Bad day.
We got progress reports Friday. Well, when I say that, I mean that the kids did. I was out of town this weekend. I got them ready for picture day, Husband took them to school, and I didn't see them again until Sunday night.
I do not feel great about that.
So. Progress reports. Grant got a C in reading. If you've met him, you know that something is up. He reads ALL THE TIME. Not wanting to freak him out, I mentioned it to him when I saw it on Sunday, but gently.
Me: I saw your Progress report.
G: Yeah....my reading.
Me: So, what happened? I know you've been reading. Was there something else? Did you have trouble on a test, or was there a paper you needed?
This is how I found out that Grant was supposed to have a reading log, which we were to be signing. *sigh*
We talked about it in reasonable tones, and then at the end I found out he had already had nearly the same conversation with my husband on Friday. Well, at least we are consistent.
Inspired by this transaction, Husband has been working on the afternoon routine and getting the homework organized and accounted for. That's what was going on when I came home. Then, Grant started to get...The Voice. You know the one I mean. The one that indicates the rise of bile and discontent. The one that promises a fit before bed.
Promise fulfilled.
And then. As if sending my son to bed early wasn't enough, I walked by and he proceeded to hit himself in the face.
In the split second I had to decide something, I decided that this was an attention seeking behavior. So I marched him to bed and left without the Mother-Son talk and without anything else. Just bed. No. Attention.
Then I proceeded to A. Cry in my room, and B. Have a heated discussion with Husband about what the right thing to do is.
Do you know?
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