On Homework

"Mom, can we go swimming?"

"Okay, but let's get our homework done before we head out."

"Oh, Mom! Do we have to? Why can't we do it later?"

"Because if we wait until later, it won't happen."

"Will you do it for me then, Mom?"

What? This is Oscar I am talking with! I am having having this conversation with Oscar, my five-year-old, two weeks into the kindergarten school year! Which leads me to wonder, which is more ridiculous - that he could possibly think that I might do his homework for him - or that my five-year-old even HAS homework?

I really just don't get it - the homework thing. I have heard that the idea is to create work patterns at a young age, but the patterns that are created in our house seem to emphasize the "work" in homework, and by Marek's age of eight involve loud screams of agony, threats, bribes, and things flying across the room. And really, if you were a five-year-old boy, would you rather build a stick tent in the backyard with your brother or color in patterns on a striped cow?

I look to my old friend, Laura Ingalls Wilder when I contemplate schoolwork. I tell my kids how going to school was such a privilege to her (and still is in some places of the world), and how hard Laura studied after hours in order to master the material to become a teacher. But really, when Laura was five, she was just moving out of the Big Woods and into Indian Territory. She was running around barefoot with Jack watching Pa build a log cabin. There was barely a neighbor within miles, much rather a school with homework.

This past week I found myself at "Back to School Night" with my knees smashed under Marek's desk listening to his third grade teacher's curriculum and expectations for the year.

"In third grade, it is expected that your child will read individually six nights a weeks for twenty to thirty minutes a night."

I raise my hand, "By "individually" do you mean they are reading to themselves or reading out loud to someone?"

"They should be reading out loud to someone."

I raise my hand again, "So if they are reading out loud for thirty minutes, and then doing math and spelling homework, they will have about an hour of homework every night?"

"Well, the spelling and the math shouldn't take that long."

Evidently this teacher has never spent a homework evening at my house where just setting aside our ninja costumes and repeatedly calming down vocal noise might take an hour.

And I am left feeling as tightly squeezed by this homework assignment as my body is in Marek's desk.

Everyone complains of the homework for the constraints it places on our children's time, but really, let's be honest here. What I resent as a parent is that this homework is in actuality MY homework. If my son doesn't perform well or I forget to sign the homework slip, it is not Marek who will be judged at this age, but ME. Marek is too young to pull this stuff together himself. The expectation is that I work alongside him and his homework.

Maybe if our household had three Moms this would be groovy. One could clean the kitchen and prepare for the next day. One could get the younger kids to bed. And the last Mom could cozily sit with Marek and work with him on his homework for an hour while sipping hot chocolate. But our household isn't like that. Geoff is working. It is me who cleans, prepares, bathes, and simultaneously educates. Hey teachers, ever wonder why Marek's homework is wet, wet, wet? It is ME. ME. ME. Tears or bathwater? Take a guess.

Has Marek ever thought to do his homework on his own? No. Because he is not supposed to. I am supposed to. And really, if a child is not capable of doing their own homework on their own, then aren't they a little too young to have it assigned of them?

There I am in Marek's classroom, the only parent repeatedly raising my hand to question these numbers. There is not an uprising of protest behind me. And yet I hear everyone complaining later along with me. We complain about how awful it is that our young kids have to sit down and work so hard when they should be out catching toads in the creek, selling lemonade in the front yard, kicking a ball around the backyard, mingling with their peers. Which is all totally true.

But really, our children should be working hard. I see no problem with our kids doing homework if it is interesting, informative, and age appropriate.

But I shouldn't have to. I already learned how to color patterns on a striped cow.

Let's go back and looked at how I began this rant:

"Mom, can we go swimming?"
"Okay, but let's get our homework done before head out."

Isn't it funny that I automatically said "OUR" homework?