homework

It’s All About the Pronoun

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

You know when your spouse says, “We should call the plumber” or “We should clean up the dog poop in the backyard” and you know what he really means is “YOU should call the plumber” and “YOU should clean up the dog poop”? The “we” is really “you,” and you both know it. A little pronoun sleight-of-hand to somehow both obscure and effectively communicate a message.

Last week I was having heart palpitations about the end of the school year, or more precisely, the end of school. Writing that sentence, I realize that might be a first for me. It’s always been the beginning of a new school year that sent my blood pressure through the roof as panic and fear of the unknown swirled in my head. The end of the school year meant a huge sigh of relief, and giant exhale, because for the next ten weeks I didn’t have to try to make Maddie do anything (well, except take the occasional shower). And yes, I still have that respite to look forward to. In fact, it might be the biggest exhale of my life when Maddie clicks “submit” on that last final exam. She never has to do school ever again if she doesn’t want to, and if she does want to, it’s all on her.  It’s completely optional! But in order to get to this particular ending, there is some work to do.

As an independent study student in her online school, she has no real deadlines except at the end of the semester. There are suggested deadlines for quizzes and assignments and tests, but the true deadline comes once. Luckily, with the help of Maddie’s tutor, we are usually somewhat on schedule (she’s always a good 10 or 12 assignments behind, which sounds worse than it is), but last week I looked and she had 23 overdue items (meaning the suggested deadline had passed), not to mention whatever had been or would become assigned but hadn’t yet become due. And then final exams.

Oh my god. How will Maddie ever get all this done? How will I get her to do all that work? I felt the wave of panic I’ve experienced so many times over the years. The insurmountable pile of responsibilities loomed dark in my psyche, the weight of it all sitting squarely on my shoulders.

Later that week, thankfully, I had therapy. I have been seeing a therapist for the last nine years, ever since I had a nervous breakdown from the sheer weight of, well, a lot of things. I am long past the part where you talk about your childhood or your traumas or whatever and figure out how to fix yourself. For years my therapist has been my coach and adviser, my cheerleader and guru. She brings me back to earth when I’m freaking out about, well, anything.

So this time we talked about Maddie and my anxiety over the mountain of work on Maddie’s plate. As I talked, I realized something. There was no way on Earth I was going to allow any outcome other than Maddie finishing and graduating. “She just has to pass,” I reminded myself out loud. “She doesn’t need A’s. She just needs to pass.” I continue to say that out loud to convince myself of the truth of it.

With equal parts realization and conviction, I said, “Oh, we’re gonna get this done.”

“I think you got your pronoun wrong,” she said wryly.

I thought for a moment. “Okay, I’M gonna get this done.” Not we. I.  “I don’t care if I do it all myself,” I said. And I meant it. At this point I would do just about anything to get that diploma in Maddie’s hands, to complete this mission on which we’ve both worked so hard.

What kind of mom announces she will actually do her kid’s last two weeks of school work? Who decides the easy route is the right route?

You know who? The kind of mom who for a solid year taught her child to speak by sounding out words using foam letters in the tub, that’s who. The kind of mom who heard only screaming for the first 25 months of her child’s life before finally hearing the word “mama,” the first recognizable speech ever uttered by her oldest child. The kind of mom who fought back tears through countless SST meetings and  IEP meetings, and changed her kid’s school three times, desperately trying to make the right choice for this puzzle of a kid. The kind of mom who braced herself for a fight–really a frustrating, defeating exercise in futility–every single morning for three years trying to get her kid to go to school. The kind of mom who for the last year has read the world history book out loud to her kid just to engage her in school, doing silly dances or making jokes to make it as much fun as I could–for both of us.

There is no way I would let all of the emotional roller coaster rides, all of the anxiety and worry and tears and confusion and countless hours of just plain old work end in a big fat nothing. So if she can’t make herself do this last little tidbit of work for herself, I’ll do it for her. I’ll do it for ME.

So this time the pronoun is clear: I WILL MAKE THIS HAPPEN. I hope Maddie will cooperate and do the work, but if not, I hope she’s at least along for the ride. In two weeks we can sign off from school forever. And I can pat myself on the back for a job well done.

A Hard Lesson Probably Not Learned

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

You know how if you miss a week of work, it’s not really like taking time off? It’s just moving it from one week to the next, when you’ll just have twice as much. As adults, we all know it’s coming, so missing work is a calculated decision on our part, whether it’s for physical health or mental health reasons. That work isn’t going to vanish just because you’re not there.

This morning, after skipping school yesterday, Maddie got up with a fair amount of verve and intention. It was the usual morning of increasing tension, as she was doing what she needed, but at a snail’s pace, and then, just as the clock struck 7:15 and it was time for her to be meeting the cab outside, she thought of two more things to do. Stressful, but normal for us. Off to a relatively good start.

Today Maddie had a dentist appointment, and her dentist happens to be near her school, so I picked her up after school instead of having her catch the cab. I can always tell immediately what kind of day she had, regardless of the words that come out of her mouth. She almost always says her day was great, and today was no exception, but her voice was flat and her eyes were down, so I knew she wasn’t being honest.

After some coaxing, I finally got a confession: she had NOT had a great day, and the reasons boiled down to (1) lunchtime detention for cutting school the day before, which she forgot to go to (or avoided) and (2) a giant pile of homework for tonight. She doesn’t tend to have too much homework because of her IEP and because she has lots of time to do work at school. I am so grateful for that.

But yesterday she missed a whole day of both classwork and homework, so tonight she faced five pages of math and a page each of English and history. For her that’s overwhelming.

And THEN she was going to the dentist, which, like most people, she hates. We drove to the dentist’s office, and since we had some time to kill, I suggested she make good use of it. She’s reading Of Mice and Men* with her English class, so I suggested we read some of it on my phone (thank you, Kindle!). She resisted, but somehow or other I got her to go along, mostly reading it aloud to me.

Then it was time to go in the building. “I’m not getting out of the car,” Maddie declared. And I knew she wouldn’t. She had already shown resistance, from the moment she got in the car, and I had tried both a promise of a reward and a logical explanation of the consequences (who knows if the rescheduled appointment will come on a better day?), but, nope, it was not happening.

Fortunately the dentist and her staff are both kind and compassionate. The receptionist was understanding and offered to reschedule. I cancel appointments at that place constantly, and in fact canceled my son’s last appointment because of trouble with Maddie. I’m probably the flakiest mom they have at that practice as I probably only get my kids to a third of their appointments, always canceling at the last minute and then maybe getting them there several months later. It’s a miracle that my 15-year-old has never had a cavity and my 13-year-old just has his first one–a tiny one–given the lack of effort we have put into dental care over the years.

After making a new appointment, I returned to the car, and we headed home. Maddie finished reading me the chapter in her book on the way. Every once in awhile, she was start to shut down. She wanted to cry. She wanted to pout. She even said that out loud. And then when we pulled in the driveway, she didn’t really want to get out of the car. After all, the next thing to face was that huge mountain of work.

We made an agreement. She would do one hour of hard work and then she could take a break and watch a show. She was amenable to that and was able to sit down and sort of focus for awhile, although I was intimately involved in her homework, writing her math so she could just think and talk, encouraging her when she felt stumped, refocusing her when she got distracted, and giving her lots of positive reinforcement. She didn’t finish all her homework, but she gave it a good try.

So now she is done. She is watching her show. And I am ambivalent about our evening together. I really coached her through a hard time, and she was able to get through it. That’s a good thing. I also pointed out more than once that her problems were directly related to the choices she had made yesterday. I knows she understands that intellectually. I made sure she does. The problem is, will she be able to apply what she knows right now next time she wants to stay home from school? I’m not so sure. Mostly that’s because of Maddie’s challenges, but I wonder right now if I haven’t just undermined my own lesson. I wanted her to get her homework done so badly that I sat with her and gently but firmly guided her through it. And I let her quit after a good 90-minute session in which she nearly quit several times. Perhaps I should have let her suffer the consequences a bit more. Perhaps giving her my company and gentle encouragement weren’t the best course of action. Perhaps the lesson she needed was how much two days of work sucks more than one day’s worth, rather than whatever she was learning in math and English.

It’s too late now. Today’s lessons are done. For both of us. Maddie will go to sleep tonight, tired and glad today is over. Tomorrow she will wake up and probably have no immediate recollection of today’s suffering. I’ll remember it, though! Let’s hope I remember, the next time Maddie skips school, the lessons that matter most and hold Maddie accountable and maybe let her suffer the natural consequences a bit more.

As all parents know, the hardest part of parenting is the not knowing how well we’re doing until it’s too late. When our kids have become adults, we can look at them and think, Well, I guess I did okay! Or, Gee, I should have done this other thing. But until then, the results are still in process. So who knows what effect today’s events and my parenting in the midst of them will have on Maddie. Maybe none. Probably none. We shall see.

 

 

Life As I Know It

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Yesterday was such a long day. I think I might have aged a year in 14 hours. I’m certain a few gray hairs have appeared and my frown lines have become more pronounced since yesterday morning. It was just one of those days that needed to END. I needed a fresh start today. Fortunately every day is an opportunity for a fresh start, and every day I take it.

After I got Maddie off to school yesterday, after several hours of dealing with her opposition to that idea, I was exhausted in ever way. I was immobile for most of the afternoon, lacking the energy and desire to see anybody or do anything. For a moment I thought a little retail therapy sounded good, but I was too depressed to go anywhere. So I went home and did nothing. Well, I wrote a blog entry and watched an episode of The Voice. Good choice on my part for a number of reasons, including the fact that writing and watching On Demand didn’t cost anything.

Soon it was time to pick up my son, and not long after that Maddie arrived home in the cab. I was dreading the afternoon all day. I knew she would have quite a bit to accomplish because she hadn’t finished some of her work from the night before. And I was right. She had a pretty hefty math assignment and science to complete. Plus a shower.

Ever since homework became part of our lives when Maddie was in first grade, I have spent some of the day dreading it. And the moment I see her after school, it is on my mind. I always give her a warm welcome home and ask her about her day, but then I dive into the homework questions. And we make a plan. Or rather, I make a plan.

So we dove in around 4:00 and nearly three hours later I was still sitting with her while she did her math. She needed a little help with a couple problems, but mostly she needed help staying on track. She’s been better about that lately, but yesterday everything was a challenge for her, so I just gave in to the idea of sitting with her to ensure success.

I did not, however, anticipate how long it would take her. There were an awful lot of problems to do, She was also very unfocused. I spent a lot of energy helping her be productive. It was hard. I was patient. It was long. I got tired. When she finally finished her math, it was time for a little science work, but she also had a long overdue shower to take, and I sent her off to do that.

And then the shit hit the fan. She decided she wanted to watch the newest episode of The Flash. But it was too late to both take a shower and watch the show. By that time I had given up on the science; she could do it the following day during Academic Workshop (study hall). She would have to stay up late in order to watch the show.

“Absolutely not,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Well, you skipped school yesterday and missed half the day today. You do not get special privileges unless you earn them. You don’t even have your usual privileges,” I explained calmly.

And then I saw it. Her body stiffened, and the expression on her face changed. Her eyes looked determined and her lips smirked. Everything about her said, “Oh YEAH?”

“I really want to watch The Flash,” she insisted.

“I’m sorry, but the answer is not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I already told you why not,” I said, and then repeated my explanation from a moment before.

Maddie was not giving up, but instead becoming increasingly determined. She would not budge. She looked me straight in the eye, challenging me to defy her wishes. How I wanted to just say, “Oh, forget it, go ahead.” That would have been so easy and relaxing. She could go do her thing and I could do mine, and everybody wins!

Except everybody doesn’t win. She has to understand that her choices have natural consequences. If you haven’t finished the things you are required to do, you will not have time for fun. That’s just the way it is. I have said that a thousand times. But as we’ve learned, her mind doesn’t work that way.

“But why?” she asked over and over. I explained that special privileges are earned, and staying up late is a special privilege that she had definitely not earned.

She was desperate. She wanted to watch The Flash so badly. “How about if I stay up late tonight and then get up in the morning? Then you’ll see I can do it.”

Stupidly I have fallen for this logic more than once. It sounds wonderful, but it’s a trap. It NEVER happens that way. Why do the work when the reward is already in your pocket? I got my reward, so see ya!

But last night I remained strong. I would not give in. But she’s a tough nut to crack. She wouldn’t give in either, and she is the most determined person you could ever meet in a moment like that. She followed me around the house, looking me in the eye, challenging me. She wouldn’t let me out of my room, blocking each door as I tried to exit. She announced she would do it all night if need be. And you know what? She is perfectly capable of that. I could feel panic start to set in (What am I supposed to do now?) but I worked to retain my calm exterior. I was not going to give up or give in or be upset. I would stay firm and strong and calm.

“I’m done with this conversation,” I announced. “I’m not going to answer you anymore if you talk to me about it.” I had to do my part to put this issue to rest.

But the conversation wouldn’t stop. I kept repeating that I was done, and she kept going. She was going to WIN.

Finally, Rachel (my niece) said, “I’m going to the store. Wanna come with me?”

Oh thank you, my dear Rachel! Something had to give here. Somehow this needed to stop. I was trying to extricate myself, but Maddie wouldn’t allow it until that moment.

We were only gone 15 minutes, but it was a very valuable 15 minutes. I had been trying to leave, but wasn’t able. It was a good instinct. When I got home, Maddie was calm and remorseful.

I looked at the clock. We had spent an hour and 15 minutes in this cycle of questions and explanations. I pointed that out. She could have accomplished so much during that time or even gotten some sleep. She announced she was now ready to shower, but then it was late, so I suggested she just get into bed.

“I just want to sit here and mope,” she said.

“What are you feeling right now?” I asked.

“Guilt. Regret. Sadness,” she answered. Well, that’s something. Emotions identified and communicated! Nicely done.

“Do you know what you do when you have feelings like that?”

“No.”

“Well, when you have guilt and regret, you think about what you did. You think I don’t want to feel like that again, so I won’t do that again.”

“Oh.” News to her, as usual.

“Let’s start fresh tomorrow,” I suggested. “We’ll just start over. If you’re awesome all day, starting right now, and you get up in the morning on time and do your homework and shower without any arguing, you can stay up a little late to watch The Flash.”

I have learned that if she has already lost any chance at a reward, there is no more leverage. I try to keep that in mind. There has got to be something fairly immediate at stake, and even then, as we know, the outcome is not guaranteed. Not even a little bit.

“Okay,” she said. I hugged her and we talked and I said goodnight.

It was a hell of a day. I am glad it’s was over. I wish I could be optimistic that tomorrow will be a better day, but reality and experience tell me it’s a crap shoot. It seems to me that a third morning in a row like this can’t possibly happen. I’m not sure I could take it. Maybe I would give up. I can’t do this forever. I can’t even do it the rest of the year. And I’m not sure even another day would be survivable. I might need to take my puppy and run away, as I sometimes think to myself.

But I won’t. I’ll be here. I will get up in the morning and give it a try. And hope for the best, or at least something better than the worst.

What a Difference a Day Makes

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

This weekend I was elated. Maddie had a fair amount of math homework to do, and once I got her started, she went into her room, closed the door, and ACTUALLY DID HER HOMEWORK. I let her listen to music, even though her phone is involved, and that could lead to all kinds of distractions. I assured her at any moment I could burst through her door, so she’d better not be enjoying any screen time or there would be trouble. Happily, to my surprise, she buckled down and did her work.

Some time later, I checked on her. She was on her phone. I admit I was skeptical that everything was in order, but instead of being accusatory, I simply asked, “Did you finish all your homework?”

“Yes!” she answered with enthusiasm. She was light and happy. And now I was too.

“Maddie!” I said. “I think you’re transforming yourself as a student!”

She looked at me and smiled.

“Don’t you think so?” I added.

“Well, I do NOW!” she replied. She smiled. I was so glad I had said that.

I wanted her to feel the satisfaction and pride that come along with that accomplishment. I realized then that this new leaf might blow away with the fall winds, or dry up and disappear by the next day, but it was important that Maddie have this idea that she CAN transform. I believe she can.

Yesterday was a good day.

And now it’s today. It’s only 7:25 a.m. and I’m already rather discouraged. That’s not to say I don’t believe in Maddie anymore. It’s just that reality has set in. One good day doesn’t mean even one other good day.

I woke up her at 6:30. I’m so nice about it. I bring our little white fluff ball of a puppy with me and he wiggles and wriggles and buries his head in her blanket trying to gain access to her face for some kisses. Maddie lets our dogs lick her right in the face, and Banjo was going for it. It’s the best possible way to wake up because you can’t possibly be mad. It’s too adorable.

I stayed for awhile, searching for her favorite sneakers, getting out some shorts for this hot day and a shirt I was pretty sure she’d be excited to wear. And then the inevitably difficult search for a matching pair of socks. She doesn’t care if they match, but since she’s wearing shorts today, I put in some extra effort.

“I’ll be back,” I said.

My mornings are full of trips upstairs and downstairs. Up to work on breakfast and lunch, down to try to persuade Maddie to get up. It’s not unusual for me to make 5 or 7 round trips. (I have developed some pretty healthy calf muscles over the years!) This morning was typical.

Usually by the third time I go to Maddie’s room, I start to get a little stressed out. I try so hard to keep calm, and this morning I was pretty successful. But 15 minutes before the cab was to arrive, she was still wrapped up in her blanket. “Maddie! You HAVE to get up!” I announced. I have to admit, there was probably a little panic in my voice by this point.

“Don’t rip my blanket off! I’m getting up.” Shortly after that she was in the bathroom. Problem solved. It was cutting it close but she was up. It would all be okay.

At 7:10 she still had not appeared in the kitchen. Her breakfast had been sitting on the bar waiting for her. I still had to put her lunch in her backpack and fill up her water bottle. I ran downstairs, and there she was back in bed. She sleeps cocoon-style, wrapped in her blanket head to toe. I couldn’t believe it, which is kind of hilarious now that I think about it. The bigger surprises are when Maddie does what she’s supposed to do. This was a typical morning.

So I grabbed her clothes and together we got her dressed. It’s absolutely ridiculous for me to be dressing my rather curvy 15-year-old daughter. But the point was to get her to school, so I overlooked the absurdity of the situation and did what needed to be done. Well, not overlooked exactly. I just did the absurd anyway.

In her usual fashion, while I was running up and down the stairs as if the house was on fire, Maddie stopped to pet the puppy. In times of panic, she will still stop what she is doing to pet a dog, consider a question, or even just for dramatic effect. That last one makes my blood boil. Well, they all kind of do.

So this morning at that 7:10 mark, when I was scrambling to get her socks on her feet, I asked Maddie, “What were you THINKING?”

The truthful answer: “I wasn’t thinking at all.”

And therein often lies the problem. Most people would at least consider the outcome. It would be obvious that not getting up would come with some consequences. I don’t even think she was planning to stay home exactly. She just didn’t want to get up. Does that make sense? No, not really. But in her mind, only the not getting up part was relevant.

At about 7:18 she headed out to meet the cab in our driveway. I had heard the car drive up at 7:15, right on schedule. I hate for her to be late, but the cab driver is patient.

The moment she walked out the door, I was so relieved. I had been up for about an hour, and that hour is often the most stressful part of my day. My primary jobs as a parent are to keep my kids safe and fed, love them, and to get them to school. There is a mountain of other parenting to do as well, but those are the fundamentals. So at 7:15 when Maddie is gone, I feel triumphant. I really do. I accomplished something really important today.

What will tomorrow morning be like? Probably a lot like today. What about this afternoon? How much homework awaits, and will she do it willingly and independently? I expect to be challenged. That’s me keeping at least one foot in reality. I have to do that, otherwise I will be constantly disappointed. I prefer to be pleasantly surprised like I was yesterday with the homework thing.

Here’s hoping for an easy afternoon and a pleasant surprise in the morning despite the high probability of a repeat of today.