Our adventures in parenting include taking care of our own children, children in our neighborhood, and some foster children. Our record of biological/foster combo is five. With the recent addition of a child from our street coming over for the day while her parents go to work, we now have a new record of six. Thank you. We’re very proud.
Like other households from sea to shining sea, we are tasked with home-schooling our children. This is easy with some children (The Gaggle). It’s not so easy for others (The Oppressed and The Boy).
We normally start school around 9:00. This is about an hour later than when it started when our children actually “went to school”. Sounds good, right? You’re starting later. You’re waking up later. You know lunch is going to be longer. This sounds like a good deal. Unless, of course, you happen to be The Oppressed or The Boy.
The Boy’s assignments consist of writing exercises. There are three-letter words in front of him. He identifies the letters. says the words, and then writes the words. Apparently, this is work more in line with PhD candidates. Rather than just say and write the 10 or 12 words in the assignment, The Boy would rather pitch a fit and try to run to Wife. Wife is working at home. The Boy sure she’ll save him from this torture. Writing words. Who does this to children?
In the afternoon, after a leisurely lunch, I have The Boy sit down and do his reading. I am a taskmaster if you don’t know this already. Just ask the Miracles of Christ. I select a book that may have about 20 pages, large type, and pictures. Allow me to explain “reading”. I read the book and he chimes in when it comes to “the, as, a, now” and other challenges that make “War and Peace” look like something you start and finish on a subway ride.
The Boy tries to run. He wants another book. This one is too hard. (Google “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie”.) I’m mean. He hates me. No one else does this to their children. In the time he spends throwing himself down on the ground and cursing my name, we could have read this book and “War and Peace”.
The day is done. The Boy goes to bed and prays for himself and the rest of the abused, overworked children around the world who have to read two or three words on a page. I sit down with my laptop and a bourbon and start writing more words in one night than children have to read in an entire week. This, of course, is a lie. Just ask the children.