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3:21 PM

April 9, 2012

They eat your change. NOM! NOM! NOM!

Now that the odyssey that is snack time is over, it’s time to do second grade homework. One of the upsides of having kids is that you get to relive school all over again. It allows you to make up for those things you missed in the third grade. Don’t believe me, go ahead and try to divide a fraction.  Nothing will make you feel dumber when you’re sitting there with you kid going, “WHERE THE F*** IS THE OBJECT OF THE PREPOSITION?!”

My teachers would always say, “I find when it comes to math using money always helps.” To this day I don’t understand that. You’re seven. To you everything costs 100 dollars.

Maybe it was just that I didn’t get it. Because the teacher would mention money and suddenly my classroom turns into A Beautiful Mind.

“The answer is the coefficient of e.”

Then there’s me, sitting with my hand out counting the change from my little rubber change purse, praying the teacher doesn’t call on me.

“David, what did you get for an answer?”

“Two nickels and a penny?”

Using money still doesn’t help me solve math problems. Well, with a few exceptions.

“If you have zero dollars, and someone in HR won’t hire you because they didn’t like your smile, how many dollars are you left with?”

It didn’t help then, it doesn’t help me now and it isn’t helping me with my son’s homework.

“So, the gum costs 35 cents, the pencil is five cents and Julie has two dimes and a nickel. Then the answer is?”

“You can’t afford any of them Daddy because you don’t have a job.”

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3:17 PM

April 5, 2012

This picture has nothing to do with this post.

When it’s just the girl everything is fine. When it’s just the boy everything is fine. When the two of them are together, all holy hell breaks loose. It starts before we they even get back from school. They just find a reason to fight. It’s as if they aren’t happy unless they’re unhappy.

“I WIN! I got to the door first.”

“No, you pushed me. You shouldn’t push.”

“Guys, this isn’t a competition. You’re walking.”

“But he pushed me.”

“Don’t push your sister. We don’t race on the stairs. It isn’t safe. Besides, the use of the hands is against International Stair Racing rules.”

“Ha, ha, I won.”

“Daaaadddy, he’s teasing me.”

“Don’t tease your sister.”

“But I won.”

“See he’s still teasing me.”

I’d keep on writing about this, but I’m not sure how it ended. I think my mind actually blacked out before some psychological condition set in.

When we eventually do get in the door they play this interesting game. They try to discover the most difficult way to pass through a door, and then just leave everything on the floor.

I worked all day to try to declutter. Within 30 seconds of entering the house they’ve managed to make it look like I’ve been robbed. Actually, I’d probably be better off if I were robbed. Least they would be taking things away. I’m pretty sure they’ve actually taken other kid’s papers from school just so the can spread them around the house. I know they have because the names of other children are on those papers. That or I brought home the wrong kids.

“Can we have snack?”

Well, at least they asked, but not really. The girl manages to knock a full glass of orange juice all over the floor. Now all their stuff  has taken over the floor and half of it’s covered with orange juice.

I’d make her clean it up, but I think she wants to. To them the idea of cleaning is fun. I can’t say I blame them. That Swiffer Wet Jet makes my uterus tingle. I don’t know how the Pilgrims cleaned without one.

If I let them clean up the mess I’ll end up with the orange juice all mopped up, the entire Swiffer cleaning solution used on one spot and more stuff knocked all over the floor. So they win, again.

I’m not sure when this all went wrong. I remember I made annoying my parents an art form. Now, as I scrub orange juice off the ceiling, (I have NO idea how it ended up there.) I’m paying for that. Karma is real, and it is deep.

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3:12 PM

April 4, 2012

Driving the kids home from school picks up right where we left off – talking. Sometimes picking up with the same story. I don’t know how they go six hours in-between a conversation, and can just pick up without missing a beat.

“… and Dillon, when he was on the roller coaster at Six Flags…”

They boy has begun a conversation, and this angers the girl.

“Well Daddy, well at MY school…”

“Hey, I was talking! At Six Flags they have a ride…”

HEY!!! I WANT TO TELL MY STORY FIRST!

“The next person who yells from that back seat is getting pushed out the door. So someone better learn to tuck and roll.”

There’s something about yelling in the car that makes it ten times more irritating. Maybe it has something to do with the 12-year-old girls biked lodged under my car. Don’t worry, she fell off MILES ago, but the sound the bike makes as it gets dragged … it’s atrocious.

“Ok, let’s take turns and let your sister tell us what she has to say, and then you can continue telling me your story about Six Flags.”

“Megan, Me … Megan, she, she gave me, she drawed me a picture of a flower today, and, and I’m going to surprise her by drawing a picture for her, and I drawed a princess.”

“That’s very nice. And it’s ‘drew,’ sweetie. The past tense of draw is drew.”

It’s a learning moment. You have to take advantage of it when they present themselves.

“What’s tense mean?”

This may be one of the hardest moments as a parent, defining everyday words. As adults we know what they mean. Well, we know how to use them in a sentence, but ask me to give you a definition of ‘the’ and I have no idea.

“It’s the … well … it’s the … the … well, in a sentence when you have a word you have to change the form of the word to match the time you’re talking about. Does that make sense?”

“No.”

“Ok, when you are talking there’s three times a sentence can happen in – in the past, present, and future.”

“What’s the ‘present?’”

“It’s what’s happening now. Like we’re talking in the present. Does that make sense?”

“Yes. So I am farting in the present.”

“Not unless you farted.”

Brrrrp

“I just did.”

Seriously, I worry about her.

Of course, the boy hasn’t finished his story, and in the interest of equal opportunity he has to say something. Nothing of importance really. It could be anything. He just needs to speak.

“Daddy, I have a friend at school. He drives dirt bikes on the weekend.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. He’s driving in a dirt bike competition this weekend. He’s finished first in every race.”

This is typical of the boy. He just makes stuff up. Usually it’s not a problem, mostly because he’s eight. Although, you do have have to be careful. When he was in kindergarden he told his teacher I was pulled over and arrested.

“You’re eight. No one is driving a dirt bike.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Fine. He’s driving in dirt bike competitions on weekends, and playing Texas Hold ‘em. Do we have any more questions?”

“What does past mean?”

“We just went over that?

“No, you told me what present meant.”

“Ok, it’s something that’s already happened.”

“Like I farted in the past.”

“Exactly.”

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