"I am smart. S-M-R-T." - Homer Simpson

Today's the last day of school for the two older boys—leaving 4th and 2nd grades—moving on to 5th and 3rd. Like my Mamaw says [that's Hoosier for grandmother], "Honey, the days are long, but the year's are short."  The boys are ready for summer break, but I don't think nearly as ready as I am.

I remember asking Mom for help with homework.  Her response was always, "Look it up."  When my brother Joe asked for help, she'd say, "Ask your sister."  This isn't meant to be a dig on Mom—one time she stayed up late with me drawing cells, or mitochondria, or something like that for a 10th grade biology project that I'd procrastinated doing until the last minute.  I had two or three dozen amoeba-looking things to draw.  I don't know what they were, but it was important and Mom saved me.  [My education didn't stick. I can't name all the planets and I don't really know where I am on a map—too many square states. I'm terrible at geography.] 

Homework exhausts me.  I don't do their work for them [like some Mom's—you know who you are] but school is structured in such a way now, that parental involvement is mandatory.  We have to sign forms indicating they've done stuff every day—not just when they're falling behind and receive a naughty note.  They have to read out loud to us. We have to double-check folders.  Projects require multiple trips to a store [not necessarily expensive, just inconvenient]. 

I choose to pack the boys' lunches which is one of my least favorite chores, and they have snack time every day that requires me to pack more stuff.  When I was a kid, we used to get little cartons of milk delivered to the classroom in a cold, cold milk crate and a few lucky kids were allowed chocolate.  That stopped in the second grade. I could go on. I love doing things with the kids, supporting them, reading to and with them, but it's possible an over-correction is occurring.

So, Toddler Child and I are all purdy, ready to go pick up older "brudders" and get them to their respective end of year parties [something else I didn't have as a kid until Sr. year in high school].  What happened to the days of Mom's sitting on the front porch with a gin and tonic, visiting, while kids played in the yard with a water hose, everyone celebrating the last day of school?  [I don't even like gin, and that scene definitely wouldn't play out in my current neighborhood, but you know what I mean.]

Maybe we're over-edumacating everyone.