I used to have a sort of romantic notion of homework. Cozy afternoons spent around the kitchen table as we drink hot chocolate and I help my children form the habits and organizational skills that will help them become successful adults.
Well, I’m over it.
Never in my life have I had to endure something that can simultaneously make me feel so stupid and at the same time test my patience to such a level that I’m trying to remember what happened to that Vicodin prescription from The Hub’s root canal last year. This dual level of anguish is brought on by the fact that we have both a sixth grader and a second grader. On the one hand we have the Monkey, whose math homework is beginning to resemble something I once saw on a tour of the Air and Space Museum. On the other hand is the ladybug. Sweet, sweet ladybug, who is taking her sweet sweet time learning to read and write.