The project
A couple of weeks ago my son came home and informed me that, "I have to go to my friend's house to work on a school project."
School project? What school project?
"I dunno."
I called up his friend's mom and she filled me in on the few details she knew. "Israel fair, Caesarea, my house on Sunday with one other girl". Hmmm. Okay, I grunted. I dropped him off on Sunday, and picked him up a few hours later. I asked him several pointed questions and felt no better informed, but I assumed it was all under control.
On Thursday I got an email from the same mom updating me on the school project situation. "They need to build a model, but I don't want to be supervising this alone."
Model? Of what, exactly? When I interrogated my eight year old again, I got a scramble of: "homemade clay! We're going to paint it! It's going to be an aqueduct!" Aha! I responded knowingly, but really, I didn't know a thing.
This afternoon after piano lessons and swimming lessons, with nothing more substantial than an apple, granola bar, and small bag of pretzels in my kids, we met up with the other girl and her mom to sort out the project.
Our first stop was the Frankel Teacher Resource Center, a little known gem in the community. Unfortunately, they were on a tighter deadline than we were, and we had arrived a mere hour before closing. "You're going to have to come back another day." The woman informed as calmly as she could, so not to cause me to break down into tears.
So we resorted to plan two: Michael's. We went in armed with a couple of internet print-outs and a handwritten sketch from the teacher with a picture of a Roman aqueduct and a column. I grabbed the first Michael's employee I could find and assaulted her with questions. What's going to be the easiest way to build a model of a Roman aqueduct? The least messy? How do we paint it? How do we glue it? What aisle is all this stuff on? Once again I found myself being spoken to slowly and calmly by a woman trying desperately to keep yet another panicked school-project-mom sane.
For the next half an hour, two harried and confused moms dragged four children around Michael's trying to disabuse them of the notion that we were going to be making homemade clay. In the end, we followed the Michael-lady's advice and settled on a styrofoam model. We left the store with a bizarre assortment of posterboard, sheets of styrofoam, glue, cellophane paper and sand, and headed back to my place to combine it all into a masterful work of third grade art.
Back at home I laid out a sheet of plastic table covering, and we set the kids to work gluing sand on a posterboard while I cut the styrofoam with a serrated-edge knife. What did you know about this project? I asked my friend. "Nothing. I couldn't get anything sensible out of my daughter. You?" She asked, not really expecting a different answer.
You kidding? I've got a boy!
"I tried emailing her teacher, but she never got back to me."
Are we doing this right? I asked, looking nervously at the glue, sand and paint my frenetic toddler was whirling frighteningly near. My friend motioned at the third girl and reassured me, "She sort of knows what the assignment is." Aaaah, I said, feeling slightly more ill at ease.
"How much of this project should we be doing?" My friend asked me as I was putting the finishing touches on the styrofoam sculpture, while she cut and glued pieces of cellophane to the posterboard.
Aaaiiieee! I thought. I'm turning into one of those mothers who do her children's projects! You couldn't miss them. Some school projects look like the kid has taken a lump of clay, mashed it into a potato shape, stuck some toothpicks in it, and has declared the masterpiece to be Abraham Lincoln; while the "good" mom stands back a healthy distance, showering the child with praise.
Then there are the "bad" moms who hover over their children, pushing them out of the way to put the finishing touches on the authentic wall paper and working lights of the model oval office. "No!" they screech at their child, "the vase goes on the other coffee table!"
Was I that mom? I immediately set the kids to work gluing the styrofoam bits together. My friend wisely suggested sticking in toothpicks to hold it while the glue dried. Then we put the kids to work painting the structure. This turned out to be far easier in theory than in practice.
Hey, kids! We hollered. This is your project, not ours! Get over here! I ordered, as I put the finishing touches on a styrofoam arch. "Yeah! Quit playing around!" called out my friend, as she glued more cellophane to the board.
Interestingly enough, the one kid who had half a clue what the assignment was about, came immediately and set to work. My friend and I fumed at our two spacey slackers. I'm glad it was a group project. I said. Otherwise, I wouldn't have heard a word about it until the morning it was due.
My friend concurred. "My daughter mentioned something about some project, but I couldn't get anything more out of her." We smiled approvingly at the little girl sitting at the table, carefully gluing down cellophane.
After a couple of grueling hours - more from keeping our two little twittering birds-of-a-feather on task than from the actual craft labor - we finished it up. I expressed a deep sigh of relief to have survived my son's first major school project. Thank goodness that's over!
"What's he got for the Chicago fair project?"
I shot my son a vicious glare. The WHAT?!
"I have to build a model of the Museum of Science and Industry!" He smiled sheepishly, speaking calmly to keep me from having a complete breakdown.
School project? What school project?
"I dunno."
I called up his friend's mom and she filled me in on the few details she knew. "Israel fair, Caesarea, my house on Sunday with one other girl". Hmmm. Okay, I grunted. I dropped him off on Sunday, and picked him up a few hours later. I asked him several pointed questions and felt no better informed, but I assumed it was all under control.
On Thursday I got an email from the same mom updating me on the school project situation. "They need to build a model, but I don't want to be supervising this alone."
Model? Of what, exactly? When I interrogated my eight year old again, I got a scramble of: "homemade clay! We're going to paint it! It's going to be an aqueduct!" Aha! I responded knowingly, but really, I didn't know a thing.
This afternoon after piano lessons and swimming lessons, with nothing more substantial than an apple, granola bar, and small bag of pretzels in my kids, we met up with the other girl and her mom to sort out the project.
Our first stop was the Frankel Teacher Resource Center, a little known gem in the community. Unfortunately, they were on a tighter deadline than we were, and we had arrived a mere hour before closing. "You're going to have to come back another day." The woman informed as calmly as she could, so not to cause me to break down into tears.
So we resorted to plan two: Michael's. We went in armed with a couple of internet print-outs and a handwritten sketch from the teacher with a picture of a Roman aqueduct and a column. I grabbed the first Michael's employee I could find and assaulted her with questions. What's going to be the easiest way to build a model of a Roman aqueduct? The least messy? How do we paint it? How do we glue it? What aisle is all this stuff on? Once again I found myself being spoken to slowly and calmly by a woman trying desperately to keep yet another panicked school-project-mom sane.
For the next half an hour, two harried and confused moms dragged four children around Michael's trying to disabuse them of the notion that we were going to be making homemade clay. In the end, we followed the Michael-lady's advice and settled on a styrofoam model. We left the store with a bizarre assortment of posterboard, sheets of styrofoam, glue, cellophane paper and sand, and headed back to my place to combine it all into a masterful work of third grade art.
Back at home I laid out a sheet of plastic table covering, and we set the kids to work gluing sand on a posterboard while I cut the styrofoam with a serrated-edge knife. What did you know about this project? I asked my friend. "Nothing. I couldn't get anything sensible out of my daughter. You?" She asked, not really expecting a different answer.
You kidding? I've got a boy!
"I tried emailing her teacher, but she never got back to me."
Are we doing this right? I asked, looking nervously at the glue, sand and paint my frenetic toddler was whirling frighteningly near. My friend motioned at the third girl and reassured me, "She sort of knows what the assignment is." Aaaah, I said, feeling slightly more ill at ease.
"How much of this project should we be doing?" My friend asked me as I was putting the finishing touches on the styrofoam sculpture, while she cut and glued pieces of cellophane to the posterboard.
Aaaiiieee! I thought. I'm turning into one of those mothers who do her children's projects! You couldn't miss them. Some school projects look like the kid has taken a lump of clay, mashed it into a potato shape, stuck some toothpicks in it, and has declared the masterpiece to be Abraham Lincoln; while the "good" mom stands back a healthy distance, showering the child with praise.
Then there are the "bad" moms who hover over their children, pushing them out of the way to put the finishing touches on the authentic wall paper and working lights of the model oval office. "No!" they screech at their child, "the vase goes on the other coffee table!"
Was I that mom? I immediately set the kids to work gluing the styrofoam bits together. My friend wisely suggested sticking in toothpicks to hold it while the glue dried. Then we put the kids to work painting the structure. This turned out to be far easier in theory than in practice.
Hey, kids! We hollered. This is your project, not ours! Get over here! I ordered, as I put the finishing touches on a styrofoam arch. "Yeah! Quit playing around!" called out my friend, as she glued more cellophane to the board.
Interestingly enough, the one kid who had half a clue what the assignment was about, came immediately and set to work. My friend and I fumed at our two spacey slackers. I'm glad it was a group project. I said. Otherwise, I wouldn't have heard a word about it until the morning it was due.
My friend concurred. "My daughter mentioned something about some project, but I couldn't get anything more out of her." We smiled approvingly at the little girl sitting at the table, carefully gluing down cellophane.
After a couple of grueling hours - more from keeping our two little twittering birds-of-a-feather on task than from the actual craft labor - we finished it up. I expressed a deep sigh of relief to have survived my son's first major school project. Thank goodness that's over!
"What's he got for the Chicago fair project?"
I shot my son a vicious glare. The WHAT?!
"I have to build a model of the Museum of Science and Industry!" He smiled sheepishly, speaking calmly to keep me from having a complete breakdown.
posted by law school widow at 9:24 PM
2 Comments:
This is classic!! I am NOT looking forward to the day when my son comes home and says, "Oh by the way, I have a project due tomorrow" or "It was due TODAY!!". I know you and you are more creative than you give yourself credit for. You are one of the people I turn to when I need to do something creative. Too bad it now has to be over the phone. I miss you!!!! Good luck with the Museum of Science and Industry project.
Nice! I think I'll just post a link to your entry and not write one of my own. Except, perhaps, to say how extremely exhausted I was at the end of all of this, and how I'm glad we had decided already to order in pizza for dinner. Otherwise, it would certainly have been cereal!
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