08 September 2010

Homework For Kids or Moms?

On the rare occasion that the earthlings have homework I pretty much let them do it themselves.  I don't run out for a massage or pedicure at homework time, I'm still home.  Dear readers, I'm not that spaced out.  I guide them but let them do their own things.  Now before you think that my earthlings are geniuses, remember that Gael is 5 and Aiden is 3 so homework is not really homework.  Hey, they don't even have grades at this level.  It usually involves sticking pictures of how your family spends weekends or what the kids enjoy doing or their favorite food on a large sheet of colored paper.  So it isn't exactly the multiplication table of nine that absolutely has a right and a wrong answer.

See I figure it's art, so I should just let them be.  I make sure the work gets done but I don't tell them how to do it.  Aiden sticks his pictures upside down.  Gael doesn't put any color when he doesn't feel like it.  Aiden refuses to put any stickers or anything decorative.  Gael wants to stick lion stickers on a baking picture.  SURE!  Go ahead, it's your work not mine. 

BUT.  But. But. But.  Today was Aiden's culminating activity at school.  After the short program we walked around the classroom looking at all the cool and artsy stuff the kids did.  When it came to the area of the show and tell large sheets of colored paper of what you enjoy doing, Aiden's was obviously the ONLY one done by a 3-year-old.  All the others had the pictures neatly aligned, with cute little drawings of flowers and shells and butterflies, stickers in all the right places.  His was easily the messiest and most incoherent work but it was totally endearing.  Totally.  Dude. 

I know I'm usually the oddball but it got me wondering if I'm the one being stupid.  Maybe I should tell Aiden that the pictures don't want to be hung upside down like bats.  Maybe I should suggest to Gael that a cake sticker is more relevant than a lion sticker.  Maybe I should pretty it up myself when they are done.  Well, I could be wrong.  The bad parent.  The slacker mom.  Come on, even I admit there is a possibility that I am mistaken.  A one in a billion possibility, but it's still probable.