Last week Archer came home with a piece of paper prepping parents for the teacher-student conferences soon to come. On the form, we were to pose questions, make comments, inquire within. But my questions were few. My comments non existence save for one: WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH ALL THE HOMEWORK? THIS IS PRESCHOOL, I MEAN, COME ON! YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME! EVERY SINGLE NIGHT THIS KID HAS HOMEWORK? HE'S FOUR YEARS OLD, PEOPLE! HE'S FOUR YEARS OLD!
I was angry. Frustrated by the system and the man and the fact that my four-year-old son had homework. I didn't have homework in Preschool.
"No way," my mom said. "And if you did, I wouldn't have made you do it because that's just insane. He's four."
"Right? I know! Thank you, mom. Exactly my point."
Not that my mom and I usually disagree. We pretty much share a brain and a soul but it felt good to hear that my mother was on my same page re: WTF?
I got off the phone with my mom and started asking friends with children in preschool if their kids had homework.
"Does your daughter have homework at your school?"
"How many hours does your preschooler spend writing lower case a(s) before bed?"
I asked and I fumed and I shook my fists at the sky. I googled and bing'd and wrote letters I never sent and told Archer he didn't *have* to do homework unless he wanted to because he was only four and what a crock!
"But mommy? I want to do my homework. I looooove homework."
"Don't worry Archer. You don't have to --- Wait, what?"
That was when I realized Archer had already done his homework. The entire pile. Three days early.
"I want more homework," he sighed. "It's so fun."
"Wait. Are you serious?"
Indeed, he was.
As it turned out, I was so busy building an army to fight homework in preschool! that I forgot to ask my own preschooler whether he minded the homework I was so vehemently against.
"Yeah, mommy. It's fun!"
"Oh. Really? Oh. Whoa. Oh. Oh. Huh. Oh."
Fast forward to yesterday, when once again, Archer came home with a stack of homework to do over the next week, and once again he did it all in one sitting. Because he wanted to. Because "he loved it." Because "I'd rather do homework than play with my toys!"
Hal and I used to joke that our child, the product of two crazy bohemian whack-job head-in-the-clouds fuck-the-man! artisticles would most likely rebel against us and grow up to be a rule-abiding CPA.
Apparently we weren't kidding.
Not that Archer's necessarily going to be an accountant when he grows up, but the kid's certainly full of surprises. And a backpack full of homework that he "can't wait to go home and finish!"
Which is totally awesome and rad and fine with us, obviously. But made for quite the awkward parent-teacher conference this afternoon.
"So, Ms. Woolf, I understand you're quite upset about Archer's homework situation."
"Yeah (ahem!) about that. I was just kidding. What I really meant to say was that I think there should be MORE homework. Is there any way you can send him home with more?"
"Wait. Are you serious?"
Indeed, I was.