In first grade we have homework.  We have homework every night.  Mondays and Wednesdays bring language homework.  Tuesdays and Thursdays show up with math.  Spelling and reading happen all week long.  AND we're to read with the children 30 minutes a day.  The reading was already happening here, so that's not added work.  I'm reminded each time I open his take home folder why I had to leave the workforce - homework. 

We have a routine.  Gigi and I walk to the bus stop, we walk home with Will who gives us the highlights of the 1st Grade Society Scene - some of it is rather amusing.  When we get in the house we turn on the 50s and 60s music and shoop-shoop our way through the homework whilst eating the snack-o-the-day.  It's all been pretty easy and pretty nice.  Until yesterday.

I read the instructions to the homework.  I understood each individual word but the meaning of the instructions made no sense whatsoever.  I looked at the clock and saw it was only 3:30.  Chris wouldn't be in for three more hours.  Both of my neighbors are teachers - I could wait for them to get home, but still, we'd have to wait a while since neither of them get home before 5.  I re-read the words in the instructions. 

"Huh?"  Was all I could manage.  I started to get nervous and started twisting my hair around the homework pencil.  I shook my head and closed my eyes and read the instructions again, but there wasn't any new message coming from the paper.

"What?"  Will asked.

"I'm just going to read these instructions to you so you can do your homework."  I said.  That way I saved face because the truth of the matter was "Mommy can no longer help you here with this homework and I need to call your granddad and tell him to call my alma mater and demand his money back because he spent a lot of money and they did not prepare me to help my 1st grader with homework." 

I read the instructions and he said "Oh, that's easy."  He picked up his pencil and marked away, putting symbols over words that looked strangely like hieroglyphics, but they weren't hieroglyphics because I can understand those.  This was something weird and new.  I watched, trying to learn something without appearing to be stupid.  I nodded as he marked things and asked "Now, why did you do that?"  learning from his explanations.

"Ok, you check it."  He said.  I hemmed and hawed.  I suggested that we just go play a game and let Daddy check it when he got home.

After dinner I pointed Chris to the homework.  I figured somewhere in his MA program they must have covered this.  He looked it over and said "Looks good.  I think you missed this one though."  Will corrected it.  Chris sent him on his way.

"You know how to do that?"  I asked.

"No idea, but I'm not telling him that."

There are a lot of similarities between playing poker and parenting.  Chris is the bluffer.  Apparently I'm the folder.  Someday Will will be able to read this blog - probably sometime next week by the pace he's going, and I just want to say here to him, Son, it's not that I'm trying to mislead you or trying to lie to you - it's just that one day you will look at me and think "I used to think that woman had all the answers" and you will realize how many of the answers I don't have.  I know that day is coming.  I welcome that day - I just don't want that day to happen in gradeschool.  One day you'll be a parent and you won't know how to help with your 1st grader's homework.  You and I can sit down and eat a cookie and sing the only comforting words I found to help during times like this:

You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run.  You never count your money when you're sittin at the table, they'll be time enough for countin when the dealin's done...