We are getting settled into our routine for the most part. That’s good.
But we’re not entirely settled. Every homework assignment is something new, every quiz the first quiz, and that makes the atmosphere tense, particularly on a Sunday afternoon. Because no one does homework on Friday or Saturday, right? J can barely restrain herself from wailing when a little schmutz lands on her sketchbook page. M is grumbling because her quiz grade hasn’t been updated on the online system.
There is quite a bit of moving around from one place to another. I slip down to the basement playroom to escape the tension. Shortly afterwards J follows me, under a dark grey tension cloud, asking for help on a writing assignment. Later she runs upstairs for something and in that tiny moment in which I am able to turn back to my laptop, M makes her way downstairs, ranting about how J’s piles of folders and papers seem to cover every surface on the main floor (it’s kind of true). But then J arrives back downstairs to resume our writing coaching session, and M’s appalled that we would believe it’s okay to speak in her presence.
I know that this will calm down. Once they’ve earned a few more grades and figured out what all these new teachers want from them, once J’s art sketchbook looks less spectacularly new, they will relax a bit. And, really, I am so fortunate. They have no major learning issues (yes I knocked on wood) and they care about school. Which is awesome. I shouldn’t complain. Last Sunday afternoon, though, it was tough not to feel like complaining a little bit.
Overheard, just now, from M (studying at the dining room table) calling out to J (studying at my desktop computer), who is probably breathing too hard or sighing or something: “J, stop! Seriously!”
Apparently it’s best to avoid 7:30 pm on a Tuesday as well.