Dad on Duty and MULTIPLICATION

By Chris

It came in a moment of weakness. I let my mental guard down last night and said to lovely wife, "hey ... you want me to get the kids off to school tomorrow?" I think I felt sorry for her. She looked so tired making the adjustment back to the early mornings. Of course, she accepted (I guess the day off included me handling the bloggin' duties too??). So, there I was at the CRACK of dawn getting Ben up. He pulled a little grump-fit at first, but I think the shock that it was me who was shaking him alive worked a little to my favor. He looked at me real confused. Because, I confess, I don't really do this. In fact, I really don't know how to do it. What time does the bus come? Do they eat here or at school? Who showers at night and who in the morning? Where do they keep their clothes? Their shoes? Their bookbags? It's amazing how much stuff happens around here that I really don't know about. Anyway, I apparently was a little more to the point than mom, because I got called out for not allowing enough rest time between the various getting-ready steps. Mom gently moves the process along, I've been told. A sock on here. A soothing word there. A lay-on-the-couch moment . . . " Not me. Lights on and let's hit it! You're either up or you're not, is my philosophy. No dilly dallying. Bad daddy. I was reprimanded by my third grader for trying to get away with with fixing his hair only with my hands. "Use a BRUSH daddy!!" Then, the middle school one needed me to blow-dry his hair a little bit to fluff it up, "like mom does." Good grief. Stinkin' babies!

MULTIPLICATION
After school was much worse though. Because of . . . . TIMES TABLES!!! These vexing mathematical memory verses really should be optional. There's any number of machines that have been invented that can calculate 8 X 7! (which, I confess, still gets me!). Three kids in, and we're 0 - for- three on "timesing." They're all real good at verbal stuff. Really. They're not idiots. And, Ben usually is quick on the uptake with everything he tries. Not this. We just don't have the mulitplication gene. Seriously. I sucked at it too. I remember struggling with the darn things, until I was sure I would need to quit elementary school and just run away from home. Teresa too. I've found decent employment where it never comes up without an Excel spreadsheet or calculator nearby, so it can't be that important, right??? It almost made me sweat when I read B's planner today: "multiplcation facts". Five minutes in and Ben flipped on, just like his siblings did. It frustrated him to tears. And yelling. And paper-tearing. I think the flash cards flew across the room at least 15 times. Banished to his room, he tried something new: He jumped up-and-down until it sounded like the cabinets were going to come off the ceiling below him and proclaimed that I had caused an earthquake to happen. At one point, he declared that he wanted to deal with mom . . . the nice one. Mom, sister and brother sort of watched me, waiting for me to snap. They were all looking at me like "Uh oh. He's about to go to far and it's about to get ugly in here." They recognized the signs, I guess. I don't mind you struggling to memorize something . . . but I don't take dozens of cards thrown at me too well. I did alright. He's still alive. I banished him from the family dinner though, which allowed Nick and Lauren to giggle with Teresa about how I handled their multiplication freak-outs over the years. They strongly suggested with their looks that it was pretty mean to give him crackers and a glass of water in his room when he said he was hungry Don't freak out . . he got real dinner eventually, but not before he threatened to call the police on me for being cruel to him like the "Romans were" (I'm not exactly sure what that means. Did they only give their prisoners water and crackers???). Their looks also told me that they did not think it would be a good idea to repay his destruction of a helpful study sheet I made (he crinkled, tour and bit off a piece and spit it) by breaking one of his toys. I didn't. But, in the heat of it all, it sounded like a good way to teach a lesson and relieve some stress. You know, show him how immature it is to wrinkle up MY paper by stepping on one of HIS beloved cars! That would show him whose the mature one! Right? At one point, Lauren asks "Are normal families like this? Because, I think they are." Flustered by it all, and a little irritated that they could see the humor in this so much earlier than I could (and a little ego-hurt that mommy was the nice one) I got a jab in: I made a whiny face at the asparagus and called it burnt and the meal dry. Nick was like, "No you didn't!" So there! And, so here I am alone downstairs bloggin' at midnight. All because of TIMES TABLES!!