Homework (Aaaarugh)

On a good day, Princess will have her homework done correctly in roughly five seconds. On a bad day, Princess will spend 45 minutes fussing, crabbing, stomping, and complaining that she doesn't know how to do it and I won't help (read: "do it for") her. On a typical day, Princess will do the first problem correctly, race through the rest, not check her work, not stop to work through anything, and stomp wordlessly back to the table seven or eight times to correct it. I get butterflies in my stomach as 5:15 approaches. Anxiety attacks.

Then there's A Day Grampa is Visiting.

She did "typical day" work. And if it indeed had been a "typical day," it would have very quickly degenerated into a "bad day," complete with door-slamming and stupid ugly mommy-calling. But she had a new audience. An audience she felt she might embarrass herself with. So she walked quietly back to the table over and over and over for the 45 minute homework time. Nothing but smiles and glitter and butterflies.

Grampa said, "wow, she sure is patient."

I thought about that. I thought about it all evening. And the more I thought about it, the more ticked off I got.

Because he's right. She is patient. She is very patient and tolerant of correction and hardworking. More so than most people.



And she doesn't use a single. ounce. of it. on. me.



I get so tired of being the punching bag. I know it's necessary. I know it's important. She needs to beat up on a mother and have her not leave. Have her still hug her. Drag her to birthday parties and dance classes. It's critical. But I am sooooo tired. Get sucker-punched in the gut, get up, walk back to her, and do it all over again. Repeat. Who does that?

(A RAD mom.)