As we approach the final stretch of 2nd grade, we can take some cold comfort in the fact that we’re fine grade-wise. Academically, this past year looks amazing.
Emotionally, however . . . how do I put this?
This past year hasn’t been an emotional roller coaster; more like an emotional house of horrors.
With a little luck, we’re on the final week of schoolwork needed for my son to put second grade behind him.
So wish us luck.
This morning: Went over the Preamble to the Constitution with my son.
By afternoon: Realized I had already sung the damn song easily a dozen times.
Mysterious Voice (My son): Once again we need your help on an adventure.
Our “Not So Brave” Hero (Me): Can’t you get somebody else to do it?
Mysterious Voice: We wanted Superman, but he’s on another continent.
Our “Not So Brave” Hero: I can wait.
Mysterious Voice: No!
Our “Not So Brave” Hero: Fiiiiiiiiine.
Recently I used the phrase “chewing the scenery” within earshot of my son, but I had my doubts that he’d fully understood what I meant until a few days later I heard him say that someone was “chewing the scenery like a rancor chewing on the fourth wall.”
“We’ll get started in about twenty minutes,” I told my son this morning. “Nineteen minutes, to be precise.”
“I thought you were done with being ‘precise,'” he replied. “It’s kind of annoying.”
“The day I can say ‘about twenty minutes’ and you accept that as an answer is the day I’ll stop being so ‘precise,'” I told him.
“But is that eighteen minutes . . . or twenty-two . . . or seventeen . . . or what?” my son then wanted to know.
To follow-up on yesterday, apparently right after I went back today for a quick nap, my son lost his pet rock. (It was later recovered.) While he and Lala searched the house, he asked her if they should ask me if I knew where it was.
Checking the bedroom door and finding it locked (something I do when I want to make it clear I’m not to be casually disturbed), my son wanted to knock, but Lala said no.
“If he’s resting, we shouldn’t wake him with a loud knock,” she said.
*Cue the only delivery man in weeks to actually knock on our door loud enough to be heard to knock like the police are about to break down our door.*
“Yeah, like that one,” Lala sighed.
Recently my son was introduced to the concept of a “pet rock,” and is currently in class with his new “pet.”
I don’t really have a joke for this. I just wanted this event recorded.
“Remember what I said about stepping on brown?” my son asked me the other day.
“Yes,” I replied.
“That’s harder now that the whole floor is brown. Could you maybe make that a Candles & Curses entry?”
Of late my son and I have only rarely gotten along when it comes time to do schoolwork. While this may be normal, we’ve both come to recognize that we have reached decidedly “unnormal” levels, and we need to change this if we’re going to keep working together.
Today while going over letter blends, my son stopped me so he could give me some examples of each. “There’s /sw/ like in ‘swim,’ /dw/ like in ‘dwelling,’ and /tw/ like in ‘Twilight Zone,'” he said with an expectant grin.
“Yes,” I replied to his unspoken question. “I am insanely proud of you right now.”
