No, no. You are not neglected and forgotten. You are merely neglected.
My son Jake’s homework now is less frequently neglected but habitually forgotten.
Surely someone else remembers the big social studies map project he was working on, the one that was due last week, the one that we spent ALL Sunday doing, plus more work on Monday and even more on Tuesday. I had to head to Houston for Friday (followed by Las Vegas on Saturday) so I left here, certain Jake was in a good place, confident he was ready to shine, shine, shine.
And today after school I wait for him to hear about his magnificient mapping grade because it was a beautiful map, especially once he redid it on a poster board, and it had nineteen landforms, not six, AND a colorful key with creative names. A true work of art, a true statement of one’s skill and dedication.
Not to mention priorities.
You see, it wasn’t until I asked him today, Monday afternoon, how the map went over with his teacher when he choked out, ‘I never turned it in.’
For those in the Montana state that couldn’t hear me shattering the crystal with my shreik….it was bad.
I’ve taken to my bed. With a pint of ice cream and I don’t know when I’m going to be up.
Well, actually I do. Tomorrow’s Halloween and I’ve helping my younger son Ty’s class party.
But until then I’ve holed up with a fascinating book, The Female Brain, because at least that brain–even flooded with all its chemicals and hormones–makes sense to me.