My Life Motto: Just Get Through the Day
September 4, 2009
My 8th grader informed me a couple nights ago that he is “dropping” his Language Arts class. In turn I informed him that it is a requirement and that “dropping” classes does not happen in eighth grade. He insists that he will be able to drop it. Because it is a dumb class. Why exactly is it a dumb class? Because the teacher gave the assignment to make a poster which expresses your “Life Motto.”
Just between me and you, internet, I think that sounds like a dumb assignment also. I mean, life motto? He is 13 for crying out loud. His life motto does not extend beyond hanging out with his friends and eating junk food.
Of course I kept that to myself and gave what I thought were constructive ideas for doing the assignment. But they were all dumb ideas. Dumb ideas he does not need because he is DROPPING THE CLASS.
Finally I just had to step back and say, “Good luck with that, son.”
I know you are wondering if he did end up doing the assignment. Yes, he did. At 6 am Monday morning he thrust a piece of paper torn out of a spiral notebook into my face. On it he had scrawled: Life is like a box of chocolates. But he misspelled chocolates and erased it and wrote over it.
“There. Are you happy?” he asked me.
That was his poster of his life motto.
I am not really sure what it says about him.
That he is like Forest Gump?
That he likes chocolate?
That he is lazy? stupid? unoriginal?
That he is destined for a life wearing an orange jumpsuit?
He thinks it says: This is a stupid assignment and I refuse to put forth any effort because I am way too smart for this.
I am pretty sure it doesn’t say that at all.
I was at the middle school today and stopped by his guidance counselors office. I was briefly telling her that we needed to set up a meeting with his Language Arts teacher. (This is my son with ADHD who is supposed to have an IEP and 504 plan set up.)
“How do you think he is doing in the class?” she asked and I tried not to laugh.
“Uh, I can not imagine that he is doing well.”
And that my friends, might just be the understatement of the year.
*****
Monday evening from 6-8pm my 8 and 10 yr old sons have football practice. Tuesday same thing. Wednesday they have off. Then one of them has practice on Thursday evening and one of them has it on Friday evening. Or at least that is how it worked the past two weeks and so I assumed that was the plan for every week. Oh silly me.
Yesterday I endured an hour long tantrum by my 8 yr old because he didn’t feel like going to football practice. The reason he didn’t want to go was because his brother wasn’t going. That meant that his brother was going to potentially be having fun at home with his friends from the neighborhood, while he, the poor long suffering 8 yr old, would be toiling away at football practice. And that is decidedly UNFAIR. And isn’t it obvious that I hate him and love his brother better? Everyone knows it.
After an eternity of patient and calm reassurances from me… oh who am I kidding, I can’t even type that with a straight face. In actuality my head spun around a few times and I threw out every threat imaginable and finally he complied and put on his football stuff.
We arrive at the field and get out of the van. I help him get his pads on and we are still in the parking lot when I see my 10yr old son’s coach. Huh, that is odd, I think.
So I walk over to him. And I ask, in a tone that implies it is the most ridiculous question ever.
“Do we have practice tonight?”
He looks at me as if I am retarded because what other earthly reason would I have for being at the football field except to be at practice.
“Yes, we do.”
I let out a long sigh.
“We are going to be late.”
I see him look over my shoulder, back to the van where a child in full football gear is standing. He is confused.
I gesture behind me, “I brought the wrong kid.”
Yes, yes I did.
*****
My voice is still not totally back. A couple days ago The Heather B! called me and was shocked that I was not exaggerating about my voice. “You sound like a MAN,” she said. Indeed I did. Now, I sound like I have a serious smoking habit.
Last week when I was still whispering, and not even doing that well, my 8yr old kept prentending that he couldn’t hear me. I would say something to him and he would say, “What?” Even when it was abundantly clear what I was saying. I would repeat myself over and over again. And he would say, “I can’t hear you. What?”
One afternoon I was so thoroughly annoyed I grabbed his shoulder with my left hand, gesticulated wildly with my right, got right up in face, and whispered as loudly as I could, “CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?” It was like a Verizon commercial. Only more aggressive.
Despite the crazed look in my eye, this child responded, “What?”
Obviously his life motto is: live dangerously. Written in my Xanax.
Posted by Chris @ 3:23 pm | 46 Comments
