It literally just occurred to me this second (and I only use
literally when I mean it – misuse of that word is a massive pet peeve of mine) that homework is home/
work for me. Helping kids read and write and think is what I do all day long. And even though I have four thousand tricks up my sleeve to nudge the learning along in any given subject, I'm not necessarily as patient with Clara and Trevi as I am with my students. Mind you, my students never stop abruptly in the middle of writing a word to suggest building a remote control robot out of Lego, or to beg me to let them get their ears pierced. Maybe my head just isn't big enough to simultaneously wear Mom
and Teacher hats.
Homework certainly isn't torturous for us, though. Clara, blessed girl, is responsibility personified, and only has a very occasional hissy fit when she needs my help, and thinks I'm contradicting what her teacher has told her. I get that. Totally.
Trevi would always, always rather be playing, and sometimes he likes to flop around on the table and claim to be too exhausted to count or read, or hold a pencil. Still, he ultimately gets the job done. So I can't complain. And when you're really busy being studious, you sometimes, once in a blue moon, forget to argue with your sibling.
