I might die of my children learning to read

I know many of you will find this divulgence shocking: I am not the most patient mother that ever sat down to read a book with her Kindergarteners. When a note came home from school a while ago informing us that we would be starting homework assignments, I cringed in horror - homeschooler I am not - and then put it completely out of my mind and went back to sucking down my chai and telling my kids that they can come upstairs and do fun crafts with me just as soon as they finish picking up the basement toy room, which never happens. MWHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

As promised, the damn folders came home. Red for Saige and green for Garrett. How organized. Inside each cheerful, colorful folder nestled a small book - a level one reader - and a sheet on which to mark each day of the week that I sat down with my small children, cuddled close under a blanket on the couch by the fire, and snuggled them while they learned the joy of reading and discovered their inner literary genius.

This isn't so bad, I lied to myself, this will be fun. I should be reading with them. A good mother would enjoy reading with her children and watching them uncover the magic of the written word. Besides, I could hardly begin their twenty year (one can dream) foray into education by sniping about how boring homework is. FOR ME.

About Wednesday, I remembered the reading assignments in a panic and chirped happily in the van on the way home from school, "We get to read your books tonight. We get to do your homework. I want to sit and have you read the books to me."

"NOOOOOOOOOO," Garrett screeched from the rear seat, "BORING! I DON'T WANT TO! I'M DONE WITH SCHOOL TODAY."

Well, it was hard to argue with that logic. It is boring and he had been at school all day, but we needed a positive attitude to set forth on our path to higher education.

"Oh, I'll do it with you. It'll be fun." Come on, you brat, I never do that. Work with me here.

He whinged the whole way home and so I wisely started with Saige.

Her book was called, I LOVE MESS. Apt. I snuggled. There was even a blanket. We looked at the cover together.

"Can you read it?" I asked her.

"I."

"Yes!" She could read! Hallelujah. Maybe this wouldn't be so painful after all.

"Lllll."

"Good."

"I don't know."

Hmmmmmm.  "Lllll-ooooo-vvvvvv."

Blank look.

"Don't you sound out at school?"

"Yes."

"Lllllllllll uuuuuuuuu vvvvvvvv." I demonstrated.

"Love."

"Right. Great job."

"I love paint." No. "I love crayons?!"  "No, we're not guessing, Saige, we're reading, you have to sound it out. I love mmmmm...." "I love MOMMY!" Sweet, but no. "I LOVE MICE! I LOVE MONSTERS!"

"Mmmmmmm eeeeeee?"

"I LOVE Meeeee .... MARBLES?"

No.

"I LOVE COLORING!"

Okay, that doesn't even start with M, you're not even trying here.

"I love mmmmmmeeeeeeeessssss. mmmeeesss."

"I don't know."

I hate learning to read. How is this that difficult? What's wrong with this child's brain. It's broken. Mine's broken.

"I love m-e-ss."

"I love mess!!"

"Yes, good reading!" If your first language is Nepali. What have you even been doing at Kindergarten for seven months. Why are we paying hundreds of dollars a month? Do you know how many chais that is? I might be able to endure this torture if I had another chai.

"Alright, let's try the first page."

"I. love."

"Good reading!"

"MOMMY!!"  

Sucking up is not doing it for me.  "Mess."

"MESS!!"

"Good. Reading?"  Bring me the Great Dane, I think I could teach him to read faster than this.

Page two.

"I. love. COLORS!" no. "CRAYONS!" no. "RED!" NO!

Deep breath. "Sweetheart. What does that word start with?" And god get this damn blanket off me, I'm sweating.

"P."

"What does p say? See we're not guessing, we're sounding out. I. love. Pa, pa-aaaa-nnnn???"

Blank, like an empty, illiterate child that lives with her parents until she's forty.

"teh?"

"RIGHT!!!!!" Praise the lord. "P-aaaa-nnnn-ttttt."

"PAINT!"

"Good. I love..."

"Color?!"

"Paint. I love paint. Okay good, get your brother."

"There's more pages?"

"Those are for tomorrow. GARRRETTTT!!!"

"I DON'T WANT TO IT'S BORING."

YOU BET YOUR UNHAIRY LITTLE ASS IT IS AND IF I SUFFER EVERYONE SUFFERS. GET! OVER! HERE!

"No, honey, it will be fun, just two pages." Hahahaha, because that's all mommy can take.

Not so much with the snuggling, he just wallowed uncomfortably in my lap with his book in his hands, entitled, I DID IT.

"What's the title?"

"I don't know."

???? I am raising children with the intelligence of golden retrievers. Dumb golden retrievers.

"I?"

"Right, good reading. D - i - d."

"Did!"

"Excellent."

"It!"

OMFG, BOY GENIUS.

"I did it. That's the title. Okay, here we go. What's this letter?"

"Bee."

"What does bee say?"

'Bah."

We've achieved hunting terrier IQ here. I believe at least one of my children could be successfully trained to fetch dead rodents.

"Ba-ba-ttttt-ooonnnnn. Bu-ttt-ooonnnn."

"Button!"

"Yes." I pointed to the next three words. In a unpredictable plot twist, they were, I did it.

"I." Yes! "Buttoned it!!"

Logical, but no. "I did it. Button. I did it."

Page two.

"Zzzzzz-iiii-pppppp."

"Zip!"

"Yes! Good reading!" Someone bring me a bacon treat, I need to reinforce repetition here.

"Zip. I?"

"Zipped it!!!!"

"No. I did it. Zip. I d - i - d it." Are you sensing a theme here? Because I'm sensing a theme.

"S-n-a-p. SNNNN AAAA PPPPP."

"Snap?"

"Right. I. Think? What's that word?"

?????? There's nothing in there. It's like reading with a eager-to-please chipmunk.

"Da-da? i-i-i? d?" My brain cells are crying out in agony and jumping off of neuron cliffs. This is how Alzheimer's begins.

"I snapped it?"

"Noooooo."

"I DID IT????!!!"

"Yes. Fabulous.  Okay, that was fun."

"There's more pages."

"I'm done. We need to save some for tomorrow."

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Da-ddd-errrr-iiinnnn-kkkk. I drinked it. I love drunk.