By L. ‘Ailina Laranang
The world would be a much better place if homework had never been invented. Unfortunately, just about every student in the United States must suffer through it at some point. That means parents suffer, too, because we are the poor souls who must endure pouts, whines, debates, excuses and sometimes outright rebellion, all because of at-home assignments.
Recently, an afternoon epiphany struck me like lightening as I watched my 12-year-old daughter, Madison, wrestle her science book at the dinner table. She squirmed in her seat, alternating between staring out the window and growling at her younger siblings, “Please be quiet! I’m trying to work!”
She was obviously uncomfortable. I myself have a strict policy against trying to work on my writing at the dinner table. The noise is overwhelming, the chair is unkind to the derriere, and I’m too close in proximity to a sink full of dirty dishes. It’s not exactly an environment conducive to concentration and creativity.
“Why would it be any different for Madison?” I thought. “How can I expect her to reach into the depths of her right and left brain hemispheres to bring up artistic finesse and flawless logic if she’s developing a migraine headache and a bruised tailbone?”
I wandered back to my bedroom and took a good look at my own workspace. The area in which I diligently and productively put pen to paper was designed for comfort. A clear desk surface with all my writing manuals and reference books within easy reach. An overstuffed cushion in a little desk chair. A small desktop water fountain sweetly gurgling away to calm my senses. A nice, sturdy door between me and the rest of the world. (And my secret stash of chocolate chip cereal bars in the bottom drawer. Shhh — don’t tell my kids.)
It is in this cozy, inviting, private place where I can be creative, productive and entirely free from distraction. No whining children, no backaches from lousy ergonomics and no view of the sink full of dirty dishes.
Back in the dining room, I found Madison slumped over her science book, twirling her hair around her finger and drawing ants in the margin of her paper while her younger sisters argued nearby, shouting about who was the real Princess of the World. I took my daughter’s hand and led her back to my bedroom workspace, shutting the door behind us.
“See how this suits you,” I said, pulling out the chair for her.
Madison settled down into the soft, fluffy cushion and let out a dramatic sigh. “Ah, finally!” she said. “Peace and quiet!”
I turned on the water fountain for her. She closed her eyes, and a smile of relief spilled across her face.
“One more thing,” I said, as I opened the bottom drawer just enough for her to peek at my secret stash of chocolate chip cereal bars.
Madison beamed at me.
“Remember...,” I grinned. “Moderation.”
My story may sound like a tall tale, but rest assured, it is entirely true. Madison finished her homework in half the time, and I heard not a single complaint. When she emerged from my bedroom, she didn’t crawl across the floor in anguish and exhaustion. She breezed by with a spring in her step and a lilt in her voice: “All done!”
I knew it. My children are no different from their parents in needing a quiet, comfortable, gratifying workspace.
Since the day of my homework epiphany, Madison has made my desk her own. However, I am a tad superstitious about the sanctity of a writer’s desk; I insist she must have her own workspace tailored to her individual tastes and needs.
Madison and I are working together to plan her homework area. Since she shares a room with a sister, space is limited, but with a few problem-solving skills and a lot of creativity, she’ll soon have a pleasant, relaxing workplace that reflects her own personal style. In time, Madison will anticipate escaping to her desk instead of trying to escape her work.
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Claudia B. Laws
Multimedia Editor
The Daily Advertiser, Acadiana.MomsLikeMe.com
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