Where to Start...

I have truly spent the last month temporarily out of order. By way of example, last evening (Monday), at dinner, while discussing the pending book report of Child #2 that has been on-going for the past several days, Child #1 blurts out, “Oh, I have a Heritage presentation I have to do.”

“Oh, what are you supposed to do for this Heritage presentation?”

“You know heritage stuff.”

“Do you have a requirement sheet or an instruction sheet about this presentation that might be more specific?”

“Maybe.”

“Where?”

“In my backpack?”

“So, when is it due?”

“Tomorrow.”

“And you were playing DS and not working on this before dinner because…”

“I forgot.”

At this point the parental dam breaks and the lecture on responsibility, work ethic, video games, 6th grade, and “If I ever did this…” commences.

Ten minutes later…Child #1 and I are in his room, sorting through the papers in his backpack. Some have clearly been there since the first week of school. Others, like the ad for the Jog-a-thon, have only been there for a week and a half. As I straighten a crumpled paper and start reading about the Heritage presentation assignment, Child #1 goes to the other room and announces to his mother, “I can’t find it.” Her response? Something like, “I’m surprised you can find anything in that room.” This is going very well.

I spend much of the next hour taking turns with Julie as we try to guide Child #1 through a 3-5 minute presentation using 4-5 artifacts, while still continuing our work with Child #2 on her book report, without completely neglecting Child #3, who wonders around, singing loudly and asking me if I would like to color with her.

Attempt number one on the presentation lasts 30 seconds and involves a series of disjointed facts read aloud from a sheet of paper; back to the drawing board.

I try to help Child #3 with her reading homework while Julie gets Child #2 started typing on the computer. Child #1 wanders aimless around the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

Child #1 begins turning over various papers on the counter. “Looking for paper.”

“Isn’t there lined paper in the drawer?”

“Oh.” After rummaging through the drawer, he pulls out a phone list. “Can I use the back of this?”

“No. Isn’t there new, unused, lined paper in the drawer?”

“I can’t find it. I think it’s in the girls’ room.”

“No, it isn’t. If the paper in the drawer is gone, we have a whole box in the garage.”

Child #1 wanders down the hall to the girls’ bedroom. I say, in a rather loud voice, “Where do you think you are going?” as I march into the garage.

Twenty minutes later, Child #1 is giving the next draft of his presentation. It lasts 45 seconds, involves an imaginary photo of a frying egg, a refrigerator magnet of an alligator, and a tomato from our garden. At least he made eye contact when presenting the imaginary photo.

Exasperated, Julie & I begin the, “if I were telling that story, I would do it like this” and I start to wonder if that’s what Child #1 was waiting for the entire time.

By 11pm, the presentation is over three minutes long, involves the requisite artifacts and can be made with some eye contact with the audience. A thought finally occurs to me, so I ask Child #1, “is this sort of like a fancy show and tell?”

“Yeh, one kid brought in his LEGOs.”

“So some of your classmates have already given their presentations?”

“Yeh, I’m kind of the last one.”

“So these presentations have been going on for the last couple of days and it didn’t occur to you that you might want to work on your presentation?!”

“Pretty much.”

“Don’t tell your mother. She may kill you.”

“Oh, and Dad, I just remembered that I have a book report due on Wednesday.”

At this point I head off to Walgreens to print out the frying-egg photos. I am demoting Child #1 to Child #0.