blah.
I'm just thrilled I'm not getting up at 5:00 AM to squeeze in my workout before getting the kids up for school and I'm thanking the good Lord that we're eating dinner as a family every single night because no one is rushing off to soccer practice and I'm relaxing with my book and my laptop in the evening because I'm not having to help anyone with homework. Truly, if there is a heaven on earth this is it.
I don't need a beach.
And yet everyday during the last week, I heard the words, "I'm bored" at least four times because each kid had to say it at least once. We watered the neighbors plants, we planted our own garden, we decorated cookies and Easter eggs and made s'mores in our backyard fireplace. We played at the park and stopped at Starbucks for hot chocolate--just because. We turned on the lawn sprinklers and played make-believe store. How can we say we're bored? Our family played together. Did you get that? We stayed home and played.
Like I told you, I'm never bored. But these four kids (ages 4-12), well, I don't think they are either. It took a couple of days, but once they got used to the space they figured out how to fill it all by themselves. We didn't have to go anywhere on an airplane. And we didn't uncover this secret by digging in the sand. Boredom doesn't have a chance in a realm where space and time intersect. Creativity flourishes, and ultimately four kids (ages 4-12) realized how much they really do love being together. But don't ask them about that. They would never admit it. Ask them about their Spring Break, and the answer you'll probably get is, "We didn't get to go anywhere! And my mom is so boring!"
Oh, well. I'll take boring over broke any day of the week.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Think About It!
"Go get your Rapunzel costume," I told my youngest daughter this morning.
"No, Mommy. I'm not wearing it. I want to be a cheerleader today."
I was mildly irritated. I spent a pretty penny on Rapunzel, and this was the second day in a row Cari Jill had had the opportunity to get our money's worth. Instead, she decided to be something else, simply because she could.
Because Rapunzel was for Halloween.
And anyway she couldn't dance in Rapunzel.
And she didn't want to use bobby pins to attach the wig to her head.
And it was hard to buckle the car seat in that big dress.
And she didn't want to step on the hem during the school's parade of costumes.
Obviously, she had really thought through the costume dilemma.
As the little cowboys, pirates, firefighters, princesses, doctors, and cheerleaders filed past, I smiled and waved. Their precious costumes brought back fond memories of my older children and my childhood. Dressing up and pretending to be something awesome made for adventurous times.
My rugrats began planning their elaborate ensembles at the beginning of September. And it's no wonder. Almost as soon as summer ended, the dentist, teachers, neighbors, and even the family exterminator began asking them what they planned to be. Similarly, when someone meets my kids for the first time, a common question is often, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" And now that I'm a grown-up one of the first questions strangers ask me is, "So, what do you do"?
I hate that question, and it's not because I don't have an answer. I certainly DO! I'm an investment manager, mentor, professor, personal chef, innovator, and change agent. What I do on a daily basis impacts the future of infinite generations. So it's not what I DO that leaves me stuttering; it's explaining what I do. You see, what I do is intentional, intuitive, purposeful, and most of all, reflective.
Notice that I said REFLECTIVE, not reflexive.
How we think and what we think about determines who we will become in a world that defines us primarily by what we do.
Our thoughts are private, secret waterfalls. They build strength as information assimilation accumulates. Our dreams can alter our belief system to direct the progress of our lives. That's why our family spends time talking about the issues that affect us. We ask questions like:
Why?
How?
Tell me more.
Do we always get back an answer that we like? Heck, sometimes I don't get an answer at all! But I'll take a mumble or a grunt for now. These kids are my work in progress. It's unacceptable to say, "I don't know." That phrase is akin to "I don't think". And I know that's not true. Kids are always thinking. Sometimes, I bet their little noggins are whispering, "My mother's a lunatic." Oh, well, I'll take it. At least they're thinking.
Our brain consists of about one billion neurons. Each neuron forms about 1,000 connections to other neurons, amounting to more than a trillion connections. If each neuron could only help store a single memory, running out of space would be a problem. You might have only a few gigabytes of storage space, similar to the space in an iPod or a USB flash drive. Yet neurons combine so that each one helps with many memories at a time, exponentially increasing the brain’s memory storage capacity to something closer to around 2.5 petabytes (or a million gigabytes). For comparison, if your brain worked like a digital video recorder in a television, 2.5 petabytes would be enough to hold three million hours of TV shows. You would have to leave the TV running continuously for more than 300 years to use up all that storage. (http://blog.growingleaders.com/leadership/help-my-brain-is-full/) Wow! There's no excuse for not being able to think!
Our kids can be anything they want, but I just want them to be able to think. I want them to work hard to understand the world, to discover ways to make it better, to be brave enough to implement their ideas, and strong enough to innovate when failure prevails. Cari Jill changed her mind about her costume. I'm glad. She just proved to me that she knows how to think. She's not afraid to share her opinion. She's human. Her ability to DO is magnified because of her capacity to THINK.
"No, Mommy. I'm not wearing it. I want to be a cheerleader today."
I was mildly irritated. I spent a pretty penny on Rapunzel, and this was the second day in a row Cari Jill had had the opportunity to get our money's worth. Instead, she decided to be something else, simply because she could.
Because Rapunzel was for Halloween.
And anyway she couldn't dance in Rapunzel.
And she didn't want to use bobby pins to attach the wig to her head.
And it was hard to buckle the car seat in that big dress.
And she didn't want to step on the hem during the school's parade of costumes.
Obviously, she had really thought through the costume dilemma.
As the little cowboys, pirates, firefighters, princesses, doctors, and cheerleaders filed past, I smiled and waved. Their precious costumes brought back fond memories of my older children and my childhood. Dressing up and pretending to be something awesome made for adventurous times.
My rugrats began planning their elaborate ensembles at the beginning of September. And it's no wonder. Almost as soon as summer ended, the dentist, teachers, neighbors, and even the family exterminator began asking them what they planned to be. Similarly, when someone meets my kids for the first time, a common question is often, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" And now that I'm a grown-up one of the first questions strangers ask me is, "So, what do you do"?
I hate that question, and it's not because I don't have an answer. I certainly DO! I'm an investment manager, mentor, professor, personal chef, innovator, and change agent. What I do on a daily basis impacts the future of infinite generations. So it's not what I DO that leaves me stuttering; it's explaining what I do. You see, what I do is intentional, intuitive, purposeful, and most of all, reflective.
Notice that I said REFLECTIVE, not reflexive.
How we think and what we think about determines who we will become in a world that defines us primarily by what we do.
Our thoughts are private, secret waterfalls. They build strength as information assimilation accumulates. Our dreams can alter our belief system to direct the progress of our lives. That's why our family spends time talking about the issues that affect us. We ask questions like:
Why?
How?
Tell me more.
Do we always get back an answer that we like? Heck, sometimes I don't get an answer at all! But I'll take a mumble or a grunt for now. These kids are my work in progress. It's unacceptable to say, "I don't know." That phrase is akin to "I don't think". And I know that's not true. Kids are always thinking. Sometimes, I bet their little noggins are whispering, "My mother's a lunatic." Oh, well, I'll take it. At least they're thinking.
Our brain consists of about one billion neurons. Each neuron forms about 1,000 connections to other neurons, amounting to more than a trillion connections. If each neuron could only help store a single memory, running out of space would be a problem. You might have only a few gigabytes of storage space, similar to the space in an iPod or a USB flash drive. Yet neurons combine so that each one helps with many memories at a time, exponentially increasing the brain’s memory storage capacity to something closer to around 2.5 petabytes (or a million gigabytes). For comparison, if your brain worked like a digital video recorder in a television, 2.5 petabytes would be enough to hold three million hours of TV shows. You would have to leave the TV running continuously for more than 300 years to use up all that storage. (http://blog.growingleaders.com/leadership/help-my-brain-is-full/) Wow! There's no excuse for not being able to think!
Our kids can be anything they want, but I just want them to be able to think. I want them to work hard to understand the world, to discover ways to make it better, to be brave enough to implement their ideas, and strong enough to innovate when failure prevails. Cari Jill changed her mind about her costume. I'm glad. She just proved to me that she knows how to think. She's not afraid to share her opinion. She's human. Her ability to DO is magnified because of her capacity to THINK.
Monday, September 12, 2011
What's Really Killing America's Families
Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it's not what's killing America's families. The real demise of this country's family unit: Public school's love affair with homework. Yes, and I can prove it.
Homework makes me ugly, inside AND out. In the last few years, my youthful complexion has given way to a highway of fine lines and dark circles. My hair is a wiry, tangle of white strands--the latent effects of stressful afternoons spent re-teaching long-division and Shurley-method grammar, reviewing math facts and reading books. Even though I love my kids and feel like I have spent hours of intentional instruction pouring into their character, I have just about ruined it all by the way I approach an afternoon of after-school busy work. I don't know who's more frustrated: me or them. A monster lives inside me, though, and he likes to rear his ugly head about 4:00 in the afternoon.
I hesitate to use the "When I was a kid..." argument, but truly when I was a kid, I had no homework until at least the fourth grade, and even then it was only to study for the weekly spelling test and prepare for the occasional book report. The Georgia Performance Standards are overwhelmingly confounding, and in an effort to squeeze in so much information through identification, analysis, and computation, tiny little hearts have been hardened to the world of possibility available only to the properly educated. My little second grader cries nearly every day when he gets off of the bus. And I don't blame him; I want to cry, too! He's been holding it all together since he got on the bus at 7:02 AM. Now it's 2:27, and instead of embracing him with the warmth of a happy hug and a plate of homemade cookies, I'm the drill sergeant who barks, "Find something to eat quick, and let's get started!"
A typical week's homework sheet looks something like this:
Reading:
Practice Workbook pages 57 and 60
Read at least 20 minutes each night
Be prepared to take two accelerated reading tests this week.
Grammar
Complete attached worksheet, front and back.
Math
Math Homework book pages 33 and 34
Complete the attached worksheet, front and back
Complete three optional activities from your choice-activity sheet
Practice math facts for 20 minutes daily.
Spelling
Correct dictation sentences from last week's spelling test.
Complete three optional activities from the Spelling choice-activity sheet
Be ready for Spelling Test on Friday
Other
Complete Creative Writing Project and turn it in on Thursday
His teacher is our school's Teacher of the Year. I know she's amazing. I don't want to "throw her under the bus" (Really, I don't!), but I am overwhelmed by all this work...In the background, the dog is barking because someone is at the door, I am responsible for keeping this young one focused, checking the work, preparing dinner, entertaining the pre-schooler, and helping my two other kids with their homework, one of whom is a pre-pubescent nightmare (God help me!).
Worst of all, these daily to-dos interfere with precious, quality family time. Both boys play football, and my daughter is a soccer player. Three days of weekly practice, twice-a-week tutoring, and music lessons mean that almost as soon as homework is complete we are wolfing down a quick dinner and headed out the door, so the kids can release some of that pent-up energy with other kids their age in the arena of organized sport.
Once upon a time, (for it surely seems like a fairy tale from long ago), we ate dinner together every night. Conversation was light and happy, as we talked of our day and enjoyed each other's company. Every Thursday was "Current Event" night. The kids would find a news article, summarize it for the rest of us, and we would ask questions about what they read. Sometimes we would talk through our weekly Parent Connect ideas from church on Sunday. Occasionally, we would tell jokes, do tricks, or laugh through "Would you rather....? questions. No matter what, we were never in a hurry, there was always time for seconds, and our family was together, managing the day's tension and demonstrating love and stability before bedtime.
Since I've already bitten off everyone's head, chewed them out over disorganization and lack of focus, and swallowed hard before gearing up for a fresh round of nagging, I'm rarely very hungry by dinner-time and it seems no one is ever very excited over what I have made anyway. Slowly, homework has devoured us, and I have nothing left to serve--certainly not the gentle and quiet spirit I was hoping to foster this week. No one here is winning "Mother of the Year." I am a miserable failure.
Homework is killing our family. It's a slow and painful death, shrouded in the guise of intellectual promise and future success. I wholeheartedly believe in reading everyday, even practicing those mundane math facts, but between a litany of pesky word problems and comprehensive reading exercises, I'm doing a horrible job of keeping up with the rest of the household responsibilities. We sometimes try to do the math facts thing during bath time, but isn't that supposed to be a time of refreshment and rejuvenation? True to their word, Johnson's Calming Baby Bath does not invigorate the brain. By the time those little ones are tucked in their beds, their heavy eyes struggling to comprehend the pages they are supposed to read before drifting peacefully to sleep, I am cursing public education and writing scathing blogs.
My real homework is suffering miserably. Toys are askew, the laundry needs folding, I'm behind on my filing, and what I really want to do is sit on the sofa with my husband and have a decent conversation; I don't even care if it's about home or work, but please God not HOMEWORK.
Anything but homework. I'm worn out and worn down. If you can underline the subject and two verbs in that sentence and compute the amount of time I spent writing this essay, and determine the main idea and write an alternate ending, you deserve an A+. As for me, after I get the lunches made, agendas signed, and pack some supplies for tomorrow's special science project), I'm going to bed. I have to do this all over again tomorrow.
Homework makes me ugly, inside AND out. In the last few years, my youthful complexion has given way to a highway of fine lines and dark circles. My hair is a wiry, tangle of white strands--the latent effects of stressful afternoons spent re-teaching long-division and Shurley-method grammar, reviewing math facts and reading books. Even though I love my kids and feel like I have spent hours of intentional instruction pouring into their character, I have just about ruined it all by the way I approach an afternoon of after-school busy work. I don't know who's more frustrated: me or them. A monster lives inside me, though, and he likes to rear his ugly head about 4:00 in the afternoon.
I hesitate to use the "When I was a kid..." argument, but truly when I was a kid, I had no homework until at least the fourth grade, and even then it was only to study for the weekly spelling test and prepare for the occasional book report. The Georgia Performance Standards are overwhelmingly confounding, and in an effort to squeeze in so much information through identification, analysis, and computation, tiny little hearts have been hardened to the world of possibility available only to the properly educated. My little second grader cries nearly every day when he gets off of the bus. And I don't blame him; I want to cry, too! He's been holding it all together since he got on the bus at 7:02 AM. Now it's 2:27, and instead of embracing him with the warmth of a happy hug and a plate of homemade cookies, I'm the drill sergeant who barks, "Find something to eat quick, and let's get started!"
A typical week's homework sheet looks something like this:
Reading:
Practice Workbook pages 57 and 60
Read at least 20 minutes each night
Be prepared to take two accelerated reading tests this week.
Grammar
Complete attached worksheet, front and back.
Math
Math Homework book pages 33 and 34
Complete the attached worksheet, front and back
Complete three optional activities from your choice-activity sheet
Practice math facts for 20 minutes daily.
Spelling
Correct dictation sentences from last week's spelling test.
Complete three optional activities from the Spelling choice-activity sheet
Be ready for Spelling Test on Friday
Other
Complete Creative Writing Project and turn it in on Thursday
His teacher is our school's Teacher of the Year. I know she's amazing. I don't want to "throw her under the bus" (Really, I don't!), but I am overwhelmed by all this work...In the background, the dog is barking because someone is at the door, I am responsible for keeping this young one focused, checking the work, preparing dinner, entertaining the pre-schooler, and helping my two other kids with their homework, one of whom is a pre-pubescent nightmare (God help me!).
Worst of all, these daily to-dos interfere with precious, quality family time. Both boys play football, and my daughter is a soccer player. Three days of weekly practice, twice-a-week tutoring, and music lessons mean that almost as soon as homework is complete we are wolfing down a quick dinner and headed out the door, so the kids can release some of that pent-up energy with other kids their age in the arena of organized sport.
Once upon a time, (for it surely seems like a fairy tale from long ago), we ate dinner together every night. Conversation was light and happy, as we talked of our day and enjoyed each other's company. Every Thursday was "Current Event" night. The kids would find a news article, summarize it for the rest of us, and we would ask questions about what they read. Sometimes we would talk through our weekly Parent Connect ideas from church on Sunday. Occasionally, we would tell jokes, do tricks, or laugh through "Would you rather....? questions. No matter what, we were never in a hurry, there was always time for seconds, and our family was together, managing the day's tension and demonstrating love and stability before bedtime.
Since I've already bitten off everyone's head, chewed them out over disorganization and lack of focus, and swallowed hard before gearing up for a fresh round of nagging, I'm rarely very hungry by dinner-time and it seems no one is ever very excited over what I have made anyway. Slowly, homework has devoured us, and I have nothing left to serve--certainly not the gentle and quiet spirit I was hoping to foster this week. No one here is winning "Mother of the Year." I am a miserable failure.
Homework is killing our family. It's a slow and painful death, shrouded in the guise of intellectual promise and future success. I wholeheartedly believe in reading everyday, even practicing those mundane math facts, but between a litany of pesky word problems and comprehensive reading exercises, I'm doing a horrible job of keeping up with the rest of the household responsibilities. We sometimes try to do the math facts thing during bath time, but isn't that supposed to be a time of refreshment and rejuvenation? True to their word, Johnson's Calming Baby Bath does not invigorate the brain. By the time those little ones are tucked in their beds, their heavy eyes struggling to comprehend the pages they are supposed to read before drifting peacefully to sleep, I am cursing public education and writing scathing blogs.
My real homework is suffering miserably. Toys are askew, the laundry needs folding, I'm behind on my filing, and what I really want to do is sit on the sofa with my husband and have a decent conversation; I don't even care if it's about home or work, but please God not HOMEWORK.
Anything but homework. I'm worn out and worn down. If you can underline the subject and two verbs in that sentence and compute the amount of time I spent writing this essay, and determine the main idea and write an alternate ending, you deserve an A+. As for me, after I get the lunches made, agendas signed, and pack some supplies for tomorrow's special science project), I'm going to bed. I have to do this all over again tomorrow.
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