Caution: "Homework Zone"

I didn’t actually count the number of years since I first attended fifth grade, I just knew it must have been back in the Paleolithic Age. Back when, if you saw a bunch of dinosaurs, you didn’t bother to count them, you just said, “Holy crap, that’s a lot of dinosaurs,”and you ran off to etch the 'moment' on the wall of a cave.

Lined up for roll call are pencils, erasers, plenty of scrap paper and Noah, my fifth-grader. We are about to cross the threshold of the “homework zone.”

By this time of the year, the undertaking is a tedious affair. It’s no longer fun or interesting and the focus leans toward how many times a pencil can bounce off a forehead without leaving a mark. By the time I got to 23, the welt on my head was beginning to redden and I knew it was time to get down to business.

Math is no longer adding 1 + 1 to get 2. Fifth grade has advanced far beyond this simple math to things like geometric angles and algebraic proofs.

It must have happened when I wasn’t looking; one day Noah became smarter than me. Which is  OK, at least one of us understands the new concept for two-digit number addition. Understanding this but trying to make it clear to an old fossil, like me, is where the battle of wits gets underway. I know, sounds silly right?

“You don’t just carry the one any more?” I asked.

“Mom, what do you mean, the teacher said…?” he replied with his famous here-we-go- again eye-roll.

“Never mind, just show me how to do it, so I know if you answer them right,” I muttered.

I find this rather amusing. Would I really know if it’s right? I’m feeling the pressure; after all, I’m the mom. My mother always knew the answers to everything and if she didn’t, I never knew it – it ‘was,’ simply because she said so.

Math is not my strong point, OK – it’s not even a weak point, but having to call in reinforcements is down right embarrassing. My husband, ever diligent, proceeds with assurance and patience until the very last problem is solved. I watch this display of bravado, fighting the adolescent urge to take his pencil and poke him with it.

I will stick to the weekly spelling words. I don’t think anyone has devised a new method for this yet. I feel confident when I say, “No, you have to choose a different word to rhyme with ‘witch’, this one is not acceptable…because, I’m the mother and I said so.”

 Writing vocabulary sentences has at least given me back my pride. It also confirms in Noah that when something serious, like facial hair, arises I just might know why.

So, I am excited for my report card in June, to see if I passed fifth grade…again. But I am already feeling the anxiety about sixth grade. Please tell me that this isn’t where new spelling methods are introduced. I’m running out of things to fall back on.

I am learning a lot by doing homework again. First, that the fifth grade is more advanced today than it was years ago. Our children are learning at a faster rate and at an earlier age than we did. Second, it answers my question as to why kids think they do know more than their parents. Oh, they have liberated a new method to an old process, but the end result is still the same.

Finally, I have learned that as long as the answer is accurate, I can respect these differences. In fact, there very well could be two different yet equally acceptable ways to solve a problem. I’ll look at both sides of the situation; my life’s experience and my child’s lack of; throw them in the blender and see what rises to the top.

Should I crawl back into my cave? Probably not, I can always fall back on Noah for help, and this makes me proud, in a very humble sort of way.