I'm So Tired

You might think, from the title, that I'm talking about myself. But I'm not; I'm going to describe yesterday's "homeschooling."

It began with Ian staring at his Math book (of which I cannot help him with and have hired a tutor; a nice, quiet young man whom Ian believes is OCD because he likes to erase things.). He stared at it and I suggested, in a nice voice (it was still early in the day) that perhaps he'd like to do another subject first. "No, I'm just too tired."

Let me back up. I went to work early so I could get home about 10:00 to help him with school. It was now 11:00 and he just managed to fall out of bed and was dressed in the same clothes he went to bed with and...that he wore the day before. Some days I'm just happy if he brushes his teeth.

Anyway, I coddled him through prepositions, attempting to explain what kinds of words they are (remember, I have a Masters in English) and then just gave up and said, "Ok, they're just little words, ok? Just little words."

"I'm just so tired," and now he's moaning in what he thinks will garner him sympathy.

It doesn't. Instead I try what I believe may be one of my best teaching moments yet. I brightly say, "how about we read. I'll read to you. Just like when you were little. "

"Okay, but I'm still really tired."

I turn so he doesn't see me gritting my teeth and begin to read chapter four of "Treasure Island." Now I remember the movie; it was filled with people swinging from tree to tree and tigers and bears attacking at night (never mind how a tiger and a bear could get on a deserted island) and great inventions and houses up in trees. The book is not at all like this. As a matter of fact, it's kind of boring. I always wonder what makes certain books classics. My high school students told me that if a book was boring it was a classic. I would launch into these speeches on what defines great literature, blah, blah, blah, but now I think they were right. "Treasure Island" is a classic and it is boring.

Now Ian is down on the floor with his pocket knife cutting teeny-tiny squares out of the carpet.

I continue with the chapter and find myself wondering if we could possibly get by without reading this book and watching the movie instead.

Now Ian has rolled onto his back and he's tearing off small pieces of electrical tape and sticking them on his bookshelf.

I'm wondering how unethical it would be for me to just answer the reading questions; I've seen the movie.

Now Ian is on his side and he's taping two copper pipes together with the electrical tape.

I'm wondering if the Homeschooling Gods would find out if I wrote the end-of-the-book essay and not Ian.

Now Ian has taped the copper piping onto his Air Soft pistol.

I stop reading and Ian continues taping. I ask, "Where did you get all this stuff?"
"What stuff?"
"The tape, the piping, the knife."
"Dad gave me the knife."
"Okay, but why do you have the rest of this stuff in the bedroom?"
"I got it from the garage."
"That's not what I asked."
"What did you ask?"

I'm so tired, I'm really just so tired.