This was an easy night, an early night. We finished up the running around by 6:45; violin lessons and then everyone is home for the night. A nice dinner, no rushing anyone off to somewhere, even some conversation. The rest of the evening to be spent in leisure - some reading, one watching a video, one tinkering with a new invention.
In a fit of minor - but welcome - boredom, I went on the school website to check out the grades of our middle and high schoolers. All of our middle school kids have at least one class in which they are struggling to maintain a passing grade; we try to keep close tabs, encourage extra study time, and take away electronics as necessary. How in the course of a week did a few almost-passing grades become a train wreck?? When did we lose control? Or did we ever have it?
Our child who doesn't struggle also has grades dipping where they've never gone before. Missing a few days last week, trusting that work was made up, that everything is handed in. How do you account for these less-than-expected grades?
The pressure in my head begins.
Calling the most apathetic, and biggest transgressor of failing grades, into the room we ask, "Did you know this was your grade?" The answer, "No. Why? Am I missing something?" The child looks over my shoulder at the computer screen. "Oh, yeah. I was going to work on that and get it ready to hand in.. " I can feel my head pounding, "Oh, no. It was due three days ago. I don't care if you are up all night, it will be completed and handed in tomorrow."
Stan and I chatted for a few minutes before moving on with the evening. Washing some stray dishes seemed a productive activity and little sister joined me to ask if she could pack lunch for one of her siblings. Appreciating and wanting to encourage her thoughtfulness, I talked her through making the sandwich and finding snack containers. In the midst of the lunch-packing, with my hands in soapy water, she discovered that the snack bowl was almost empty and insisted that we fill it right then, and went into her typical determined-to-win-and-not-back-down-at-any-cost-put-on-your-gloves-for-a-fight routine. In between drying my hands and gathering and finishing the lunch packing, I tried to explain that all the snack containers were in the dishwasher - which was running. Her tirade continued and I remind her that I have said over and over that if the snack containers aren't returned, then there will be an empty bowl. She doesn't care, the lunch goes in the refrigerator, my head is close to exploding, and here comes another one.
Carrying a brother's lunchbox and tossing it onto the counter, "Here. He asked me to bring this to the kitchen." This lunchbox belongs to a child who is working on responsibility and self-advocacy; where is he? Why has a sibling taken on this task? As if sending a sibling to toss a lunchbox in my direction shows the least bit of accountability. Taking the lunchbox and finding the child, and knowing the answer already, I ask, "Why didn't you bring this yourself?" A blank stare and, "I don't know." End of conversation. I leave the lunchbox and take my steaming self back to the kitchen.
Dishes done, lunch fixings put away, wiping down counters, just about done for the night and another lunchbox shows up with another child. "Can you pack this?" Innocent enough question, except that we run a very routine-oriented ship around here; have to, want to, it feels better when we are all following the same script. It sounds rigid and even harsh: lunchboxes are to be unpacked and emptied when you come in from school. Lunches are usually packed before dinner; because, unlike this evening, we are usually going in about three different directions after dinner. For this child of mine, who knows the ropes, to come with an unemptied lunchbox at that time of the evening when the kitchen is cleaned and closed for the day, just makes me shake my head. My heavy, pounding head.
As the girls head upstairs for showers, I decide to sit and write this out. Maybe it's not so bad. Maybe I'm over-reacting about the little things. Maybe... one girl comes because she needs help with a stubborn button. Maybe there will... other girl comes to tell me that her ankle hurts and can she have it wrapped. Sure, okay. Girls settled and tucked in.
I look at Stan and say, "I need that phone to ring and have it be the agency needing us to take a baby. I need a diversion."
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