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ididit, idiot.
I just got through "helping" my kid with a diorama.
You know the drill... a shoebox, crayons, craft paper, tears, safety scissors, pipe cleaners, a book report, screaming, paste, modeling clay, tape, cotton balls, a shoe thrown against the wall. All the makings of a fine time to be had with dad, right? When monkeys smoke crack-- right. My daughter has the classic trademark of her dad. Procrastination. The assignment was handed out with a four week deadline, and the night before it 's due she springs into ready action. She's barking orders like... well... like a woman. She's the taskmaster, and I, her lowly slave. She's actually got it made though, no other kid in her grade has an "ex-comm"-(reformed commercial artist) in their family.
This is the way it usually works:
a. "K" (my daughter)will read/skim/flip pages through the book that she's to "report" on.
b. a week before the project is due, Leslie (my wife, her mom) will remind her about the project.
c. three days before the project is due Leslie will raise hell about the deadline and the fact that "nothing's been done."
d. two days before the project is due I get the "you know you're gonna have to help her with that" speech. Followed by the "that's not what I do that's what you do" or the "you're so talented in that area" routine.
e. the day before it's due I have to rearrange my day, or call in sick to have enough time to work on it--
THE NIGHT BEFORE IT'S DUE.
f. the night before it's due. The night before the project is due is a car wreck. A total household meltdown.
I'm sure "the night before" will wind up as a topic for a therapy session in her later life.
After all of that, the project is turned in on time, usually to recieve an A+, or the ocassional A+++, she's even been nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize for her Excellence in Diorama. Of course she makes sure the teacher and all of her friends know who pulled off this masterpiece with a terse little... "ididit."
I, on the other hand, want to find a little "spider-hole" in the desert just south of Tikrit and crawl in it and sleep until the nervous tremors/ticks/convulsions stop or at least until the Thorazine kicks in. I just want to find my comfortable spot. My safety zone.
It's not all bad though. Out of all the blood, sweat and name calling, I got a "th'nks, dad." for the effort. That's almost as good as her buying me a Tivo and wrapping it up with a big red bow.
"Almost" being the operative term!
12/16/2003 05:04:01 PM
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