Be Sure to Lock Up, Princess

I remember having homework in seventh grade. Maybe occasionally in fifth--when we were making maps. But certainly not before that. Yet, my oldest child had so much homework in kindergarten that I could hardly get it done.

I was a single parent then, and, by the time we got home from the day care center after work, we had exactly one hour until the younger child's bedtime. One hour in which to fix dinner, eat, bathe two kids, and put one of them to bed (with lullabies). The older child--not much older, needed to go to bed a half hour later, so the constant flow of homework--the kind he couldn't do by himself--was a problem. Finally, in frustration, I wrote a note to his teacher, explaining that I had already done seventeen years of schoolwork by then and really didn't need any more.

Things have only gotten worse. Not only does my current kindergartener have homework, I had to join a website so I can download it!

My second-grader's teacher explained it to me at parent-teacher conference. It's not her fault: the parents demand it. This is amazing to me. According to this, parents in my neighborhood do not want to spend any time with their children. Their focus is on Ivy League colleges or something. By puberty.

This teacher actually sent home a letter to parents before Thanksgiving break stating that there would be no "extra" homework for the three days off and suggesting politely that a nice family activity could be found.

I look at it this way. An elementary-school-aged child already spends 6.5 hours a day in school. That's almost as long as a full-time job. And they're children!

I have fond memories of how I spent my time after school: playing dolls with Kathryn in her spacious, only-girl-in-the-family bedroom. Bonding with my siblings over Gilligan's Island and The Brady Bunch amidst chair-saving and other power plays. Playing jacks on the cement front porch until the edge of my right hand was black.

All four of my elementary-school-aged children have homework, but my fifth-grader's load is ridiculous. Frequently, I have to stop myself from asking her to set the table, because she is slaving feverishly over homework and is miles from done. If I ask her to practice piano, she gives me a pained look. Reflected in her eyes is her teacher, a woman who gives assignments requiring public library books the night before they are due, requires AP format, and deflects any discussion by blaming the child.

We walk around avoiding this family member, not daring to include her in our conversations. There is no such thing as play for her. Not on a school night. Meals and baths are rushed to the point they are almost unrecognizable.

Increasingly, I find my life revolving around her homework load. Some nights, I cannot even get my own things done.

Recently, although she was crazy-busy from the time she got home and barely ate dinner, my fifth-grader had to stay up an hour-and-a-half past her bedtime in order to get her homework done. One hour-and-a-half past her bedtime is one hour-and-a-quarter past my bedtime. I'm a state employee in Utah.

A fifth-grader is too young to be the last one in the family to go to bed.

I put in twenty-one years of school myself. By the time my baby graduates, I guess I'll have completed, let's see, 112th grade.

My daughter doesn't complain about her homework load. She likes her teacher. I asked her why she had so much to do--maybe she hadn't done much at school? She showed me a list a page long of her assignments for that day. She had done a third of them at school. When had they been assigned? Half of them were daily assignments, she said. Several had been assigned that day.

So this was the point at which I sat down to type my second can-we-get-the-homework-under-control letter to a teacher. I flattered her at first--what an excellent teacher she must be with so much to share, how highly she must value a good education. But can we wait past fifth grade for the college-level stress?

A healthy life requires balance. For children, an all-schoolwork week is not balanced. I say thirty hours a week of school is enough. I trustingly send my children off to their teachers for more than half of their waking hours, and I hardly ever interfere with the teachers' time. Selfishly, I would like some of my children's time at home to be my time.

And some of the time should be their time.