Friday, November 16, 2012

Giant Crap Sandwich. Dear Homework.




Dear Excessive homework,

To use a phrase from Master eight, you are ruining my life.
He announces this to me every time the Ambi Pur ad is on. I now announce it in my head every time I see you, in all of your tree murdering paperness, sticking out haphazardly from a dog eared A3 book, reeking of classroom.

I have seen a rapid decline of enthusiasm for your presence, along with a deterioration for previous enthusiastic school attendance that extends all the way from the morning, continuing through to bed time.

I wish to share with you a glance at your effect on my day of late;

Let's begin at the ass crack of dawn, when I wake, usually to the solemn defeated face of my eight year old peering down at me.
This startles me to some extent, mainly because it is creepy, and I watch way to many ghost hunting shows, but the first thing that I think of when I am startled from sleep to see a small pale face 3cm from my own, is Dereck Achora flailing about screeching "Spirit peirsons"

It usually takes a few seconds to gather my bearings, before Master Eight begins with, "Mum, I hate School, is it a School day?"

I must admit, that mostly this makes me angry, not at Master Eights recent unwillingness to go to school, but I get angry at the anticipation of the fight that is sure to ensue.

It truly is a most fucked up way to start the day, and it's your fault.

The fight usually goes something like this,

Master Eight "I'm not going to school"
Me "yes you are"
Master Eight " no I'm not I hate it"
Me " yes you are"
And so on and so forth, increasing in desperation, volume and pitch.

This continues through out the consumption of coco pops, dressing, lunch packing and Master eights ability to articulate his unwillingness to go to school with a mouth full of toothbrush is greatly improving.

I then go about the morning School run, cries of "I hate school" drown out the radio, I find this particularly irritating, when a song I love is on the radio and I can't hear it over the whining.

I am then subjected to six hours of unwarranted guilt over sending him somewhere I am legally obligated to send him, and I get through the day saying things to myself like,

- I can't rescue him from everything,
- He has to learn that you have to do things you don't like in life,
& the old pearler,
- I wont write him a note excusing him from excessive homework, because this is what is wrong with Gen Y.

until his little face appears from the bus, full of relief that another school day is over.

The peace is short lived however, for after school sustenance and trampolining soon comes to an end and there you are, crapping up my afternoon.

It wasn't always so, in fact, even now we can usually get through spelling lists and a few Math questions and a bit of reading with little to no fuss, but turning previously fun activities like, news, into a debate with palm cards on a topic not of his choice, that has to be memorized and not read from the palm cards, along with your insistence that he read "Harrence can fucking run", rather than his Geronimo Stilton novel he actually enjoys, so that he may progress up the home reading ladder, quite frankly, is giving me the right royal shits.

So the fight continues over my making of dinner, showers and after dinner reality tv until bedtime, when the argument over homework turns to overtired whining about his eagerness for the school to vanish, followed by prayers for heavy snow so that the school may be shut for the day, despite the fact that we do not live in an alpine area.

In total, I enjoy about 45 minutes of time with my child that is not spent in the deadlock of argument.

I liken these events to my dislike of chocolate.

I'm a freak, I know, and it wasn't always so.. In fact I used to love chocolate, any type of chocolate.
Then Cabbage spent seven years working for Cadbury, and to my mouths delight and my ass's dismay, we were frequently sent boxes of short dated chocolate, my favorite were the boxes of time outs.

I love a good time out, both the chocolate kind and the type that involves my girlfriends and alcohol... Then slowly but surely the chocolate kind became less appealing.

The short dated time outs, although delicious and ubundant lost their appeal.
The once crisp wafer hidden between layers of chocolate became slightly less crispy the closer they got to the used by date.
Opening the shiny blue wrapper to a burst of chocolatey smell, soon became less enjoyable, smelled less like a trip through the Wonka Factory and reminded me more of a hangover. A stale wafer hangover.
Before too long, I forgot why I ever liked chocolate at all.

I am writing today to tell you, that you are a slightly short dated time out.

Although delicious in the beginning, your excessive and regularly sub par presence has ruined school work of any kind for my child.
Opening your pages to your classroom type scent, smells less like an enjoyable day of learning spent with peers and one on one time with mum...and more like egg sandwiches in lunch boxes and eight year old classroom farts.

With term four rapidly coming to an end and Santa type activities filling the shops, pinterest and my Facebook feed, I am finding your presence irritating to say the least, and therefore I am excusing myself from any excessive homework type arguments for the rest of the year.

In conclusion, He is eight, and you are a tyrant type asshole of which I have had enough of your crapping up the atmosphere for another year.

Sincerely,

Emmasbrain.


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