Nov
11
Oh, you guys. The relief of that last post, from the processing that always comes with writing to the way every kind comment and email feels like another support beam holding me upright. I cannot begin to thank you enough.
What a strange, unhappy week it’s been. Like many of you, I am sad and worried about what’s to come over the next four years. I read this phrase recently, You cannot hold back the tide, so you may as well work on building a better boat, and I have been carrying that, cupped in my hand like a bird. What’s done is done, and we must all find a way to live in this new reality. It’s like getting sober: the past is over, the future hasn’t happened yet. So what can I do today, to reinforce the vessel that will carry me through the waves? Maybe even make it strong enough to someday help others who may be getting pulled under?
I realize leftover Halloween candy is not necessarily a great long term building strategy for this endeavor, but I am for sure allowing myself a few shoddy materials this week.
In the non-chocolate-based self-care department, after years of eye-rolling the influx of adult coloring books that seem to have taken over the publishing industry I now find myself drawn — oh ho HO! — to them. I finally just printed a page online and have been studiously beavering away with my Crayola fine-tips, and I’m not sure if I like the activity or not. There’s something undeniably pleasant about the mindless concentration involved, but it also starts feeling like a task with no end in sight: like, am I ever going to be done with this thing?
I nearly trashed my page after realizing that completion would take hours and I didn’t much like the colors I’d used and honestly the laundry’s piling up while I sit here coloring like a preschooler, but I’d picked one of those chirpy motivational message designs. I imagined the relief of tossing it out … followed by the Et tu, universe? feeling of knowing what was lying in the recycling: a piece of paper printed with intricate swirls and patterns, and partially-colored letters that read “NEVER GIVE UP.”
Oct
30
There is a special kind of parental suckage when it comes to your child experiencing the exact same struggles you did, isn’t there? I still remember how I hated homework when I was in elementary school, and how I chose every single increasingly problematic alternative to knuckling down and getting it done. It was miserable then, and now that I have a child who views homework much as I used to, it is miserable now.
Riley mostly got on board with my eat-your-frog approach to homework, and this year he has none outside of reading — fifth grade apparently decided to opt out, for reasons that aren’t fully clear to me. (I’m not really complaining, except that 1) it’s not consistent with other grades, and 2) it seems like middle school is going to be one holy hell of a transition.) Dylan in third grade, on the other hand, has quite a bit, and he’s a completely different kid when it comes to schoolwork. He’s bright, he’s capable … and he’s stubborn as a goddamned mule.
He has no internal motivation to get it done, he rushes the instructions then can’t figure out what he needs to do, he shuts down almost immediately and becomes surly and uncooperative. He’s also eight, so, you know, I realize things aren’t exactly dire, here. That rabbit hole of doom has such a pull to it, though.
My least favorite assignment is the daily response journal. I remember Riley slogging through this a couple years ago: the idea is to read a short chapter or two in a small provided book each day, then write your responses in a notebook. Response meaning how did you feel about the story, did you like it, what do you think is going to happen next, that sort of thing, as opposed to a summary of what happened. Dylan gets stuck on wanting to recap the basics of the plot, and when I try and help, I end up putting words in his mouth. His memory isn’t a problem, nor is is grasp of language, exactly … it’s the part of reading where the book comes alive in your imagination. That’s not happening.
This seems in line with his preference for picture books as opposed to chapter books. He’s a dreamy kid that spends a lot of time in his own head, but books aren’t his thing, at least not yet. The response journal activity is surely intended to teach him reading comprehension, but it’s an uphill battle at the moment. I hate everything about reading being a dreaded chore, where something I wish was enjoyable just feels like punishment to both of us. I hate the fact that I already went through this homework nightmare, and here I am again, seeing things in a new perspective from which — surprise! Sorry, Mom! — it turns out the whole experience is even crappier.
Most of all, I hate that the familiar terrain doesn’t give me any special superpowers to help my kids avoid the same pits I fell into. Third grade homework aside, I am thinking of larger problems they may come to face one day. There is almost nothing I fear more than my children facing addiction. I know one thing isn’t necessarily connected to the other, but it sort of feels that way, in my heart. Like a thousand landmines tied together with string, and I am afraid I don’t have the strength and wisdom to help guide them into the clear.
-
My product review site:
[