Homework Battles

I hate homework. I hated homework when I was doing my own homework and I hate it more now that I am doing it with (sometimes for) my kids. Each of my three children are vastly different in their approach to assignments, but it all adds to my utter misery.

"Hey, don't lose heart, we all go through it. Even the best parents blah, blah, blah." Team DeMotte battles are the very worst in the history of homework. We could run a "scared straight" program for parents who are thinking about educating their kids.

But first, some stats:

1. My wife and my son can not do homework together. Rather than helping her during their last attempt, I made this video. It's therefore my job only.
2. My son who is 10, is a struggling B student.
3. My daughter who is 6, has a perfect academic record and loves homework.
4. My daughter who is 4, can color like a beast which is fortunate since that's the entirety of her  academic career. 

We all arrive home at 6:30pm with three wet kids from swim practice. They all hit the showers while I arrange all three homework stations. Sam has math, social studies and English, Abby math, and Macey has to color some crap.

"Completed" is a bit of a stretch.

When I call them to the table, they arrive still wet and naked (sadly this is normal). I give them marching orders which includes finding clothes but that isn't really the highest priority. 

Sam produces the math that he "did" earlier and I begin to die inside. This means it's time for the nightly conversation where I tell him that I love him and want only the best but it appears that he misread the directions. He thought is said, "Wad this packet into a ball and chew on it for a while."

He tells me what a stellar job I am doing as a parent. 

Cue Abby. She loves homework. But she loves her brother's misery even more. She has two directions that she can go with her evening. Some nights she offers to help Sam with his homework knowing full well that this will make his eyes bleed with rage. But tonight, the "Hey Dad, can you help me too? Wow MY homework is soooo hard. Can you check the 45 math problems I just did and see just what a badass I am?" route is chosen. Predictably Sam goes after her like a (hairless and naked) honey badger and I have to dive across the table to save her life.

Enter Macey. Macey has to color. That's all she has to ever do. The only difference between homework and play-time is that she won't shut her mouth about how important the assigned coloring is. I freakin' get it Macey. If your snowflake isn't scribbled on by tomorrow, you'll only have three more weeks to do it before the non-existent deadline, for an assignment that's not mandatory, for a school that doesn't even have grades.

Kitchen table where the snowflake magic happened.

Over the next hour, we have a high-decibel chaos that resembles a reverse strip poker game as little pieces of jammies eventually appear in the right places. Although I don't remember drinking, I am hungover. The girls cradle their completed assignments like they have the Baby Jesus that they carefully lay to an organized rest. Meanwhile Sam sneers with hostility at the down-scale model of a landfill that he has created. 

And this is a success story. Many nights I long for this over-achievement. But when I am old (er) and gray (er), I will be so proud when all three share the Nobel prize. My only hope is that when they are accepting the award and profusely thanking their father for all his inspiration, that they will at least be dressed.