Yesterday was rough.
The daily “school fight” with the kids is not improving. With Keaton it’s worse than ever. They question assignments, push back, hem and haw and put in the a absolute minimal effort. Disrespectful and disinterested, their attitude is tiring to us both. They’re not even attempting to get in the right frame of mind, it’s a compulsory grinding-out for them.
With Keaton, this protest has twice now turned into a full-on, “I hate this trip! I hate my life! I hate everything!,” tearful rant.
Tellingly, these outbursts only happen when she’s asked to exert effort on her studies, which to me says that they are more utilitarian than truly existential, and that we don’t likely have to worry about her resenting us forever. In other words, she’s happy as can be as long as she’s doing what she wants, but if she’s asked to do something else, well, the whole damn world can burn. I count this, then, as simple manipulative theatrics vs. true emotional trauma. I was once the master at this myself, so I feel like I can spot the tactic.
Regardless, to see her worked into such a huff, even a self inflicted one, bothers me. I want the kids to be happy. And, lo and behold, when it’s not school time it’s all rainbows and puppies. They are happy, laughing and having a jolly time. I
I don’t know, maybe we’re doing it wrong? I would just like to see them try a little, care a little.
Gonna go for a walk. Peace.
Also written on this day...
- my geriatric symphony - 2008
- there's coke on the money you give to god - 2007
- as wheat on the plain - 2004