Is it rob Paul to pay Peter?
Or is it rob Peter and Mike to pay Paul.
These past few days have been Highway Robbery. And I’m the robber.
I have three children, who
always usually sometimes want something at the same time. And it usually involves me. Help with homework. A ride somewhere. Help finding something. (Such as jeans. I have no idea where my daughter’s three pairs of jeans walked off to.)
One day, my daughter needed a lot of my hands-on time with a big homework project. It was to build a game board to help second graders practice their math skills. Brilliant idea! But a lot of work for a fifth grader and her mom who had (ssshhhh) the stomach flu. (People always freak out when you have that.) Well whaddya know, it was two hours later of homework. And in the meantime, my eight-year-old son was trying to pour over his math homework and needed my help. He totally needed that game board to practice! I robbed him of homework help time in order to help my daughter. He kinda threw a fit about it. But not too much because: Mindcraft.
Another day, it was time to help my young son with his math homework. However, I had to finish some work projects and was on deadline so I couldn’t quite help him yet. And I kinda threw a fit about it. And then he sorta sulked because really, it’s no fun when your mother yells at you, is it?
Regrouping. Multiplication. Division. I didn’t have time for math fact families. But why did I have to be such a meanie?
Where was my daughter? Whew. She was at soccer. My son had my undivided attention. Until.
out on the lawn into the front door there arose entered such a clatter.
I sprang from my
bed table to see what was the matter.
It was my oldest son who came bustling in, announcing that he had a shit load of school work and would be up super late to memorize a poem, finish a mega Powerpoint presentation on why drugs are bad, and tackle math. No math fact families for him. His was absolute value and I have no idea what that means.
The end of the semester is around the corner and my son is a responsible lad. I told him I could help him later. But apparently, he kinda needed help right then.
It was just too much all at once. Not really a shit-hitting-the-fan moment, but more of a Calgon-take-me-away moment. Tick tock. I could feel the pressure of my work deadline. I had promised the project to my boss by 5:00 p.m. and it was minutes away.
It all ended well (enough). My deadline was met. My young son knows a little more of his multiplication facts. And after my two youngest children went to bed, I spent two hours with my oldest son to proofread his presentation and to listen as he recited Alone by Edgar Allan Poe. That’s a hard poem!
It was after midnight before we went to bed. Despite the robberies that went on (and some Mom guilt):
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.