It took me a second to realize I was fucked.

I had just gotten home from the airport and herded everyone inside, passing the bookbags hung neatly on the hooks in the mudroom, when it hit me.

In a very slow motion ohhhhhh ssshhhhhittttttttt fashion.

Sure, I could take over schlepping out the garbage and figuring out how to work the air compressor to put air in my leaky tire, even though measuring air in pounds is stupid because air doesn’t even weigh anything and it should be weighed in balloons. Like, my tire is low, let me pump about 4 balloons of air in it fast so we don’t die going 70mph on the highway.

But, what about the homework!?

It was obvious, three days in, that I was not built to help small children with homework.

Ok, so let’s see, we need to color the objects that begin with M.

No, the things that begin with M. Remember the M sound?  Mmmmmmm.

No, Jude. Ladder doesn’t make the M sound. Think Mmmonkey or mmmustache or mmmmurder-UGH IT’S THE MOUSE JUST COLOR THE MOUSE JESUS CHRIST.

He’s in kindergarten, I was expecting pipe cleaner art and popsicle stick counting, not two pages of math and letters every night.

Ok so we have to trace the numbers and then draw a square around all the frogs in the picture.

No, trace the numbers, like, on the line.

The line is already there for you, sweetie, just write over it with your pencil.

No, just write over the number that is already there, here let me move your hand for you, do you see what I am doing right now, like, WITH YOUR OWN HAND THAT I AM MOVING LIKE A PUPPET!?

Yeah ok, mommy doesn’t have the vocabulary to effectively articulate a way to make you trace things, and she doesn’t want to yell and scare you, so she’s going to go get daddy who is super good at tracing so she can go and drink her failures in the bathtub for a few minutes, you’re doing so good baby, just um, wait right here, he’ll be right in.

You guys, there was a brief moment in college I had considered become a teacher, like, of children.  And every morning when my alarm goes off at 6am, I momentarily entertain the thought of homeschooling.

Can you imagine what our future would be like if I was in charge of educating people?

Have you ever seen the movie Nell?


You are welcome, America.

Homework time has become a wrestling match that neither Andy or I wanted to be tagged into.

Their school is amazing, and we love how much the boys are learning, we’re very encouraging, and we have no doubt our children fucking brilliant, but Andy and I are apparently not patient enough or capable of explaining educational concepts to our children.

How is this possible?  How can we not be good at this, we teach our kids awesome stuff all day!?

Traveling, golf, soccer, cooking, all the words to Coolio’s Gangsta’s Paradise, they learn the coolest shit!

But, the second Jude climbs up on his chair at the counter with his folder, we immediately try to out busy one another.

Andy, I can’t help him, I have to make dinner.

You can’t help him while you are in the kitchen cooking?

What, like, next to the stove, where there is fire?  You want him to do homework next to fire?

No, but you could pop over to the counter every few minutes to help him, I have a work phone call in a few minutes.

But, I’m on my period, and the blood is just everywhere, it’s not safe.

Jesus, fine.

The second Andy figures out how periods work, I am screwed.

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