I'd barely recovered from the disaster called "the book report" when Mark handed me a paper from school. It described a science assignment, due in six weeks. I signed the paper, informing Mark's teacher I knew about the project (and, presumably, agreed to help with it).
After six weeks battling the book report, the last thing I wanted to see was another long-term project. My first thought was a very bad word, and my second thought was not much better. My last thought was "CALM DOWN," and because I thought it just like that, in all caps, I'm not sure it really worked.
I wondered aloud if Mark had any ideas for his project. He shrugged and asked if he could play the Wii.
"No," I said, then observed that six weeks was a long time. "Do you want help making a project schedule and to-do list?"
Mark said no, and that he was going outside to play.
It hit me then--the realization that it was time to bring in the big guns. Only this time, the big guns weren't Grandma, but something even tougher--a real life lesson. For both of us.
Mark's lesson was consequences, including what happens when you blow off a big school assignment. My lesson was keeping my mouth shut so he could succeed (or fail) on his own. I wondered whose lesson would hurt more.
I only mentioned the science project once or twice a week after that. Each time I asked if Mark had an idea, he'd reply "Yes!" enthusiastically. The ideas included testing:
After six weeks battling the book report, the last thing I wanted to see was another long-term project. My first thought was a very bad word, and my second thought was not much better. My last thought was "CALM DOWN," and because I thought it just like that, in all caps, I'm not sure it really worked.
I wondered aloud if Mark had any ideas for his project. He shrugged and asked if he could play the Wii.
"No," I said, then observed that six weeks was a long time. "Do you want help making a project schedule and to-do list?"
Mark said no, and that he was going outside to play.
It hit me then--the realization that it was time to bring in the big guns. Only this time, the big guns weren't Grandma, but something even tougher--a real life lesson. For both of us.
Mark's lesson was consequences, including what happens when you blow off a big school assignment. My lesson was keeping my mouth shut so he could succeed (or fail) on his own. I wondered whose lesson would hurt more.
I only mentioned the science project once or twice a week after that. Each time I asked if Mark had an idea, he'd reply "Yes!" enthusiastically. The ideas included testing:
- Whether you get more wet running or walking in a rainstorm (he thought running)
- How fast a puppy grows (This idea came after visiting my friend Jill's adorable new puppies. Mark helpfully pointed out he'd need his own puppy for the test.)
- How fast a kitten grows (after the puppy idea was nixed)
- How long a kid could last inside a running clothes dryer before drying out (I'm guessing the kid was wet from running/walking through a rainstorm)
At least one of those ideas made my head hurt very badly, but still I remained a bastion of supportive encouragement. I offered my scheduling offer each week, and pointed out I'm a professional writer by trade, in case anyone needed writing or editing help. Each week, without fail, my offers were politely declined.
Requests for playing the Wii, however, increased ten-fold. I thought if Mark were smart enough, he'd think of a project that incorporated the Wii, so he could play it in the name of science.
But he didn't figure that out. I, on the other hand, have figured something out--that not nagging is waaaaaay tougher than constant nagging.
This may be the hardest (and longest) six weeks of my life.
Requests for playing the Wii, however, increased ten-fold. I thought if Mark were smart enough, he'd think of a project that incorporated the Wii, so he could play it in the name of science.
But he didn't figure that out. I, on the other hand, have figured something out--that not nagging is waaaaaay tougher than constant nagging.
This may be the hardest (and longest) six weeks of my life.
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