And Yes I'm Whining About Homework Again

because I realize this blog might as well have the catchy name: "A Whole Bunch of Homework Interactions." But you know what? I embrace that. I accept that I bore random people to death with How Homework Went Tonight, by Kerrie. It's ok with me.

The real reason is that I don't think anything that happens with Princess harrows my soul more than working on homework. Not the pee. Not the rages. Not the police being called to our RV while on vacation.* It's the homework. I used to start shaking at 3:00 every day. I thought it had gotten better over the past three months, but it turned out that was just that Princess wasn't actually bringing home any of her homework. I hope I never, ever have to be exposed to her locker. Anyway. The homework. After two years of enduring horror that no psychopathic thriller movie has ever explored, I trigger as soon as her voice starts getting the "things aren't going well" tone.

Can I hear an "amen" from those of you whom have endured third-grade multiplication? It is not what it used to be. Now there's a grid, and all this weird multiplication facts and adding stuff you're supposed to do in certain places designated by a variety of textures of line. Buddy made up some worksheets for me so I could learn how to do it. Once you figure it out, it totally makes sense and is tons easier than the "that's just the way it is so memorize it and deal with it" school of thought that taught us. But I groaned when I pulled it out of Princess's folder. There are a LOT of steps. And steps are not Princess's cup of tea. I worked her through the first three problems, and it wasn't that bad. But the fourth problem did not have the numbers written on top of and on the side of the grid. You had to write them there YOURSELF. And this made it just go all to crap.

As soon as the whine started, my stomach churned and my hair stood on end (does anyone else's do that? Seriously. I like being reassured that I am not an entirely different species), and I suddenly had to fight myself to not raise my voice. Mostly, I did ok. I said a lot of things like, "really?" and, "well that stinks," and, "boy I'd be super mad too if one minute 7x9 was 48 and the next it was 72." And then I cracked.

By this point her paper was ripped to shreds. Mostly because whenever she asks me to explain something, she thinks she knows the answer after I've said three words and starts writing. Then, of course, since I WASN'T DONE, what she wrote is wrong and has to be erased. Do that eight times in the same spot and, well, paper just wasn't made to put up with that. She kept harping at the paper about how stupid it was, which, bullet point #1, SHE WAS NOT BLAMING ME!!!!! HAPPY DANCE!!!! But since I wasn't mentally equipt at that moment to recognize this monumental achievement, I instead slammed my can of coconut milk on the counter and said in a low growl, "it is NOT the paper." Then I caught myself and softened my voice, "it is not the paper. It is that you are frustrated. It's ok to feel frustrated. I feel frustrated too. She put her hands over her eyes, and, bullet point #2, CRIED. Then she bullet point #3 TOOK DEEP BREATHS.

That would be without prompting. Oh yes it would.

And if that were not shocking enough, she then finished the problem. With help from me. On another piece of paper.

Last semester, never. Never never never ever never. No way that wouldn't have ended with her screaming in her room and me crying over my stir-fry. Uh uh.

So yes, I am a hot mess. Yes, my healthy children are fried out. Yes, the third-grade teacher has been driven to drink. But good things are on the move.





*Josh keeps bugging me. When are you going to write about our vacation? You should write about our vacation. Haven't you written about our vacation yet? Why don't you write about our vacation. I probably will. But I only accept suggestions from Josh if they backed by at least three other people (sometimes just one, if said person has a PhD). So for now I think I'll just mention random bizarre parts here and there, and then eventually compile them. When I feel good and ready.

Calculating

Homework continues to be the o joy that it was last year. So far, there is only one difference, and that is that Princess did not give us a honeymoon during the review month of September.

Yesterday she had a math sheet that involved a calculator, and she had clearly been taught how to operate it in class. She did some of her general toying around (9+4+4+7+4+4+7+9 instead of 9447+4479, for instance), and then settled into doing it correctly. For about four seconds. Then came: "find the difference between the two numbers." When she asked me to check her work, here is what I saw crammed into the answer space (_____):

the first numer has a nine in the front and the seced numer has a nine at the end

So. Of course, like a good mom, I tried to explain that the problem was looking for a math answer, not an explanation, but it went over in the usual way. So I stopped and went back to my knitting. Because this was taking place in the Suburban, mind you. During Peanut's soccer practice. In the rain.

Pretty soon I hear: clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick
I hold out my hand.

What?
Hand me my calculator please.
Why? I was just pressing this one (=).
Yes. I noticed. But the thing is, I need my calculator not broken. So I can balance the checkbook and make Daddy happy. So since you're not using it for your homework, kindly fork it over.
But whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?
Oh come on! We both know you're pressing the equal sign 5000x per second because you know I'll take the calculator and then you can yell at me for making you unable to finish your math sheet.
Uh-uuuuuuh!

(silence)


(more silence)


Mom?
Yes?
Can I play on the playground?
No...
Why?
Because your homework is not done.
BUT I CAN'T DO MY HOMEWORK BECAUSE YOU TOOK THE
Bwaaaa haha hahahahahaha hahaHAAAAAA! See?



I will say, Princess's speech and language processing therapy is obviously paying off. Because she is coming up with much better mean names to call me much more quickly.

Because It's Been Awhile Since I've Griped About Homework

I would do it again in a heartbeat.

The cruise. There is no fallout that would make it not worthwhile. None.

That said, the past four weeks have been....er....challenging? Difficult? Loud? A living nightmare that I can't seem to wake up from?

Yeah. That one.

There was spring break. And we likey institutional structure. Well. One of us does. And that Friday it was time to pick the homework back up. Mind you, there had been four weeks, FOUR WEEKS, where Princess completed her homework on time compliantly with a decent attitude. It didn't exactly lull me into complacency- it's not like the stomach aches or the twitch went away, but, you know. You start to like it.

And then it aaaaaaaaaaall hits the fan, it's all too much, and you get this:

and in response to the child reporting to the teacher that you "won't help her," and the child reporting back to you that the teacher said, "tell your mom that she has to help you because moms are supposed to help their children," and the resulting e-mail from the teacher saying that what she actually said was, "I know your mom helps you; moms are supposed to help," you make her this:

...which you find the next morning looking like this:

The next day a note came home requiring my signature to inform me that Princess had not turned in her required on book a week.

No kidding?

I slid aforesaid book across the counter to her, and she read it perfectly. With expression. I said, "I do NOT think your homework is too hard for you at all," and I slid the note in front of her. "I think you should read and sign this, too." The Oscar the Princess look shoved itself onto her face.


I KNOW what it says.
Then tell me.
Dear Parent, as you know
No, you said you know what it says. So tell me.
I forgot.
Then read it and tell me what it's telling you.

So she did. With the grouch face.

I don't know what compelled me. Maybe righteous anger that she can do her work, she just, you know, won't. Maybe getting-ahead-of-myself fear for her future. But I said, "do you remember that letter J wrote to you in the cover of her baby book?" (nods) "Do you remember what it says?" (shakes head). I went downstairs to get it. When I got there I stood in front of the door remembering that Josh locked it to keep the kids from using the toilet in there and not flushing and letting it sit and sit and sit until it becomes and actual part of the toilet, forgetting that it's a keyed lock and we don't have the key so now we have to wait for a slow weekend to break off the knob and replace it.

I kicked the door a few times chanting "frick" softly to my self.

I went back up.

"Ok. So I can't show it to you. But I remember it. She told you that she wants you to do all your work in school so you can finish and have choices for a job. J didn't do all her school, and that's part of why she is having so much trouble now. J couldn't take care of you, but she loves you and cares about you. She wants better for you that she had for herself. She wants you to do all the school you can."

Josh overheard and came in. He reminded Princess that just at dinner she was talking about what she wanted to do for a job as a grownup. What was it again?

Silence.

I said, "Princess, do you know that regular kids answer questions? It's called talking. You can do it, too. You can be brave and answer Daddy's question."

Storekeeper.

And the three of us went on to have an actual conversation. Once in which Princess actually spoke. Not that she was happy about it. I was not being sarcastic when I encouraged her to be brave: talking to us feels like a risk to her.

At the end, Princess still had her arms folded across her chest and a semi-crabby look on her face. Josh said, "so what do you think a regular kid would do now?"

Smile. And hug you.

"Why don't you try it out, honey? Practice being a regular kid. You can be brave. You can do it. Try it out. See how it feels."

And holy shnikers, she did.

They Don't Let 30-ish-Year-Olds in the Science Fair

After Buddy's spring concert, there was an announcement. Regarding the third grade science fair.

"Yippee!!! I get to be in a science fair!!!!" I cried out.
Josh's head snapped toward me and his eyes narrowed.

"I mean Buddy. Buddy gets to be in a science fair. Buddy. Yeah."
Josh's eyes stayed narrowed.
I have a history.

Friday, a packet 18 inches thick was sent home with eight million rules and three papers to be signed by parents. The phrase "showcasing the child's work" was printed in bold on several pages.

However, a third-grader can't be left to the wolves entirely, so I started googling. Would you believe in the entire World Wide Web there are only two original science fair ideas? One was an experiment on which type of music most effectively calms cats. The project involved riling a series of cats up with a vacuum cleaner, playing music, and then timing how long it took the cat to stop pacing and meowing with it's hair on end, so it was quite promising. Unfortunately we do not have a series of cats, so it was out of the question. The other was, "which grows faster, hair or fur?" and required the shaving of a patch on the student's head and a patch on the student's Chihuahua. I decided not to pitch this idea to Buddy.

So I sighed and tried brainstorming. Sadly, I tried brainstorming with a nine-year-old whose friend and he did not stop laughing and passing gas until 11:00 the night before.

Po.op.
What do you mean, "po.op."
I want study which dog food makes the most po.op.
No.
Why?
Your teacher will never approve it (notice the deft taking the blame off myself- now that's parenting).
Why?
Because we don't have a way to study po.op output without contracting a variety of viruses.
Pe.e, then.
No.
Urinals.
No.
Toilets.
Ok. What do you want to know about toilets?
(Thinking) Nothing.
Ok, so now what.
Toilet paper.
What about toilet paper?
Which kind is the thickest and sucks up the most pe.e.

Alright. Now we're getting somewhere. At this point, however, I did not realize Buddy had become serious. Several times over the weekend I tried to get him back engaged in brainstorming and several times he said, no, I'm going to do toilet paper.

How about geraniums? How they grow with and without light?
No.
Mold? You could grow mold on bread.
No.
Timing hamsters in a maze?
I can have hamsters!
No.
Oh. Toilet paper.

And so another dream of parental greatness died.

At the dinner table I announced that Buddy had his science fair idea. Again with the narrowed eyes. Josh insisted Buddy recount verbally how he arrived at his idea.

"I said po.op and then pe.e and then urinals and then toilets. I didn't want to know anything about toilets, so I said toilet paper. So we're going to find out if the more expensive toilet paper is thicker and sucks up more pe.e. But don't worry. It'll just be yellow water."

I stuck out my tongue at Josh.

Doppleganger

Right at 5:00 my right eye began to twitch, so I knew it was time to start Homework. I pulled it out and called Princess, who proceeded to stare blankly at it for several minutes. Then she listed the numbers from smallest to largest, just as the directions directed.

The first set of directions.

The second set of directions was to circle the median number.

For those not familiar, "median" is the single-most easiest statistical concept know to man. It's formal definition is, "that one there right in the middle."

You would not believe how many times someone can circle a number that is not actually in the middle. I would not have thought it was possible if I had not witnessed it myself. At one point Princess loudly proclaimed that she HAD circled the one in the middle, see! it's that one right THERE.

And she was pointing at the median. Right next to the middle was the number she had circled.

I said, "wait right there! I have an idea." And I ran out of the room and got something.

What! I don't need that right now.
Maybe not. But I do.
Why? Why do you need it?
I need a break. Every Friday you pretend you don't know how to do math, and I'm getting kind of worn out. So we're going to pretend this is me. Every time you feel yourself wanting to tell me that you did do it and it is the right answer, you can tell your doll instead. That way we'll both be happy. And then when you decide you're ready to circle the real middle, then you can tell the real me.

And every time she started to speak, I pointed at the doll.
Then she circle the right answer.
And on problem two.
And on problem three.

Why the heck did that work?

Then I found some inappropriate fluids in an inappropriate place, and we started all over. But that's another story.

What Love Is

Princess asked for her homework, and my eye began to twitch. I got out the easiest paper: a Weekly Reader with some obvious questions to answer on the back. It was about nutrition, and she was to read the question and write "Plate A" or "Plate B" in the blank space. My first cue that this was not going to go well was when Princess asked me how to spell "broccoli."

Use your best third-grade spelling.

She "finished" and I checked over her answers. In response to "which plate has two vegetables and one grain," she replied, "the plate that has two vegetables and one grain is the plate that has two vegetables and one grain."

At least it was a complete sentence.

"Princess, I'm wondering if you read the directions. Each answer should be only two words, "plate A" if it's plate A, or "plate B" if it's plate B."

She took the paper back and wrote "A" or "B" in each space, not necessarily corresponding to the correct plate.

Now you don't have enough words, Princess.
Can you help me?*

(Loooooooong pause).

Princess, if I help you, it's going to be by putting your homework away so your brain can rest and get strong enough to write the word "plate."
But I can't do it. You're supposed to help me.
Ok.
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!! YOU WON'T LET ME DO MY HOOOOOOOOOOOOOMEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORK!!!

See?

This was, naturally, followed by polite suggestions to either speak respectfully downstairs or fuss loudly in one's room, then the Sending to the Room with No Choices, followed by the No One Cares About Me soliloquy..

Princess was brought down for dinner, finished, and asked for a treat. I said yes.

Buddy blew his stack. "What? She had a big fit? Why does she get a treat?"
Josh said, "I thought we weren't letting her have treats when she rages."

I know. We weren't. But I get so sick of never being able to give her anything good, and she'll sabotage everything if given half the chance. So if she eats her dinner, she gets a treat. I want to give her something good.

A little while later while I was doing dishes, Josh came up to Princess and put his arm around her and said,

"I want to give you stuff, too. But I want you to notice something. It's Mommy who makes sure you get good things. It's Mommy who cries all night because you're screaming and she can't take you to the ballet. It's Mommy who changes things so you can have something nice. It's Mommy".

I don't know that she heard him. Or that she cared. He was standing between her and the pantry. But I heard him. And I cared. No matter how anyone else feels about me, that man loves me.





* I can't find a font to express the type of whiney this was. It sounded something like a 2-year-old with pony tails dressed in pink frills and ruffles licking a swirly pink lollipop in the sunshine surrounded by unicorns, bunnies, and rainbows and covered in white glitter.

And the Oscar Goes to....

And in the aftermath of the Bookshelf Incedent, there was, of course,

HOMEWORK!!!
Yessssssss!

(not really)

At the beginning of the year, Mrs. C and I worked out a homework plan. If Princess's homework was not completed and correct by Thursday, she would stay in for recess Friday to finish it.

Normally I would not be a proponent of staying in for recess. But here's the thing: Princess is not really struggling with her homework. Which means when she has to stay in for recess to finish it, the work takes her an average of five minutes per page.

Keep that in mind: Princess's weekly homework has been proven to use about fifteen minutes of her time per week.

Princess stays in for recess to finish her homework almost every Friday.

This is getting a bit stale for me (and, I venture to say, Mrs. C), so I decided homework would be a priority for Princess this weekend. Or a priority for me to have for Princess, anyway. Friday evening as I started dinner, I called her to the kitchen counter to start Homework Paper Number One: coloring the odd numbers red and the even numbers blue.

Ok I'm done!
Hmm. I see you colored the first row red and the second row blue and the third row red. Please read the directions again.
Ok
Um. Now I see you colored all the numbers that start with one red and the rest blue.
BUTIDON'TKNOWHOWTODOTHISANDYOUWON'THELPMEEEEEEEEEE!
That's fascinating! Because you had two papers in your Friday Folder that you did in school this week with odd and even numbers and everything on them was done right.
NOITWASN'T!!!
Hmm. Well, I can't teach it to you right now because I'm cooking. I'll ask Peanut to, though.

Because Peanut is in first grade. You know. The grade in which they teach you odd and even numbers. Peanut's help, though, I have to say, was less then well received.

I don't like it when Peanut tells me how to do it.
I can understand that, Princess, because I don't like it when you pretend you can't do stuff.
It makes me feel frustrated when she does that.
I can imagine. Because it makes me feel frustrated when you pretend you can't do it yourself.


And she did the worksheet. Correctly. In five minutes.

Saturday. Same odd and even numbers. Different paper. Same story. Only this time she asked if Peanut would help her. Josh said, "I don't know...she's being really compliant and letting Peanut explain it to her. Maybe she doesn't really understand it?"

Baby. Come on. I love you, but. Really.

Sunday. I knew this one was going to be a corker. It was just estimation and subtraction- two skills she's been doing for a while, but something about the way it was set up and the wording, well, I knew it was going to seem harder than it was to her.

After several hours of attitude and accusations and crumpling and tearing (and a new one! Biting off pieces of paper and spitting them into the waste basket), Josh sat down with her. Then Josh and I had an argument.

She got him. She is that good.

He said he really thought she didn't get it, and he was upset because the way she wasn't getting it reminded of his own struggles with school and dyslexia.

Now, I'm not saying she doesn't have learning and processing problems. She does. Oh, she does. What I'm saying is this particular thing? She knew how to do. And my point to Josh was that there is no evidence whatsoever that she actually struggles with homework in particular. EVERY week she crabs and moans and fakes and acts and just plain doesn't do her homework. And EVERY week she gets it out during recess and is done correctly in five or ten minutes. EVERY. Week.

However. I have a theory. Of course I do. I am reasonably sure she is afraid she won't be able to do it. And she is even more afraid someone will find out she can't do it. And she is super afraid that then SHE will know she can't do it. So, she pretends (and very realistically) that her Hello Kitty Build-a-Bear wields a syringe every night while she is sleeping, uses it to extract her brain, squirts it into the toilet, and flushes. Because she knows she is faking. And if she knows she is faking, then she can tell herself she can do it just fine and doesn't have to risk maybe finding out she can't.

Because, you know, that makes total sense.

So finally I marched into the kitchen. I took away all the papers (because I cut them up into individual problems), erased them, and handed her one. I said, "all this is is subtraction and estimation. Just subtraction. And estimating. I know you know how to do this. Mrs. C knows you know how to do this. Now you need to tell yourself you know how to do this. So tell yourself you know how to do it. AND DO IT!!!!!"

She was done in ten minutes.
Correctly.

Bingo the RAD Way

As I sat in Princess's class waiting for the second grade Christmas Around the World celebration to start, I listened to Mrs. C. explain the holiday break Reading Bingo for Ice Cream and thought, frick. Because I forgot.

Buddy had this last year. There are 24 different ways or things to read and one free space. One bingo gets ice cream. Two gets hot fudge. Three, whipped cream. Four, sprinkles, and five, a cherry. Buddy was way pumped about it, and because he is a very fast reader, was done in about two days.

And I thought, frick. Because the only thing Princess loves more than a prize is going out of her way to not get one. So, with strict instructions from my husband, my dad, and Princess's teacher, I entered the holiday break with a shut mouth.*

The first week, Princess burned rubber. She read 12 books, at least. She had strict instructions from Mrs. C. that an adult had to hear her, and she only tried to get around it once. I thought, huh. What a pleasant surprise.

Then I snuck her paper out after bedtime and looked at it. And I thought, frick.

Because, well wait. If you are a RAD mom, you'll be shaking your head (either in agreement or in sympathetic disbelief) along with me, but if you're a neuro-typical mom (nice term for "normal"), you may have to suspend your reality for a moment. Because, there was no pattern whatsoever to the squares Princess had selected to complete EXCEPT that they all brought her within one or two squares of getting a Bingo. So, to clarify, even though with twelve books read she could already have earned hot fudge and be well on her way to whipped cream, she, in fact, has nothing. I want to believe it has something to do with her disorganized way of thinking. And it could. But. Honestly. How could it not be on purpose?

Nothing.

So it's Friday now, and last night I consulted Josh on how to handle this and we agreed that she definitely had not forgotten (she forgets NOTHING!!!) and I'd continue to keep my mouth shut, but have her pack up her back pack (and have her put! it! in! the! car!) Sunday afternoon. That way, it will cue her if she actually wants to eat ice cream Monday to (for the love!) read a recipe or read to Jorge or read to "someone you love," while avoiding the Monday morning scramble and scream fest because it's not done. Hopefully.

Today, actually, Buddy said something about it to her and she pulled it out.
Mom? Didn't we "read in bed"?
I read to you in bed.
But wasn't that "read with someone you love?"
I read to you, honey.
Oh. Are there any more I've done?
You've done the ones you marked and I signed.
Oh.
(Deep Sigh) Sweetie, I told you. There is no "easy" way to do this. They won't get done by magic. You can't make one book count for two. If you want the prize, you have to do the work.

And she put the sheet in the folder and put the folder away.
So we'll see. I hope she does it. At least one. I really do. Because not wanting ice cream? That's just wrong.



*does anyone else get the sense that other people believe I'm a control freak?