He Blinded Me with Science

The phrase “science fair project” holds as much excitement for me as a rectal exam.  Even the word “project” be it for child or adult, makes me contemplate acts that would surely jeopardize any hopes of entering the pearly gates and enjoying everlasting Paradise.  A school project of any kind is teacher-speak for WHOLE HELL OF A LOTTA WORK FOR MOM.  Togetherness and family bonding over a school project?  I think I’ll pass, thanks.

Seth’s science fair project was supposed to be Dad’s domain because let’s face it, I carried the kid for nine months and got the stretch marks to prove it.  That, and I told Dad it was his job.  I figure giving birth makes me exempt from anything science or project related.  Yeah, right.  Subtle hints do not work with this man.  This is, after all, the same man who requires visual cues for birthday and Christmas gifts otherwise I’d wind up with a wet/dry ShopVac and a set of drill bits.  Go ahead, ask me how I predict this with such accuracy.  

All that to say guess who got saddled helping with the project?  I’ll be so glad when it’s over and you can bet the farm I’ll be saving every detail so we can recycle it when the next one’s turn comes around.  Is it just me, or do today’s kids (and teachers for that matter) require way more parental project involvement than previous generations?  My Dad, bless him, constructed a hinged project display board for me one year from plywood.  No lightweight materials for him; when Dad makes anything it’s meant to withstand whatever life throws at it.  But that was the extent of my parents’ involvement.  Not that that made them bad parents mind you, it just means they offered what they thought was necessary and then gotta the heck outta Dodge.  These are not stupid people.

The date of his science fair is looming on the horizon, but is he sweating it?  Puh-leeze!  “Mama”, he says “It’s under control.  I think you’ve had enough for today; go take a break and relax.”  How humbling to have the 11 year old send you to your room.  Where’s the Xanax?

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