September: The Honeymoon Stage.

The school year begins, and everyone has the best of intentions. Enthusiastic to get everyone started on the right foot, you try to make homework into a pleasurable game. You take your child to the local coffee shop and do homework together over Italian sodas. You fix hot chocolates to accompany the homework you do at home, even though the weather hasn’t started to change. You snap pictures of your child doing homework. You actually believe that this year won’t be so difficult. You believe this because you aren’t paying attention to the fact that this light load is only the warm-up. The change is on the horizon, but you just don’t see it yet. Enjoy your ignorance; it is bliss.

October: The Doubting Stage.

Warm-up is done. Now you’re starting to see the real workload, and your child’s frustration is on the rise alongside it. You start to wonder why the extra minutes of work prompt such an outcry. The work doesn’t seem so difficult. Your child opens a series of negotiations, but you stand firm. You insist that homework will be started when you get home. Your visits to the coffee shop slowly taper off as you start to create a stronger sense of routine, believing that predictability will ward off your child’s opposition. You are wrong.

November: The Shit-Just-Got-Real Stage.

You are firmly grounded in the battle now. You recognize your opponent’s moves: avoidance, selective hearing, outright resistance, and tantrums. You are developing strategies to meet and deflect your opponent’s advances. You feel like you are playing a metaphorical game of Battleship. Real Battleship games have fallen by the wayside, since you arrive at a point of exhaustion every evening, unable to imagine how you might drum up the enthusiasm required to do something so frivolous. You think back to September. You miss your iced coffees.

December: The Santa Stage.

Occasionally, the homework load eases up because the school has other events. You find the energy to conjure up a couple of great Elf on the Shelf pranks, and you photograph these because you want to record the fact that you have reached a parenting benchmark. You realize, of course, that the moment only marks your willingness to take pains to provide unnecessary entertainment for your child. At some point, homework coincides with a family party, and you find yourself drinking a glass of wine while you oversee the task. Things go well, and you wonder why you haven’t thought about this pairing before.

January: The Grieving Stage.

Everyone is in good spirits after the holidays, and you send the kids back to school with a mixture of sadness and excitement. You’re going to miss the holidays, but you’re excited about returning to the comfort of routines as well. In your post-holiday haze, you forget about the monster that is homework. Yet you are quickly reunited. After an easy week of transition, the assignments ensue with a fervor that reminds you that teachers make New Year’s resolutions too. You realize that their job satisfaction is tied to turning out successful students, and you know that you’re in for the long haul. Spring will be hell. You think about that glass of wine you had in December, but you’ve made a slew of healthy living resolutions, so drinking during homework is out of the question. For now.

February: The Happy Hour Stage.

The teacher clearly has more willpower than you do. The assignments keep coming, but you’ve lost your focus. You’re starting to pair wine with the assignments. Math fact worksheet? That sounds like a Pinot. Spelling? Maybe a Malbec. You think you’re being funny. The amusement takes the edge off a bit, and you relax the rules. Homework now starts at five o’clock now, maybe six. Sometimes you make your husband oversee it after dinner while you enjoy your wine and read funny articles online. Homework? Not too bad.

March: The Two-Drink-Minimum Stage.

The teacher is a marathon runner with these assignments, but it’s no problem because you are a marathon drinker. You even start Facebooking next to your kid while he does his homework, and you pretend like this is the better option because he’s doing the work on his own now. Well, sort of. Really, he’s just staring off into space for longer and longer periods of time, because you’re too busy liking those memes with the drawings of Victorian-era women who are laughing about wine. Other moms have posted these, and you wonder if perhaps they’ve been drinking their way through homework since September. You pour another glass in their honor and wonder why you haven’t initiated a Moms Night Out with these women. Clearly, they are part of your tribe.

April: The Cue-the-Rocky-Theme-Song Stage.

You know what to expect by now. Maybe it has taken till April for you to get it, but there are no more surprises. Homework is a bitch, and it drives your kid nuts, but by now you both know it’s going to get done every night. You start to realize that kiddo has better handwriting, and he is learning how to spell those words more quickly. Hell, he can actually spell unassigned words similar to the words on his list. He is transferring his skills. You have a hallelujah moment, and you quit drinking. You feel like you can do this. You feel powerful. You think you might even pick up running again.

May: The Bitch-Is-Mine Stage.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel, and it’s called summer. You are driving straight toward it. No matter that there’s a headwind – the end is in sight, and you can taste it. The reward is palpable. You are even starting to run on the weekends now. You feel invincible. Your kid’s whining is minimal, and it no longer bothers you. You feel like you have made the parent honor roll. You send the teacher a really nice bottle of wine at the last of week of school – the one that matched the math worksheets so well in February, in fact – and you pray that you won’t start off in the coffee shop again, come September.

 

This author has chosen to publish anonymously to prevent being sent to the Principal’s office. 

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Wannabe's are Guest Authors to BLUNTmoms. They might be one-hit wonders, or share a variety of posts with us. They "may" share their names with you, or they might write as "anonymous" but either way, they are sharing their stories and their opinions on our site, and for that we are grateful.

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