Tall’s teacher assigns homework every night. As Tall’s mother, the responsibility falls to me to make sure he gets it done. I take this job very seriously, and I nag him incessantly until he sits down with his pencil and paper.
The high-end kitchen store where I work expects an appearance from me one night per week. On that particular night, The Husband must prod Tall to do his homework. Sadly, I do not have a video-camera set up to film what goes on in my absence. However, I have the next best thing (a vivid imagination), so let’s take a peek:
The Husband: Hey, Tall, your mom mentioned something about homework?
Tall: (silent, watching TV)
The Husband: Whaddya say we order pizza for dinner again tonight?
Tall: Yeah! I love pizza!
The Husband: Uh, wait, there was something your mom asked me to do … what was it?
Tall: Can we play basketball outside for a couple minutes? It’s not snowing that hard.
The Husband: Great idea! Let’s go.
You know what comes next. I come home from work, pour myself a glass of Chardonnay, and watch TopChef. I verify with The Husband that Tall completed his homework. “Yes, we did it first thing.”
The next morning, Tall is scrambling in his typical Before-School-Mad-Dash of getting dressed, and gobbling some breakfast. As almost an afterthought, I say, “Sweetie, where’s your homework?”
He races over to his backpack and pulls out his homework folder. Six worksheets fall out, none of them touched by human hands. He scoops them up. “Oh, no!” he panics, “we forgot to do these!”
We now have approximately four minutes before the bus arrives. I help him start scribbling in the answers.
(“Mom’s Our Valedictorian”)