About That Bitter Homework Feeling I Have

Yes, yes, it’s me again, same topic, same feelings, same questions.  I started to answer those of you who were kind enough to comment and those who tweeted with me and discussed this in a forum.  Then, I decided to just write another post.  You know, because apparently that’s what I do best.

When I wrote the post the other day, When to Say When, I was experiencing some moments of agitation.

Agitation?  Why?

Believe it or not, some of the agitation was within myself.  I had simultaneously crashed our only good automobile and eat 2 dozen donuts in one day.  My nerves were shot not to mention who knows what my sugar levels were.

That was on Wednesday.

On Thursday, my first grader brought home his folder, clad with yet another sad face.  Last week’s discipline sheet looked more like the rap sheet for a convicted criminal somewhere.

And, on Friday, my husband picked him up at school and sent me a text that said, “Write up!”

Great!

Now, what in the world could the kid have done?  He was talking.  Out of his seat.  Playing while she was trying to teach.  Talking some more.

I sent a note that said “If you have problems with him today, call me”.  But she didn’t.  Instead, she sent him to the office and he was written up.

Add a little insult to injury, when he sat down in the car with my husband, he looked at him and said, “W-r-i-t-e-u-p!”  As if he was proud of it!

ARGH is all I can say.

And, he was punished.  He was severely punished.  I knew the time was coming when he realized that he could make really good grades and not actually do the work in class or the homework for that matter.

I was kind of hoping he wouldn’t realize that til he was …say..in middle school?

I was afraid of getting in trouble at school.  I honestly do not know what the punishment would have been, and I didn’t want to know.  And, I never found out.  I did my homework because that’s what I was suppose to do.  I kept my mouth shut in class because that is what I was suppose to do.  I didn’t play around, talk when the teacher was talking and I did my class work.  Why?

Because that was my job.

So, why does my son not understand that his job is to go to school, do his class work, keep his mouth shut, come home, play, have dinner, do his homework, take a bath and go to bed.

I got it.  I am not extraordinarily smart.  But I knew what I was suppose to do.  So why does my kid not get it?

I did my own homework on my own time without being asked.  Because that’s what I was suppose to do.  That was my job.

My mom made a statement a couple of years ago which at the time I thought was completely ridiculous.  But, as we’ve worked our way through kindergarten (notice I say we) and now through first grade (again, we, not just he), I have figured out that what she said was very prolific.

She said, “if your children do not approach school the way you did, you will not be able to handle it”

UH?

They are my kids.  I can handle whatever they can dish out.  I love them.  Whatever happens just happens and I still love them.  So why couldn’t I handle it.

Guess what?

He doesn’t approach school like I did.  For that matter, school doesn’t approach him like school approached me 30 years ago.  And I don’t like it.

I might not even be able to handle it.  As a matter of fact….I hate it.

I hate it ya’ll.  All jokes aside.  All agitation and blood sugar aside.  I hate that he gets in the car each day knowing that the question is “did you get a smiley face?” and “how much homework do you have?”

But, he can’t act like a hoodlum at school.  I could actually just say “we are not doing this homework, he knows how to spell these words, he knows theses site words and I am not wasting his precious childhood doing this homework.

But I won’t always be able to do that.  Then what?

This has managed to grow in length way further than I had planned.  I might visit the subject again.  Maybe tomorrow.  Maybe in a few minutes.

I do have one more pressing issue about homework that I want to hash out, with you, with the Internets, with myself.

I hate it.  By all rights, I hate it!