I'm A Terrible Mother

Exhibit A:
School started last Tuesday and Wednesday was our first day of homework. I realize as my daughter gets older, homework will become more challenging for her as well as for me. If the first night of 3rd grade homework is any indication of what's to come, we are in big trouble.

Horizon now has long addition and long subtraction as part of homework each night. The section is called mixed review. Last year, her and I did all her English homework, while her dad helped her with the math portion. Maybe this is where I went wrong. Assuming something labeled "review" meant just that, I wanted Horizon to do it on her own. After she finished, I checked her math and found every one to be wrong. Here is where the breakdown starts. I dont know if she was supposed to have learned this last year and my expecting her to do this is not unheard of, or if the teacher just wanted to see what they knew and she should not have already known this. Granted, if I had helped her math last year, I would know this. We fought. Do you know this? No. Are you supposed to know this? I dont know. Was this in your books last year? Maybe. My frustration level rises. Ok.... well, let's try and see if this jogs your memory. I help her separate the problems into ones, tens, hundreds, and thousands columns. I remind her to carry a one or subtract a one. She does one or two successfully, then forgets how to do it all over again. I was not meant to be a teacher. By the time her and I have finished these problems, she is on the verge of tears and I have a blinding migraine. My husbands spends 10 minutes with her two days later and all of a sudden she is a math wiz and they are playing games with it. Shoot me.

Exhibit B:
Sunday we buy her Halloween costume, another bad mom story for another time, and then we stop by Target. At Target, the poop hits the fan. We are walking up the escalator and her foot catches on the lip of the stair. She trips, falls forward on her knee and starts to cry. My daughter is not normally a crier when it comes to falling. I am worried. I drag her aside and check out her knee. I almost lose my lunch. Her knee is missing a large chunk and it looks like the grated escalator has chewed up her knee. Blood is now pouring down her leg and I think I am going to be violently ill. I tell my husband to stay with her, I speed racer to the bathroom grab towels run back out. She is now the center of A Scene, with frantic employees, my frantic husband, and my screaming daughter. I throw the towels at my husband, grab the car keys and again, mad dash to the parking lot. I could have run a marathon in seconds flat with the adrenaline that had taken over my body. I park the car out front, as my husband comes carrying my poor crying bleeding child out of Target. I drive no less than 90 to the hospital, run into the ER and break down. The nurse helps her to the back, puts a temporary pad on her knee and is trying unsuccessfully to get information out of me. It doesnt look good to an 8 year old when her mother is sobbing. I cant answer questions, Horizon is crying more watching mom cry, and the nurse is just trying to calm me now. I finally manage to stop sobbing and they numb my daughters leg. Now we have an excrutiating wait for the doctor. Again, my super husband comes to the rescue and distracts my daughter with, yes, math. They sit and practice long addition and subtraction keeping her suitably distracted so that the doctor can stitch her up. 6 stitches and some frozen yogurt later she is happy and now excited to show off her new bandaid. Thank god for my husband, I would have been a vomiting crying sorry mess.

Oh yeah, to calm my frazzled nerves I lined the fat bottom bag last night. So much for being a crochet focused blog....