A Recipe For Disaster

My son sits in front of his math homework purposely looking like a cow at the slaughterhouse: clueless and unaware. We know that children get scared and frustrated when they don't understand content--you've seen those adorably simplified "Sylvan Learning Center" type commercials: "But Mom, I hate homework!!!"; and Mom's like "We thought Timmy would never learn!". And don't get me wrong, I take all that seriously and am generally supportive. My son does bring an extra ingredient into the mix and that is his high opinion of himself and his inalienable right to fun times all the time. My son is genuinely outraged that displeasure exists in his life at all. He can't believe the audacity of math, how dare you math, come in to my day, and ruin it? Don't you know who I am math? Fuck You math. This is who my son is and I have no illusions about it. And this I shall not tolerate. I throw around my "Boy do you know Obama used to get up at 430 AM to do his homework with his mother???", to no avail. Have you ever seen an incipient eye roll? It's worse than the actual full on eye roll because it barely happens--only just enough to piss you off but not be actionable. After endless variations of stop daydreaming--what are you doing--put down my damn cell phone--pick up your damn pencil before I--, I take the high and mighty approach we mothers can't seem to leave alone. I'm talking about the oft used tone my son derisively describes as "speech giving":

"It is apparent to me how much you refuse to focus. This is not the hard math, this is not even the math that takes a long time. I can see it in your face that you are choosing to not think about it and think about fun things instead."

He barely keeps from smiling. I pretend to not notice and continue to my grand finale:

"My helping you wouldn't do any good if you don't focus. And let me tell you, in math, not focusing is... A Recipe For Disaster." (dramatic pause, glare).

My son's face now matches the gravity of the situation. He is definitely hearing me now, I self-congratulate. He opens his mouth to speak and I await his contrite answer. And this little ******* says to me:

"Yes, but... How do I cook it?"