The Goofy Child has cast his vote.
Today he comes home with a "5 or below" (serious. that's what it says.)
|and these are the past 2 weeks.|
So I asked the Goofy Child... who refused to talk to me. so, fine. No games today. Go watch TV. Some of you say, "What!? I would have taken the TV, too!" But here's what you don't understand... The boy is a hardcore gamer. That's all he wants to do. He doesn't want to watch TV, he doesn't want to play with toys, he doesn't want to go outside... he wants to play the game. So, a little while later, he comes back.
Goofy: why can't I play the game?
Me: because you brought home a 5 or below.
Goofy: When can I play the game?
Me: when you sit in your seat and do your work. (Judge me. I don't care. I have a non-verbal kid, there's no way I will ever tell a child to stop talking.)
Dad: Would you rather have a spanking so you can play the game?
Goofy: *eyes light with hope*
Me: *glares at dad* No. Maybe tomorrow (sassy tone) you will sit in your seat and do your work.
Goofy: Maybe tomorrow (sassy tone) I QUIT SCHOOL. and I will never go to school. and I quit.
Later, the Goofy One is laying in his bed, watching TV. I lay beside him to watch the back of my eyelids. It's so good...I'm drifting...almost there....
Goofy: Mom, can I play the game?
Me: When you sit in your seat and do your work.
Goofy: Remember, I told you I quit school.
By this point I'm pretty pissed at the teacher and wanting to call bullshit on the whole thing. I go to my friend and I'm telling her that this. is. horsecrap! Ever since the parent/teacher conference and the call home about his meds, we've been getting these stupid notes! She says, "because he's innocent, right?"
Hell no, he's not innocent, the kid is BAD! I swear to you today, if the Anti-Christ is walking this Earth...
Uh-huh. Don't let the sweet face fool you. Pure evil. I've known this boy since the day he was conceived. I know everything there is to know about him and there is no doubt in my mind that he is guilty as charged. plus some. It's the plus some that irritates the heck out of me.
Since before he could walk, he's had a temper like you wouldn't believe. Since the moment he opened his mouth he had an attitude that was out of this world and has never considered checking it even once because he's right- always. Since the minute he dropped his first F*bomb, he hasn't stopped mimicking what I say word-for-word right down to the perfectly copied tone. Nothing phases this boy because his way is always the right way, no punishment could ever change that.
I blame his father. It's all his fault. The boy has bad genes.
If his father's DNA had been a little stronger, I wouldn't have a mini-me on my hands. Cloned right on down to his ADHD, his stubborn, defiant, self-righteous, know-it-all, FU, antisocial personality, his black and white thinking, the tendency to thumb his nose at society rules and speak his mind no matter the consequences, his gaming addiction, his hatred of school and his desperate desire to drop out.
So, the answer to the question... Would I, could I homeschool?
I could not, would not homeschool.
Remember when your mama told you she hoped you had 10 just like you? I do. Mine did. daily. Thank God I only got the one. I sure couldn't handle any more.
Then Walter comes home... Mom, remember that D on my report card? It's a B now...
Someone pass that box of wine, please?
As further proof that I should never teach any child, much less my own, I present to you the unfinished work of the day...