Homework

When I thought I was shipping all the midgets off to school I didn’t count on being bombarded with three lots of homework coming back each afternoon.

While Master Seven remains vague over whether he’s got any and then it’s painfully drawn out, the twins enthusiasm for theirs makes up for it. Once they’ve returned home and re-explored their surroundings, noting any changes in their absence, ie, mysterious and enticing-looking packages I may’ve dumped on the bench top after a shopping trip, the contents of which would really not excite them, and then checked the fridge for treats, they remember their homework.

Then it’s all go.

“Mum, I want to read you my book – it’s called Daddy,” shouts Master Five.

“Mum, I want to read you my Daddy book too,” chimes in his sister.

“Hang on, one at a time.”

“I’ll go first!” they both yell.

So one of them starts while the other sulks nearby.

“Daddy is running,” began Miss Five, her finger skidding over the words out of sync and her eyes skipping to the picture to tell her what daddy is doing.

She gets to the end, proud as punch, before her brother has his turn.
”Daddy is …,” he pauses while he checks out what daddy is doing.

“Sleeping!” informs his sister.

“Shut up! It’s my turn.”

I decide it be best to do homework separately so the next afternoon, they sit down at different times and read me their Mummy book.

“Mummy is running,” reads Miss Five and, I was impressed to note, her finger kept in time with the words.

Next they sat up at the table and dutifully wrote out the word “am” over and over. Well one of them did. The other decided to throw a strop and do things her way. Apparently I know nothing.

This came with fist-slamming on the table (her – not me) and storming off down the hall (again, her – not me, although I felt like throwing my toys too). Then I noticed a note glued to the homework book about providing lots of encouragement so I got over it, took some deep breaths and decided to try again later.

But while I was distracted trying in vain to rein in my feisty redhead, I didn’t realise her brother was in race-mode and had filled nearly a whole page with backward ‘a’s’ and no finger spaces in between. 

How on earth do teachers navigate 20-plus kids when I can’t even keep up with two?

So while we’re yet to get into a rhythm on the homework front, at least the playground dramas have sorted themselves out.

I think Miss Five was milking the sympathy last week when she said she had no one to play with. The next day she was spotted walking around holding hands with a group of bigger girls and quite self-assuredly calling the shots.