Home-wrecking homework. I detest it as much as the mini men do. I still can’t believe in 2012 we have education that is centred around learning at home when parents and guardians are not trained in the art of learning.
I am responsible for my sons’ learning. I am responsible for them in all facets of education, I know that.
But I cannot reconcile how I send the boys to school, only for them to not be able to demonstrate some simple mathematical equations back to me, yet I’m expected to teach them. How does that work?
I even took time off work to go to a ‘Helping your kids understand maths’ session. We got some laminated cards with numbers, and it was pretty light on detail.
Each time I pull out the laptop for Beau to do his maths, a dark cloud comes over us both.
“What makes a dollar? What about 50 plus fiiiiffffttttt… eeee,” I lead him tentatively.
No response.
“Okay, how about if we had five lots of 20 cents, how much would that be?”
“I’m a loser,” he mumbles.
“Sweetheart, you are not a loser. You just find maths hard at the moment.”
I don’t like him talking like that, so I try and cue him in other ways. I look over at Chick who is humming through his maths like it’s a stroll in the park.
We get through mass and measurement and the race is on for dinner, so I jump up and start cooking. I’m thinking about work stuff at the same time as chopping up the broccoli.
I hate hearing Beau talk like that. It worries me.
I nearly nick my finger.
“Hey Beau, if I have five fingers and cut off one, how many do I have left?” I imagine.
Maybe he’ll get to a day and just ‘get it’? I don’t know. We will keep trying and maybe it will click.
First World problem, I know.
