I was never good at doing homework or assignments in a timeous fashion.
The issue was partly that when I started school, I really should have been listed as legally blind, as my eye sight was so bad. But I thought it was normal, so created coping methods to get through the day. I would listen well, even while working on something else.
I was always keenly aware of what was going on around me. If the teacher stood at the chalk-board and wrote things, I would listen to what she was saying and remember. My sight was so bad that I could not even make out the wording on the board even if I sat in the front row.
When I was at school the eye nurse would come along with the big eye chart, all the kids in the class would stand in a row. They would file forward and read off the letters and she would fill in a form and send you on your way. If you had a problem you were then referred to go and get a more extensive eye test. My surname started with an “M” so that always put me somewhere in the middle.
There was always more than enough time to memorise the letters, so I knew the order by the time my turn came. So no matter which eye I covered, I could fly through that eye chart like no-one’s business. I knew I could not see, but I just thought that was normal, as no one had ever said I had a problem before, or these little deceits of behavior were second nature to me as I always covered up that there was any problem.
As I got older, I continued to develop a pretty good ability to take in information and recall it with ease. The upside was that I did not have to do homework or revision, as I picked up what I needed to in class. The result is that I never really learnt to do homework and study correctly. There was also no one at home when I got home as a child who insisted that I should go and do 45 minutes of home work.
My homework was never checked, so what ever was or was not done, the onus was on me to deal with when I went to school the next day. I also was able to read when I was in Sub A, so the work was not exactly a hardship at the time.
The result was that I never learnt to be diligent about my school work. I am a classic crammer under pressure. Some exams I would write and had probably spent 2 – 3 hours briefly reading through the work the day before. Sure, I would get a bit worried that some of my school friends had revision calendars that had weeks if not months of revision laid out for them. Unfortunately that is not how I rolled.
I managed to get through school and did okay, not great, jus tokay. Obviously I look back and wonder if someone motivated me and made sure I spent the necessary time on homework and revision would I have done better and achieved more. The old “what could have happened” argument.
Connor had an oral to do today at school. I go the note last week. I only started working with him on it yesterday late afternoon. In my defense he had to “interview” his grandparents and then talk about how things were when they were young. I was only going to visit my mom on the weekend, so used that to justify the late preparation of the oral, but in reality I could have started with him before.
So last night I am sitting trying to revise this oral with Connor. I am getting stressed, as I am thinking I have left it much too late, and now I am annoyed with myself.
I am getting more impatient with him as he is not taking this in, and recalling it the way I want him to.
Georgia is climbing on my shoulder and insisting on giving me kisses and hugs. Isabelle is about ready for bed, and is cranky and does not want to drink her bottle. I am thinking about the hours of work I still have to do before I can go to bed.
I remedy the situation by screaming and Georgia and sending her to her room for 15 minutes. I go and put Isabelle in bed in a bit of a rush, and then I bark at Connor for not putting an effort into this oral. I really am terrible at helping kids with homework. I have no patience, and want to just have it done.
I get really short tempered, and impatient, and I am sure I am doing psychological damage to Connor one assignment at a time. I really want to be that mom who wears a floral apron and whips up a batch of brownies while smiling with enduring patience as they assist their child to build a volcano that spews ash, from and a piece of cardboard, three drawing pins, and a roll of twine.
But I am not, I really suck at it. Of course I put the blame squarely on my parents who never taught me good homework-ethics, and never insisted I do well at anything. It really is all their fault.
Poor Connor he really sometimes must think he got the short end of the stick when he got me as a mom!
<note to self, get sh*t together before this child gets to grade four and then the trouble really starts.>