Tonight the focus of our angst has been homework. I’m not convinced I’ve got the skills to be helpful in an area that requires organization and time management, but I am trying. We’ve used an egg timer to keep us focused for short bursts (he does algebra while I clean). I’ve attempted to give him some tips on moving past stuck places so he can keep on progressing, but still, he’s feeling frustrated. Our “productive” conversation quickly devolves into accusations and hurt feelings.
I can see he is overwhelmed. I would like nothing more than to swoop in and help him. That’s my job, right, as the parent? I suddenly get why parents wind up doing their kids’ homework. The problem is tomorrow he’ll get more homework, and next week we’ll wind up in the same situation.
Through tears he looks at me. “I wish we had soup.”
“We had chili, which was pretty good.”
“I know, but I need something hot and soupy.”
I bring him some chamomile tea with lemon. He says it’s close enough to soupy. There was a time in my life when chamomile tea with lemon was the only thing that calmed me and I flash back to that stuck time briefly, hoping his challenges are different than mine.
I can’t do his homework. I can’t make it go away, but I can sit with him and sip tea while he figures it out.
We also watched this: