I need a drink with the cornucopia of school projects overflowing the calendar, tables, computer screens and minds.
There are the science projects. In one, we are creating WMD by exposing a growing nutrient to bacteria from the bathroom sink. UGH!
In the other, there is some ratio-coefficient-decibel thing going on. It entails speakers, microphones cinderblocks and foam. Oh, and a ton of data that nobody knows what to do with.
15-year old: I need to put this in a graph.
Me: What are you trying to show?
Me: What story are you trying to tell?
Him: Story? Tell? Is that in the rubric?
And let’s not forget the art project. Herein the 12-year old had to chose an artist and a piece of his or her work and then reproduce it. By hand. By his own hand, that is.
Me: How about Jackson Pollock? Like this. It wouldn’t take too long.
12-year old: I like the Escher. The one with the stairs. It’s so cool.
Me: Don’t do the hard one, do something you can just crank out, you have too much to do!
No, I didn’t actually SAY that last part. I just thought it. Really loud, but in my head. I think. And it was especially loud each time he was working on the fabulous art project instead of recording data from the WMD experiment.
You know, bacteria grows really fast. And the data from yesterday is gone. Poof! The stuff unrecorded today is also disappearing–or should I say growing and morphing? I’m thinking that it is almost time to call in the hazmat team. Before it gets too dangerous. (Don’t worry, loyal reader. The procedures include bleaching the insides of the petri dishes before disposal.)
So, somebody spent hours and hours on a really incredible art project. It is really quite nice. He says it will be for sale at the school in a few weeks, long after we have disinfected the house.
I bet I buy it.