I am afraid today's post will not be a happy rah rah hooray it's Labor Day weekend kind of post. Nope, I need to vent. Yesterday was a horrible day.
I was watching a story on the Today show yesterday about a baby who has cancer of the eye. Horrible situation. A friend of the mother's spotted the odd pupil color in a photo and let the mom know to go get her checked, and they found the cancer. Michael asked me about cancer. I started talking about it. Then I just started crying. I couldn't stop.
My father died of cancer in 1996. As I've mentioned, I think, a dear friend of mine just told me last week that her cancer has returned. I started thinking about how if she doesn't make it, her little boy will have no mama. Oh man, it got to me.
I got Mike to school and dropped him off without excessive waterworks, then I just went home to cry some more. I was afraid to drive in that state of sorrow. I was late to work.
The worst part about cancer is the uncertainty, I feel. Sometimes people beat it and live for years. More often, it seems, it goes into remission, then comes back with a vengeance and the person dies quickly, when it's unexpected and therefore more nightmarish.
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When I got home last night, Mother was in a tizzy over Mike's procrastination with his homework. I could tell she was at the end of her rope.
We have always had a system - she helps with homework, and when I get home I can finish dinner and visit with the kids, check on the garden, etc. It has evolved this school year that I've been reading with Michael when I got home, as often as possible.
Michael wants my full and complete attention 24/7. He wants me all to himself. He only happily surrenders me when the computer games or the gameboy beckon.
I realized last night that what he has started doing is not doing his homework quickly and efficiently with mother, because he wants me to come home and do his homework with him. I don't mind helping him a bit, but if I have to start in and do it ALL with him, teaching him the material, then it's 10:00 before I can stop and get to bed. That is unacceptable.
I have to be able to come home and relax a bit.
He doesn't like to take responsibility. So making him face the music provoked a lot of resistance in him. He was very pouty and spent a long time sitting on the steps looking forlorn.
He complained bitterly to Mother that he had scored low on a timed math quiz where he had to do multiplication problems. She pointed out that we've been telling him for months he has to memorize the multiplication tables. There's no time to sit and calculate answers on a test like that. He hates learning them. I've tried lots of different methods, even ordered an expensive system of picture cards, and he's still not got them. Mother is very frustrated. She has worked hard.
Often, his brain is just in neutral, when it needs to be in drive.
Mother asked him to look up a word in the dictionary, which he knows how to do. Instead of looking it up, he spent 15 minutes flipping through the dictionary and reading.
He failed to bring home his social studies book or language arts book yesterday.
Mother and I talked over what to do about this, and how to motivate him. We finally decided to just tell him he has to do his own homework, not rely on us to re-teach it. He must bring home books. He must complete assignments on his own. He knows a lot of English so it should be no problem for him.
Granny and Alesia are there to help if he gets stuck, but not do anything for him. We have tended to just do things for him too much, or re-teach him things, and that's what drags out homework. We have enabled him, babied him too much.
I told him from now on, I will not help him more than 1 hour a night, and my primary role will be to make sure he's done everything and listen to him read for 30 minutes. Nights he has tennis practice he will likely only get 45 minutes from me.
I sent his teacher a lengthy email telling her this. I wondered as I was typing if she would think me some sort of awful parent. One's tendency is to pity him, and cut him way too much slack. When he doesn't get his way he cries and pouts.
I read him the email. He was horrified. I told him if he doesn't finish his homework before dinner each night, he will have to turn it in incomplete. This could cause him to get bounced back to 4th grade or have to repeat 5th grade.
More pouty face was the result. He said he just wanted to go to bed.
We tried to get him to understand, he is going to have to grow up and bit and take the responsibility for his schoolwork. He will have to pay attention carefully in class. He will have to do what is needed.
I tried to reassure him we are going to help him.
We thought about threatening to take him out of tennis if he doesn't do his homework, but we agreed he really needs to get outside and get the exercise. He should be able to manage one extracurricular activity and his schoolwork.
I tried to tell him how much we believe he can do this, and what a smart boy he is, but he kept his mouth turned down.
After we watched a little more John Adams last night he was in something of a better mood.
I said "Michael, don't you remember how anxious you were about camp last summer? You said you couldn't do it, didn't want to go, why was I being so mean, etc.?" He shrugged, his face buried in my shoulder.
I pulled back and looked at him. "Then, you WENT to camp and you had a WONDERFUL time! You told me you wanted to go right back, as soon as you stepped off the bus!"
He smiled.
I thought, see kiddo, you can trust me. I won't steer you wrong. I've proved it.
This morning he was pouting again on the way to school, though. I repeated my mantra: "Michael, a positive attitude is essential. If you tell yourself you're stupid and you can't do it, you will not be able to do it. If you tell yourself you CAN do it, then that will become the truth."
Maybe if I tell him that 200 more times he will believe me.
FINAL NOTE:
When I got home Alesia had painted her fingernails bright green. After the day I had had, and after the crisis with Michael, I just thought whatever. Keep your trashy green fingernails. I'm too tired to fight about it...
