Straight Lines

Thing 2 had preschool today.

When I take him to school, I usually stick around for a few minutes, because #LastBaby and #ImGonnaLinger.  After signing up for his classroom job, which was feeding the pet fish named Peanut, he sat down at the table with his worksheet.

It was a worksheet where kids were being asked to trace a dotted line with a crayon.  On the left side of the paper, there was a picture of a single leaf.  On the right side, there was a picture of a pile of leaves.  In each exercise, the kids were asked to trace the dotted lines, which went up big hills and down into low valleys, with some loops, to get the lone leaf to the pile.

Thing 2 started right in on the first problem by drawing a straight line from the leaf to the pile.

I told him, “Hey… you have to trace the line!  You have to go up and down the mountains, and not just straight across.”

His teacher looked over at him and said, “Thing 2, pretend that your crayon is a tractor, and you have to drive it up the hills of the dotted line.”

Thing 2 moved on to the second problem on the page, without saying a word.  He drew another straight line, right through all the loops of the dotted line.

I said, “You didn’t trace the mountains.”

Seriously?  Does the child NOT care about earning straight As by following directions and doing the assignment right?  Where have I gone wrong with him?

He told me, “This is a whole lot easier if you DON’T go up and down the hills.  It’s easier to just go straight.”

#ShortCutsAt3

#HesNotHisBrotherAtThatAge

#WhoseKidIsThis

After leaving my kid and his theory that the quickest route between any two points is a straight line (which, clearly, he already knows, so VERY ADVANCED, Y’ALL), I came home to the hills and valleys of my dirty laundry.  The week has gotten away from me, and I’m fairly certain that we have more clothes on my closet floor than we do hanging up in the family’s closets.

I’m obviously losing at Housewifing.

My washing machine ran at a speed that resembled a rocket launch all day.  Dirty clothes in; wet clothes out.  Dry clothes out of the dryer; throw them on the bed; ignore them for the rest of the day.  Repeat.  Repeat.  RE-STINKING-PEAT.

(My mother just shuddered in horror.  She raised me better… she did her best to influence me to be the type of person who immediately folds clean clothes and puts them away, and today I have failed her.  Today, I became the girl who dumps clean clothes onto the bed and walks away.)

But then THIS popped up on one of my friends’ Facebook feed today:

12234878_997262273677775_1217221440931581366_nThat’s me, over here at my house, with my hand in the air.  I’m waving it around frantically to signal YES!  YES, I HAVE.

Probably more than once.

How badly do we really need that load of bath towels?  What about the sheets?  Can we just buy new, cheap sheets at Walmart?

All I could think was that the quickest way to get from the point of HERE’S A BIG WHOPPER PILE OF DIRTY LAUNDRY to LOOK!  IT’S ALL WASHED AND DRIED AND FOLDED AND PUT AWAY – NOW HAVE SOME WINE would be a straight line.

Straight from the closet to the garbage dumpster.

Never mind the hills and valleys of hauling all those jeans and T-shirts up and down the stairs and switching them from the washer to the dryer and adding fabric softener, and folding them.

Sometimes, my preschooler’s line of thinking is way ahead of mine.

He’s kind of like a little Einstein.

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