Staying sane

When Little Guy went to kindergarten, he came home each night with a homework sheet that taught one word. Once it was the, once it was has, and one day it was I. The format for the worksheet was that there were blanks into which you were supposed to fill in the requisite word.

Since this was boring as all get-out, I didn't always require Little Guy to finish the homework right when he got home from school. In fact, one day I forgot until it was nearly bedtime, and then it was clear that Little Guy was too cranky to make it worthwhile to attempt to do the work. So I agreed that this time, this ONE time, he could do it in the morning.

No big deal. It was the paper with I. He wrote the word in all the blanks, and was cruising right along until he got to the part where he had to use the word in a sentence. Then he couldn't make up his mind what to write. (He still can't make up his mind about what to write. Ever.) As the clock ticked, and it came closer and closer to departure time, I urged him to write something, anything. "This wouldn't be so difficult if you didn't procrastinate!" I blustered.

And so Little Guy handed in his homework with this masterful kindergarten sentence: "I procrastinate."

His teacher laughed heartily. I did, too. And every so often, on a day like today (when a single side of a phonics sheet took more than an hour to do), I drag out the memory of "I procrastinate" to make myself chuckle. Because the funny things of prior times can still make me smile, even on the not-so-funny days. And it takes a little bit longer to go crazy if you're smiling.