It seems to be a rule in our house that if two children are content with their lots in life, the third will be hating the world. The rule applies particularly to school. When it’s good, it’s very very good, but when it’s bad… I don’t think we’ve ever had a year when everyone wanted to go to school. Like undulating wave functions, the three of them cycle up and down, crossing and colliding.
So when one child bounds into the house, telling you that she had the best textiles lesson EVER today! and she is going to cover the world in batik! and oh look! she ripped her jeans on a nail! in maths! but isn’t that wonderful! because that means she can patch it with exciting flowery fabric! and Nobody At School Can Tell Her Off! because it was a school nail! then it’s just beautiful, and the joy of it melts even my frosty old heart.
But my delight is tempered by her sister’s gloomy trudging misery. Maths homework today. She ‘hates’ maths too, apparently. And she ‘can’t do it’ (she can.) I’m sure this is just another of those passing phases which children indulge in to try their parents, but it’s heartbreaking.
I am knitting fiendishly complex fairisle fliptop gloves as a distraction technique. This is only partially successful, but at least we will all have warm hands.