“Milo, can you show me what your assignments are from your teacher?” School from home officially started yesterday for the kids. Yesterday I left Milo to his own devices but then thought better of it, and decided I’d be wiser to check up on his work.
“My teacher hasn’t assigned anything,” Milo asserted.
“Hum, just let me read his email.” Milo threw his arms around the laptop protectively. “No, Milo, I want to see what he sent.” Reluctantly he opened his school email. I pointed to the attachment. He opened it, and shifted the document up and down the screen restlessly.
“Milo, be still, I need to read it.”
“I already know what to do!”
“Right, but I need to know what you need to do too!” I perused the document quickly. “It says you need some stuff on your learning platform, can you show me that?”
Milo groaned, and clicked on the browser tab, again shifting the page up and down and clicking rapidly. “Mom, I know what I have to do.”
“Can you show me your Addition and Subtraction SDL doc?” I queried. “And stop moving the page around, I can’t read it when you do that.”
“You don’t have to, I can follow the directions myself!” he declared, as he clicked away to another tab.
“Milo! Stop it! Go hang out in your room until I have a chance to read through this undisturbed!” Feet dragging, groaning, moaning, and high pitched squealing theatrical performance followed, ended by an escort to his room and a threat that he may not exit until called for. I retired to the computer in relative peace, only to be accosted by Naomi. Her ClassDojo app on the tablet has instructional videos that weren’t working. Something about the app was cranky with tablets, so I had to get the videos over my email. Naomi didn’t want to give up possession of the tablet, and kept swiping and tapping with the blithe assurance that though the video hadn’t worked last time, it probably would this time, if she could just DO IT HERSELF.
Milo popped his head out of his bedroom door: “Mom! When can I come out?”
“When I have had a chance to figure out your on-line school,” I retorted, “which takes longer when you keep bugging me!” I turned back to squint at the laptop screen.
“Naomi! Stop clicking on that video! Can you please go and play in your room until I’ve had a chance to figure this out?” Naomi disappeared and was quiet, but Milo kept up a steady stream of rattling complaint from his bedroom door.
Jeremiah emerged from the bedroom where he’s set up his office for morning tea and asked how things were going.
“Milo’s banished to his room while I figure out his “bleeping” school platform, and Naomi’s videos aren’t working on the wretched tablet, and I haven’t even had a chance to have breakfast yet!”
“Would you like a muffin?”
“Yes, please,” I muttered, sheepishly. The muffin was duly delivered, and Jeremiah retreated to his bedroom sanctuary.
Eventually I sussed out the daily tasks Milo was responsible for, amid the network of the student dashboard and the google docs with reporting templates, and made him a chart where he has to check off what he’s done each day. I’m still not sure which ones he has to submit as evidence to his teacher, or how we’re meant to do worksheets without a printer, but it’s a start anyway.
Maybe tomorrow will be smoother.
I love those ‘aloence’ notations! I’m going to go put some of those on MY calendar, which is otherwise quite bare for April.
Naomi and Milo seem to have NOT inherited my mother’s genes for good spelling….I didn’t either. But Milo HAS inherited his dad’s good sense for the value of money.
Neither Milo nor Naomi seem to have inherited my mother’s good genes for spelling (I didn’t either), but Milo has inherited his dad’s good sense for the value of money. I know what you mean about an empty calendar….