Reading + Writing = Not Dying
I sat down to read with him, but he quickly became annoyed when I offered help. I tried to give him a few sound hints, and he huffed and puffed and let me know that I was "blowing it." Fifteen minutes later, we parted ways on page 8.
Next, he stomped around to find a piece of paper and pen. He scribbled in the middle and wrote, "Hi. Good-by!" and submitted it to me with a frown.
"Try again," I said. "You could write a story about old ladies." (Max uses old ladies as the punch line to almost all of his jokes and stories.) He rolled his eyes and walked away.
A while later, he tossed another story at me with a scowl:
old ladys atkt the world
the polies cild them.
Two can play this game. "I love it, Max," I said. "This is really funny."
"YOU THINK THAT'S FUNNY?" He screamed, "POLICE KILLING OLD LADIES?!"
Then he stomped in the other room and ironically slumped into the Time Out chair.
You know, one of the most important things we can do as mothers is make summer miserable for our children. My work today is done.