Skip to main content

Homework Help Desk: In the Trenches


My daughter has to choose a poem, memorize it, and recite it in front of her class on Friday.
This evening my daughter has been complaining vociferously, cursing poetry, having to read it is a bore, having to memorize it is a waste, having to recite it is an indignity, having to listen to other people recite it is an injustice of great magnitude.

My daughter hasn't shared her chosen poem with me, she's too nervous. But she asked me for some advice anyway, and I stupidly offered her some.

I cautioned her against reciting poetry in that horrid monotone that people often adopt when reading poetry. I suggested she kick that approach to the curb and that she adopt a more natural tone.

She stared at me with her withering stare of pure disdain. But poetry isn't NATURAL, MOTHER.

I mentioned I would have loved having an opportunity to recite poetry when I was in school. My son said he loved to read, memorize, and recite poetry. My daughter glared at me, then turned the glare on her brother and said, "I didn't ask to be born into this family."

Ouch. 

My go to method for alleviating stress and sorrow is to act like a fool and incite riotous laughter from the children, so in that spirit, I performed an interpretive recitation of my son's spelling lesson. I was brilliant, my performance was a hit. Both kids laughed, everybody felt better.

My job was done.

As I stood up from the table my girl wrapped her arms around me and gave me a hug.

My girl went back to her work, happily abandoning poetry for the surety of science.

My son set to work on his homework too, part of which was to write an acrostic poem.

This is what he came up with:

High winds
Unpredictable
Run
Run for your life
It
Can cause mass destruction
An ambulance is
Needed --
Emergency!


I think this is a super acrostic poem. I wonder if perhaps he'll be docked points for the repetition of the word run ... but I think using run twice works here, it gives the the poem a sense of urgency, and perhaps the "It  Can cause mass destruction" isn't what the teacher is looking for, but again, I think his approach is bold and innovative. Go poetry boy! Go go!!

The best part of  tonight's homework help desk came later.

My son's spelling assignment was to write a letter to a cowboy or cowgirl (I have no freaking idea why a cowperson, but there it is) using four words from his spelling list.

This is what he came up with:


Dear Cowboy Bob,

I heard your fifteen year old mustang impaled you with a fragment of goggles. Hope you live.

Sincerely,
S.

That right there, people, that's what's known as a "Pièce de  freaking résistance".

Genius.













Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Just don't call me Late to Dinner

A friend recently asked if I was ever called Maggie or if I'd always been a Margaret. That got me thinking about my name. I hate my name.  Hate it. I have never liked my name. It seems fine to call other people Margaret. It sounds agreeable enough when I say hello to another Margaret. "Hello, Margaret!" I might say. And the name doesn't offend me. It doesn't make me recoil or wretch. It's just a name. And a fine name at that. But it's not for me. I don't feel like a Margaret. It doesn't fit me well.  Hangs off me all funny and weird. Can't ever seem to wear it comfortably. I don't like to be called by name. Frankly, it makes me feel sort of sick.  When I was a chubby 3rd grader I decided I wanted to go by a nickname.   Peggy. I wrote it in my clumsy curly cursive on the front inside cover of my books.   I said it out loud to myself in the mirror. Peggy. Peggy! I liked it. First of all Peg

Inspired by Louise Gluck, a Poem about the Heavens

a poem by Louise Gluck  Under Taurus We were on the pier, you desiring that I see the Pleiades. I could see everything but what you wished.  Now I will follow. There is not a single cloud; the stars appear even the invisible sister. Show me where to look,  as though they will stay where they are. Instruct me in the dark.  Isn't that beautiful? That to me is just perfect.  Isn't that perfect? Everything just comes together. Perfect.  Of course, I feel inspired. Under Uranus... easy fishing, that. Low hanging fruit. But can you blame me? I know Uranus isn't a constellation, but it is a heavenly body, so I let it stand.  "Of course,  you 'll have to  know  exactly where to  look  for it. Barely visible by a keen naked eye on very dark, clear nights... Uranus  is...visible during the evening hours among the stars of Pisces, the Fishes."   https://www.space.com/22983-see-planet-uranus-night-sky.html

Thinking about my son, jail, near death experiences, and hoping for the future

It's disconcerting when your 9 year old son asks if there are any jails in town that he could tour. My first thought, naturally enough, was that my son was planning a life of crime and wanted to see where he'd be spending 5-8 years of his life. But then I took comfort in the realization that my son is a dear darling boy who absolutely can not think past this moment. THIS moment. THIS MOMENT. He is the boy who tried to pick up fire, the boy who tried to put the knife in the toaster, the boy who ate his entire chocolate Advent calender in one sitting, never contemplating for a second what would happen next. The look of surprise and hurt after the touching fire thing was heart breaking. He was utterly disconsolate on December 2nd when he found he had no more candy and would have to watch his sister eat her stale misshapen chocolate stockings, stars, and bells, one each morning, for 24 days, in front of his very eyes. He was completely dumbfounded not not just a lit