Credit for Trying?

It's June 21st, the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, and the last full day of school for my three children. Notice, I did not say it's their last day of school.  Because it isn't.   We have 1/2 days next week until Wednesday for my high schooler and middle schooler and until Thursday (haha) for my 2nd grader, whose school had to close for a day last fall due to a water main break and ran out of extra days with the hurricane and all.  But, I digress.  Let's not talk about the insanity of our school calendar, shall we?  Rather, let's chat about the insanity of homework at the end of the year.

Yesterday afternoon, after everyone was home from school,  I conducted my afternoon inquiry regarding homework.  This gives me an opportunity to practice my deposition skills so that, if I ever need them again, like when we are paying college tuition, I won't be too rusty.

The high schooler has quarterlies -- those are what we used to call final exams, but which our district has eliminated because they apparently caused our poor, precious future leaders of America a tad too much stress about testing (but, I digress) -- so, no worries there.

I ask my second grader, "James, do you have any homework?"  "No, mom, field day," as if "field day" is a homework pass.  "So, you don't have any reading tonight?"  (Note the leading, follow-up question.)  "No, mom, field day."   Same answer, second time.  Score one for me.  This means that I don't have to fill out the reading journal with another smiley face, instead of actually recording the minutes that he read because, at this point, I have no idea how many minutes he is reading (I know it's supposed to be 20), how many pages he is reading or even what he is reading.  He could be reading cereal boxes for all I know, and, if he did that for 20 minutes, I am pretty sure it would count.  But, he said "field day," so, no worries there.

I ask my middle schooler, "Thomas, homework?"  No answer.  I ask again, raising the volume, "Thomas, homework?"  He lifts one Skull Candy earphone from his ear, "What?"  "Homework?"  "Uh, maybe, um, no.  Not a lot."  "Well, what do you have -- math, you have a test tomorrow, right?" (Note the follow-up question.)  "Yeah.  But, I did the whole study guide in school.  Mom, I'm good."  "Anything else?"  (That's the catch-all question, the one you ask so that the witness can't change his story later.)  "Uh, yeah, Latin.  I have a vocab quiz.  I'm good."  "Do you need to review the vocab with me?"  "No, I'm really good."  So, no worries there.

"Wow, how did that happen," I wonder.   I think I will finish the article I'm writing.  I walk toward my desk.  "Uh, mom."  "Yes, Tom?"  "I need stickers and a stencil."  "What," I reply in stunned amazement, a request for supplies today?  "I need stickers."  "What kind of stickers?  What do you need them for?  "I need them for my group science project.  To decorate the circuit board or something.  I think we have a stencil in the Box."

I am pretty sure there is no stencil in the Box.  There hasn't been one in there for years. Don't know where it went, stickers?  Hmm, let's take a look.  I think to myself, "I hope I find something because I am not, no way, no how, going to the store to buy stickers."

I open the cabinet above my desk to get the Box.  Dear Lord,  it's the Island of Misfit Toys in that cabinet, I realize.  The first shelf ostensibly holds the first aid kit.  But, it's been plundered so many times this year that there's very little aid to be had.  I don't think there even is a box of Band-Aids in there now.  I see the Tylenol and the bottle of vitamins and calcium supplements that I am supposed to remember to take every day.  I found the dog's ear drops, and the math facts flash cards.   Let's leave all that until later, shall we, and just get down the Box.

I take down the Box from the second shelf.   The Box is where I keep all of the things that my young learners may need for exciting things, like group projects.  This sounds great, in theory, except that it's June 20th.   I put the Box on the counter and pull out (with props to Eric Carle): one bag of dried up markers; one bag of cruddy crayon stubs; one old glue stick; one box of colored pencils of various sizes; two broken pencils without erasers; lots of loose index cards and one unopened package of colored index cards (that I bought last July because the Latin teacher said that we needed two packages of colored index cards); and three pencil sharpeners with pencil shavings leaking out all over.  And still, no stickers or stencil.

I keep looking.  I find the heart hole puncher that James immediately starts using on the index cards, thereupon scattering heart-shaped confetti on the floor and counter.  He hole-punches an index card into the shape of a heart, and says, "Here, mom, this is for you." Sweet, but no stickers or stencil.

I keep looking.  I find a stack of tattered construction paper and 8 Scooby Doo Valentine's cards.  I remember that I kept them thinking James could use them next year, and I could avoid buying two more packages of 16 Valentine's for James' class of 22.  I thought this was a good idea at the time, except that I donated the Scooby Doo pencils that went with the cards to the middle school some time in early April, after I received a desperate email from one of Tom's teachers begging for supplies, since apparently, they ran out of pencils.  And still, no stickers or stencil.

I keep looking.  What is this?  Can it be?  Yes, it's James' First Grade vocabulary workbook that his  teacher told us at the end of last year that he should take to Second Grade.  I sent it to school in September with a stickie note on it to his teacher explaining this.  His teacher promptly sent it back home, with the stickie note.  It was still on the workbook.  I don't think I need to send it in for Third Grade.  But still, no stickers or stencil.


I am at the bottom of the Box.  I pull out a gingerbread shaped activity book, probably from Christmas, and out falls a sheet of stickers -- 12 wonderful, little round stickers of snowmen.

"Tom, I found some stickers."  He lifts one earphone from his ear, "What?"  "Stickers.  They have snowmen on them, but it's all I have.  I found poster letters too, but no stencil."  Silence.  "I'll put them in your backpack."  "Mom, I think I'll look for the old Pinewood Derby decals in the basement."

So, the snowmen stickers, the letters, and the Pinewood Derby flaming decals all went to school today, the last full day of the school year, to add a special touch to the circuit board group science project.  I would like think that they will get some credit.   For trying?

P.S. Tom did not use the snowmen stickers, after all.