My son the 3rd Grade Student is writing a biographical book report tonight. It is due tomorrow. I'm providing sideline guidance. I am NOT writing it for him, just trying to shield him from distractions and keep him on task. It is due tomorrow, after all. He is a pretty good little writer, this son of mine. But sadly, that's not what marks him as my son. Nope. The fact that he's been sitting on this assignment all month long, has read several books about the chosen subject (George Washington), has designed (almost finished) his poster and yet had not put one paragraph together before tonight, that is what distinguishes him as my son.
I just figured he would at least be in high school before I started encouraging him to pull assignment busting all-nighters.
This writing session is fueled by ice cream. What kind of lesson am I teaching him? Procrastinate, stay up too late, be rewarded with sweets. Sounds about right.
Thus far, my favorite passage in this paper:
"When he returned again a widow was waiting for him. Her name was Martha."
I guess he knows all about women, that 3rd Grade son of mine. Another lesson I hadn't planned on him learning so early.
While I'm sitting beside him, punching away on a perfectly adequate (if small) laptop, I'm reminded again at the ridiculousness of our computer "monitor." Please, Dear Man of the House, can we hang that thing on a wall like the flat screen tv it was made to be?