Their existence in this world just shines a spotlight on my underachievingness.
Their child walks into school rolling in a 1/25th scale Taj Mahal made out of toothpicks, gold-leafed with a water feature. My child walks into school clutching a self-constructed Lego mass that was crushed into pieces by a rolling backpack in the trunk on the way to school.
I would like to write that I am intentionally among the underachieving. Like it is a moral stand toward child independence.
Kids should do their own work!
But that isn’t the case. I am underachieving to maintain a shred of my self-respect.
Second grade at my children’s school is when they start creative writing projects. They are graded on a 100 point rubric. I have always been a fan of creative writing (shocking, eh?) so helping the boys get their thoughts on paper has been one of the fun parts of homeschooling.
When I say “getting their thoughts on paper”, I mean it figuratively.
The actual writing process of letter making, capital letters and end marks is pure torture for second grade boys. It takes bribes, threats and a lot of cheerleading to get a sentence written out.
An entire paragraph?
One of Reid’s first creative writing assignments was to write a story.
I like to write stories!
Reid and I sat down and he thought up what he wanted to write about. I asked him lots of questions and some of them might have been a bit leading.
The afternoon turned to evening and we still didn’t have a written story.
A one paragraph story.
My questions turned from leading to directional and within 15 minutes we had a completed story.
The story may have ended up to be a little bit more mine than Reid’s.
But it was on paper. Illustrated. In his backpack. Ready to turn in. Whew.
When Reid’s paper was returned a few days later, it came to my attention that the story was definitely more ME than HIM when I uttered…
Your teacher gave US a 68/100 on that story?
I said us.
Yep, we got a 68.