I'm not going to make it to Christmas break.

Remember last year, or maybe the year before when this blog about the end of the school year was making the rounds? I swear, that mom and I could be BEST FRIENDS FOREVER. She just gets that the end of the school year is basically parties and not even worth the energy it takes to get your kids to school. But here's the thing, it's December and I already feel that way. Like, she's limping across the finish line and I'm not even at the halfway mark yet, and I totally give up.

I should have known that this year was doomed for failure when I lied on Reese's reading log on the first week of school. Twenty minutes a night is overkill anyways. But seriously, I had no idea that today was Reese's class party. Apparently the email AND the paper flyer that came home last Friday didn't make it through my "fuck school" mentality. Or, maybe, just maybe I blacked out the thought that I would have to get through an entire morning routine, with three children, two of which hate the mornings, for my child to learn nothing and party all day. And these party people are the people trying to convince me that twenty minutes a night is important? Oh girl.

And the thing is, the kids are just as done as I am. Camden doesn't start school until 11:20, and this morning I let him have a PJ play date from 8am until it was time to go to school. Don't worry, I set aside five minutes for him to change his clothes and brush his teeth. The Elf isn't even helping anymore. They realize that his beady little eyes can only follow you so far, and then they're on their own. They act like little angels in front of Snowflake, and as soon as they're out of eye shot they turn into wild children who might be being raised by wolves. It's like I'm raising criminals, and training them to only be bad when the police aren't watching.

Everett hasn't even had a nap this week, because four of five days have been early release. Dude, just give us all five days. OR. Bundle all those early release hours up and let us start Christmas break one day early. Both big kids are having two days of parties this week, so I'm thinking that the only people more done than I am are the teachers. Today when I was volunteering in Camden's class I'm 98% sure that we were teaching the kindergarteners how to play craps. I mean, it's a life skill so I happily participated. Plus, I have no idea how to play craps (because pregnant at 19, obvi) so we both learned something.

We are so, so close to the end of this week, and tomorrow is even PJ day, so I don't even have to get anyone dressed. Two more lunches to pack, two more reading logs to forge, two more drop offs and we are done for two whole weeks. Cheers to that!

The Homework "Gray Zone"

Oh my gosh you guys, I think I've committed a mortal sin.  That might be a tad dramatic, but just stay with me on this one.  If your family is anything like mine then you've also been doing the sports hustle.  The one where one parent is shuffling one kid off to Sport A, while the other parent is shuffling another kid off to Sport C, and eventually you guys will meet in the middle at Sport B, and hopefully one of you has remembered the third kid.  Shits getting crazy around here.  

Amidst the shuffle of sports, the state is pretty adamant that we still educate our children.  God knows why, Common Core is basically mind fucking them anyways.  But, with education comes homework.  I have such a love/hate relationship with homework.  On the one hand, I feel like it really ties me into what they're working on in class and keeps everything connected.  On the other hand, I really hate wasting time doing homework.  My feelings aside, homework has to get done, and wine has to get consumed.  It's a hand in hand process, my friends.

So, back to our story at hand.  Reese is in 3rd grade now.  It's a grade that really teeters on 'fun kid school!' and 'holy shit, you're a big kid now' school.  So, sometime in September she got assigned a book report.  We were so on top of that ball it hurt.  We had our book read way before the assigned 'finish reading your book by' date (because it was like 3 weeks out from the date we were handed this assignment), our rough draft was turned in and corrected way early, and then we even managed to type up the final draft!  And then the madness happened.  We had A MONTH from the date that the rough draft was handed back to Reese to the final due date, so, we did what every busy family would do and set it aside.  

The night before the project is due rolls around, and I reread the instructions, and not only is her (now neatly typed) book report due the following day, so is a visual aid and a presentation.  Justkillmenow. So, we get home from cheer at 6:30 and Reese starts making a poster.  Which is literally taking for-freaking-ever.  I mean, how does one even color so slowly?!  It baffles me.  We take a break from our poster, eat dinner, clean up dinner, and start back in on the poster.  At 8:30 we are still working on this damned poster, and suddenly I have a light bulb moment!

"Reese, why don't you say your presentation to Mommy while you color, and I'll write it down for you!"

It was genius, guys.  Nothing could go wrong.  We might even get to bed by 9:30!  Until this sentence happened.

"But I don't know what to say, Mommy."

A large amount of expletives were said in my head, but it's ok, because I'm a problem solver and I had this on lock.  So, here's how her presentation was written (I should probably just be calling this our presentation):

Me: "What was the title of the book that you read, and who was the author?"

Reese:  "Matilda by Roald Dahl."

Me: "How did this story start?"  

"What was the middle?"  

"How did it end?"  

"Who are these characters?"  

"What was the best part?"  

"Would you recommend this book to your friends?"

She answered and I kind of summed things up here and there, and wrote them down for her presentation.  Seriously, it was some gray zone shit.  I don't know that I necessarily wrote her presentation for her, but there was no way it would have sounded the way it did had I not coached every single word out of her mouth.  I don't even know where to go from here.  Do I tell the teacher?  Hell to the no, we don't have time to redo that project.  Do I talk to Reese about it?  Maybe just mention that I helped her so much because this was her first time, and next time she'll be more independent?  Or, do we just forget that this project happened, and try harder the next time?

I should add, we didn't get to bed until 10:30 that night, even with my help.  It's fine though, all of the good parents teach their 8 year olds the magic art of procrastination, and how it leads to better papers in college.