Parenthood

You know, my perception of parenting before I had children is rather comical. I mean, I always knew that carrying a child for 9 months wouldn’t be all fun and games and that labor was likely going to hurt like hades but no one told me that being a mother to a 3rd grader was going to be dreadful. I hate to use such a strong, ugly adjective but it is rough.

Let’s take tonight for example. In an effort to help Dagen prepare for one of his FOUR tests this week, the hubs and I tag-teamed the study effort, the first being in Science over mass and motion. And then we moved on to Social Studies where he has been studying South Carolina history. Exciting stuff, right? I learned more tonight on settlers, crops and tribes than I honestly cared to know. We are discovering that if we want to see Dagen succeed in school, we are probably going to have to refresh {or learn for the first time, in some instances} what he is learning. PS – this was not in my list of expectations.

Listen, don’t get me wrong. I don’t send my boys to public school and expect that they fully handle his education with no help at home. I just never thought I’d be carrying third grade coursework for the second time at age 32. That’s all.

And then let’s discuss reading. He hates it. No, seriously hates it. He has no desire to read at all and I cannot relate. I love to read. {NERD ALERT!} I remember sneaking a flashlight as a kid, hiding it under my mattress, and pulling it out to read under the covers. When I give Dagen a book to read in his room, I usually go back 10 minutes later to find his light off while he is out cold. I know that I can’t expect him to love it like I did/do but, darn, he has to at least give it a whirl.

Now, he can speed read like a champ but his comprehension is, well, sad. Last week, he had an assigned story in his school reading book. We made sure he read it every day {as did we} and then asked him questions to test his comprehension. It appeared that he had it, except his test score indicated otherwise….and it was even an open book test. Seriously, son….IT WAS OPEN BOOK! Bless his little heart, these next nine years are going to be L.O.N.G. and probably painful {for all of us!}

For a brief moment, let me just rant about one more thing in this pregnancy. I can’t eat onions. Not only can I smell them a mile away with this ridiculous basset-hound nose but if I taste one in my mouth, I have to spit it out or risk the upchuck. WHAT?!?! I absolutely adore onions – red, yellow, white, green – and typically ask for extra on my burger, pizza or salad but, for whatever reason, this fetus has decided that ‘it’ is repulsed by them. I just don’t get it. I mean, I know that these crazy things happen but, golly Pete, what if these aversions never go away? What if I never want another cup of coffee or I never get to enjoy a slice of mushroom and onion pizza again? I just can’t even deal with the thought right now. {BTW, there are other distastes right now, those are just my two tragic ones…}

And since I titled this blog Parenthood, you should know that we have started watching that TV show on Netflix and you should, too. It’s the one show that totally makes you feel like a normal parent, even if you’re really screwed up like me.

That is all.