Making the Grade
Summers were the best when I was a kid. I would swim and roller skate and have sleepovers for 90 days of sunshine-filled bliss. Then August would come, and getting my brain back into learning mode was brutal.
When I became a mom, I told myself I was going to keep my two kids, Rowan and Skylar, in tiptop learning shape between belly flops and “all-nighters.” The summer before Rowan was entering second grade and Skylar was going into first grade, my husband and I got out workbooks and flashcards every day. The kids would have to complete a certain number of pages or set amount of time before they could go off reveling in their youth.
I thought this was genius. Sure, there was plenty of grumbling, but the kids got it done and my husband and I were pretty darned proud of ourselves.
On the first day of summer the following year, Skylar and Rowan came padding down the stairs, sleep still heavy in their eyes. Their dad was making breakfast and I was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in one hand and pristine new workbooks in the other.
Before I could utter a “good morning,” Rowan took one look at me and said, “Ugh, not this again. You already ruined one summer.”
I must admit, I was a little shook. Was he being a bit dramatic? Probably. But it got me thinking. I loved my golden days of freedom as a child, liberated from backpacks and bells. Yet here I was, shoving workbooks at my kids before 9 a.m.