I hate homework more than my children hate homework, and I hope you understand I’m not maligning my kids’ Homework-Hating Potential by telling you so.
I mean, sure, not all my kids are consistent about hating homework, especially my deliriously enthusiastic, trend-bucking 1st graders who seem for now to actually enjoy it, but I like to think even they carry some sort of latent homework-hating potential, if only from my side of the gene pool. ...
School is almost out. I can tell because my son took dead flies for Show & Tell yesterday, and he brought a hoe to school today. There’s nothing that screams we’re drinking the dregs of the school year like the kindergartner hauling around desecrated insects and shouting “Mom! Hurry up with that hoe!” across the parking lot of the nice Christian school. ...
I, personally, have never died of dysentery.
If you have died of dysentery, though,
and lived to tell the tale, then you undoubtedly attended public school in the United States, and you think the the Oregon Trail game is RAD.
My sister-in-law, for example, born and raised in Yamhill County, Oregon, died of dysentery dozens of times, and it still makes her giggle. ...
“I don’t suppose you read that article on prehistoric ticks today?” my husband asked provocatively from our bed the other night as I readied myself to join him.
“Did you say ticks?” I clarified while donning my negligee. And, by “donning my negligee,” I mean smelling the t-shirt I wore for the previous three nights to decide whether I could justify wearing it again. ...
My teenage daughter just told me that she DOES have homework, AFTER ALL.
Which is really SO HILARIOUS (read: not hilarious), because just one hour ago I walked in the house with a small child, a box of popsicles, my purse (complete with hairspray, gel and bobby pins because I did my hair in the work bathroom this morning – go, me!), a backpack of wet gear from preschool swim lessons, and 3.75 kid art projects because one didn’t quite make the move from the car intact. ...
