Homework

I think we have blogged about this before, but you guys, I completely lose my business when it comes to homework.

And here's the crazy thing I realized last night:  Tommy rewards me for it.

So.  Tommy has long school days, but still has to read for 15 minutes each night and then fill out a reading log, and do one sheet of homework each evening.  His teacher explained that it should be no more than 25 minutes.  (She also said to email her if homework becomes a big deal, e.g., your kid is crying and you are shaking because you are so angry; I have far too much pride to email her BUT MOSTLY I don't want Tommy to get out of homework.)  I do not think this amount of homework is unreasonable and the truth is that he will have much more homework as he gets older and it makes sense to start establishing a habit of doing homework.  This is my opinion; we can safely assume that Tommy does not share this opinion with me.

Anyway.  Last Tuesday, he stuck a wad of toilet paper down his ear, necessitating a visit to the ENT.  On that evening, I was so angry about the paper down the ear (because remember we had already visited this ENT to have him remove a Lego) that I was mean and horrible to him, and he did all his homework beautifully with an eye toward getting me to read Harry Potter to him before bed despite my rage.  (Sometimes I am a horrible mother, and this evening was one of those times, but I did read Harry Potter and I think that goes a tiny bit of the way toward making up for the horribleness.)

Fast forward to last night:  picture me, in the kitchen cooking, and Tommy sitting at the table complaining that he never gets any free time and he is lousy (where did he even learn this word?) at math and he hates writing.  My friends, I lost it completely.  Partially this is because I read all those damn articles about parenting and grit and self-control and success and when Tommy acts like a normal seven year old sometimes it freaks me out.

(I will interrupt my story and say that my husband made me feel better this morning when he said, "I remember when I was a little boy and I was refusing to do my homework and my parents were so frustrated that my dad spanked me.  And see? I turned out alright."  Query whether the comfort from Eli's story is that he is successful (whatever that means) or that Tommy's doting Grandparents were once short-tempered parents themselves.)

Anyway, I yelled and he cried and ultimately, he did a nice job on his homework.  Because of my yelling.  You can be absolutely certain that he would not have done nearly so well if I hadn't yelled.  And this is how he rewards me.  I lose my temper; he does a good job.

Obviously, this is not sustainable for many reasons but mostly because I hate being mean to my children.  And, last night, my perspective still altered by my aggravation, I told Eli that "I refuse to reward Tommy when he does a good job on his homework!  We are going to take away his Lego, or another privilege when he won't sit down for ten minutes and do his math!"

But after some time to think it over, I think we will reinstitute the marble jar (thus rewarding him for being a responsible big boy).  And perhaps I will do a little bit of focused breathing before suggesting that we start in on the homework...