Mikaela is in pre-school already. We enrolled her this June. In the Philippines, classes starts in June and ends typically on March or April depending on how many holidays the Malacañang Palace declared, they have to extend to compensate for the endless “no-class” days and of course the class suspensions due to typhooons and other calamities.
So of course school also means homework.
The assignment. Practice writing Bb on your writing book. (The mastery page is more or less 6 or 7 lines and you need to write at least 4 or 5 sets of big B and small b.)
Dear Husband : Mikaela, come here, let’s practice letter Bb.
Mikaela : Okay but only four Pa? (holds up fingers)
DH : No, we have to complete and write on all the lines.
Mikaela : *starts to whimper, complain and get on her high and mighty act *
DH : No, you will write on all the lines.
Mikaela then painstakingly wrote on the whole page, and when almost done said matter of factly :
Mikaela : Pa, nabali na jud akong kamot! Translation : Pa, my hands are already broken!
Her father just laughed and prodded her on to finish the assignment, while I, was laughing my ass off.
Oh well, in all fairness, it probably felt that her hands and arms are broken from writing since that was the first time she had to write so many at one sitting. Dear husband has been sent to Melbourne, for 3 months, and flew last June, so when her father came home this September, Mikaela had to deal with his ‘martial-law’ approach. If it were me, I would have said “deal” on the four Bbs or try to negotiate two lines of four Bb’s and we’ll work on the rest the following day which is what I was doing sans husband and in some “rare” cases when I forgot to follow-up or just too tired to get it on with my mulish daughter, I do it myself, I’m a bad Mama I know but forgive me, the occasion is rare (whew! too long a sentence, follow me so far?), but unfortunately for her, I’m not her father. She has to get used to her “broken” hands for now.