We had a little bit of friction this week over doing anything that smelled like school work while on spring break. Dad was for it. Ce was adamantly against it. It wasn’t every day. We traveled down to Philly to see the grandparents and I didn’t mention cell structures, prepositions, or the distributive property. But when we came back and they spent the first three hours of the day in front of the TV? It started to bother me.
Was I being too strict? Overbearing? Not letting them be kids? Maybe. But I also believe we are what we repeatedly do. And we were talking 30-ish minutes of work, not three hours. About the same amount of time they typically spend debating what tin of putty to play with while watching TV. Or the the equivalent amount of time they spend eye-rolling and belly-aching over my requests.
One of my jobs is to help the girls realize that being excellent at anything doesn’t just happen. It’s a combination of little things and big things. And it mostly comes from the monotonous day-to-day choices we make until little actions become habits. They will, fingers crossed, realize who they are by what they do.
Until then, they are going to hear it from me. Repeatedly.