Those early years of homework with my boys were brutal. Sight words. Phonetic readers. Math facts. Homework time seemed to lag on endlessly every night. Then I had my own homework. Agendas that needed to be read and responded to. Piles of handouts that needed to be signed. Permission slips. Each boy would reiterate that all items would need to be completed, signed, and returned, lest they miss out on a sticker, piece of candy, or – worse yet – part of recess.
I started to dream of the days when they would simply come home, do homework, asking for help when needed, and pack everything away. No fuss, no muss. No tears or frustration.
It happened suddenly, but we’ve gotten to that place. I have no agenda to refer to. No worksheets to sign. No flashcards to practice.
I miss it.
It hit me recently that I had done what I set out to do. They are becoming that independent student I once was; the kind of student that knows what to do and gets it done. They are both on the honor roll. One is even taking an advanced math class. I don’t even have to nag.
I miss working with them, sitting side-by-side while we practice drills, soaking up all that little boy-goodness. I miss seeing the lights of recognition when a concept is mastered.
If I were somehow granted a do-over, I would appreciate those evenings sitting knee-to-knee, flash cards askew, papers haphazardly stacked awaiting my signature (and often a check) while we struggled with memorization and an epic case of the wiggles.
As the minute hand of the clock continuously ticks, it is a reminder of another moment gone. Missed. Nothing more than a memory, slipping quietly away.
Heather spends her days in the world of finance and the nights juggling the demands of a wife, mother, and freelancer. Her blog, Cool and Hip, I Am Not, is widely read by at least six people. She loves long walks on the beach, appropriately placed apostrophes, and ice-cold Diet Cokes.