Most days my husband is home in time to get our kids off of the bus, take them in and feed them a snack. By the time I get home (about 45 minutes later), the house is in total chaos and my darling hubby is convinced that he’s done his kid-time for the day, and leaves it up to me. So that means I am in charge of homework. Ugh. Homework. There aren’t even words to begin to describe just how much I dislike homework. So being in charge of monitoring homework is like the bane of my existence. Yet every night, Monday through Thursday, it’s my job to be proctor. Let me try to describe the scene at my house during a typical homework experience. One kid is running around the dining room looking for a pencil. The other kid is half on, half off the chair, flopping her head dramatically as I flip through what seems like reams of paper in the folder before I even find the two pages of homework. Between the flopping (hers) and the sighing (mine), we finally get started. Sharpen the pencils, find the crayons, what is this word, I don’t know how to do this, that’s not how my teacher told me to do it, I don’t understand…it’s a familiar chorus. And the whole time, all I’m thinking is, why do I have to do homework? I did my time…why is this coming back to me again? I can’t be the only mom who feels this way, right?