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.

A Lizard on a Rock

Our dog was snoozing on top of a cozy blanket that was draped across the sofa.  Cari Jill looked at me and said, "Why does Hammy sleep there?"  I explained to her that all living creatures like sleeping in a soft spot.  "For example", I said, "Would you rather sleep on a hard rock or on a soft pillow"?  She thought for a second, then said, "Well, lizards like rocks."

That was true.

Lizards do like rocks.  They are hard and often jagged, either hot or cold depending on the season, sometimes dirty, and I would argue, definitely UNCOMFORTABLE.

What a perceptive little three year old!  The simple phrase--"lizards like rocks"--shows that this small child already recognizes that everyone and everything isn't exactly like her.  Just because she would rather lay her head on a pillow and the family dog prefers to sleep cuddled up next to a soft blanket doesn't mean that lizards do.

I think it's interesting that a three year old could articulate that she likes pillows and lizards like rocks, but a middle school age child thinks that if she likes pillows, then everyone else should, too.  At what point do we stop thinking of ourselves alone and instead shift our focus to the rest of humankind?

 I was thinking about that today as I was watching my boys at football practice.  Another mom was standing nearby, and I felt compelled to go and speak and with her.  She has three kids, the same ages as my three older ones.  She is a single, divorced mother who works full-time.  Her life is crazy and painful, and I'm guessing quite difficult to navigate alone.  I have a husband who loves me and who makes sure that he is home every night at dinnertime.  He engages wholeheartedly with all our kids, and without a doubt, I would be lost without him.  He is my pillow, my comforter, my companion through all life's trials and triumphs.  Still, I often say that motherhood is hard.  But this other mother--wow-- I wonder if sometimes she feels like she is sleeping on a rock?

I remembered our friend the lizard.  I assumed he likes sleeping there, but the reality is probably that he HAS to sleep there, for on the rock, even though it is hard and lumpy and jagged, it provides warmth on a sunny day and camouflage in the face of danger.  He is alone, but he is where he has to be.  I commend this mother.  Her life is not easy.  She would not choose the rock over the pillow, but survival merits its own hardships.  Her rock is her badge of honor.

With God's grace, she can proclaim the words of the Psalmist, "He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire, he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand" (40:2).

Tonight, our conversation was light and superficial, but underneath our shared experience, I sensed a deep sense of longing.  After a long day at work, a trying afternoon trudging through homework, and an endless evening of football practice, I heard her wishing for reprieve, perhaps a pillow in which to lay her weary head.   I pray that one day she will be able to say, "The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge.  He is my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold" (18:2).  The rock isn't a bad place; it's precisely the place where she will experience Jesus' redeeming love.