I honestly believe that homework is teacher’s revenge for having to deal with children all day.  I thought the math homework was bad. Then a few years ago we had our first “project”.  Abby had to make a simple machine.  Or should I say, David had to make a simple machine that turned into an inclined plane. There were tears, there were arguments and at one point there might have been some vulgar language.

I do not believe that is the intent of the homework project.  It is definitely the result. 

This year in science and social studies we have not had one piece of homework.  This teacher has become my favorite teacher of all time. There are tests and quizzes to study for, but other than that nada, zip, zero pieces of homework has come home.

Until last week.

When “the project” came home.  Have you ever heard of an Earthquake house? Me neither. But apparently we my child has to make a house FROM SCRATCH that can withstand an earthquake.

If any licensed home contractor does not have to make a house that has to withstand an earthquake, why the hell do we does a sixth grader? A child who cannot even build a freaking snowman is expected to build a house that can withstand an earthquake.  You are not allowed to use wood glue, duct tape or a glue gun.  It has to be two freaking floors with at least one window and one door.  To top it off, you have to have a journal detailing the process.

Who the hell thinks up this kind of torture?

I thought I had a brilliant idea. Take saran wrap, put it around some toothpicks and call it a fairy greenhouse.

What was her response?  MOM!!! Try to be helpful.

So I was. We took her to the craft store (I think I got hives in the parking lot), looked around like fools. David found an already made bird house. “Let’s just use this” was his suggestion that was met with an eye roll. I think she looked into being adopted after we offered to use a concrete mixture to make the house.

The project isn’t fully started and we’ve already spent a total of $55 on this fiasco. I can already guess what her journal will say (Days 1-6 are my interpretation. Anything after Day 7 is just what I imagine will happen):

Day 1 gave mom the instructions. She handed it to dad and said good luck with that. Dad responded, what the hell is this? I want this guy’s number so I can call him at 2 in the morning when I’m building the effing thing.

Day 2 gave my mom hives by making her go to a craft store. Dad tried to convince me to use an already built house. Bridget ran around the store and almost broke something. Mom complained about how much the supplies cost for a house that I was planning to destroy with an earthquake. Who spends $23 on a house they are going to destroy, she asked.

Day 3 the supplies are sitting in the corner of my bedroom.

Day 4 Mom offered to help me start the project. I know her history with crafts and told her I didn’t want to get an F. I would rather wait for dad to come home from the fire station.

Day 5 Dad took overtime. I think he is avoiding the project.

Day 6 supplies now pushed behind the bed. I tell mom that she had better not blog about this. My teachers read her blog and they never like what she writes. I’ll get an F for sure.

Day 7 I’m going to my friend’s house for the day. The project can wait. Or so I thought. I came home to Popsicle sticks everywhere. Mom and dad are not speaking. I wonder if I can spend the night at Grammies.

Day 8 Mom’s at work. I was going to ask Dad to restart the project. He was doing laundry. Mom says he can only do one thing at a time. I don’t want to confuse him or I’ll end up with an F.

Day 9 It’s the last day of school vacation. Mom’s at work. Dad’s probably forgotten about the project. Why ruin the last day of vacation?

Day 10 Project is due tomorrow. I have Popsicle sticks and school-type glue. Where are the instructions?

Later Day 10 Mom just glued her fingers together. I told her not to touch anything!

Day 10 (A few minutes after mom glued her fingers together) BRIDGET YOU CANNOT FEED BAILEY THE POPSICLE STICKS

Day 10 (After rescuing the Popsicle sticks and/or Bailey) Dad takes over the project. I hear swearing. Maybe I should go practice my guitar?

Day 10 2pm we head back to the craft store. Total spent on project between three trips is up to $55. Dad isn’t happy. I better not need new shoes, clothes or want to eat this week.

Day 10 midnight Dad just woke me up. He wants the effing teacher’s freaking phone number. If he’s awake the teacher should be awake.

Day 11 2am I hear Dad say, KERRI GET DOWN HERE IF I’M AWAKE YOU’RE AWAKE.

Day 11 7am bus will be here in an hour. The house is done. I’m going to get an F. I reminded my mom not to blog about this.

Day 11 8am  on the bus, we hit a bump. I dropped the house. It did not survive. Now I’m going to get an F for sure.

Day 11 in class, I hand the journal and pieces of the house I saved from the bus to my teacher. Warned him my mom will probably blog about the project.

****

I now have a new hierarchy of things I do not enjoy:

1. Crafts
2. School projects
3. Going to the OBGYN for the annual smushing of the boobs

 

This post was in total jest, if her teacher is reading this blog please do not use it in determining her father’s grade. He is probably going to do a great job. Okay, probably not in total jest. Supplies are still in the corner of her bedroom. Who the heck thinks up an Earthquake House and expects parents to enjoy the process?