Where’s Your Pencil?

We homeschool.  We buy pencils. We buy lots and lots of pencils. We buy pencils by the case, big cases of fancy, Ticonderoga pencils, the ones that sharpen nicely, have nice strong leads that don’t break, pencils that last a long time—well theoretically they would last a long time, but I will never find out if that’s true, because once I sharpen one of these pencils, they get sucked into the black hole that I’m convinced we have in our house.  

Yes, I can always find a brand-spankin’, new pencil in the top drawer of my desk, an everlasting supply of pencils.  And all would be well if I didn’t give them to the children. 

“Googie, here is your phonics assignment for the day, and a pencil.  Go work on this in the other room.  I’ll check with you in about fifteen minutes to see how you’re doing, okay?” I say to my son as I hand him a freshly sharpened pencil and his phonics page.

“Uh, huh,” he says and quickly scampers away.  Fifteen minutes later, I go searching for him all over the house.  Surprisingly, he’s not in the other room.  Pencil, phonics page, and child have all gone AWOL.  And, no, I really didn’t expect to find him in the room, but a mom can dream, a mom can believe, a mom can hope, that her child will actually listen to her.  After another fifteen minutes of searching, I find the child hiding in the bathroom, under a blanket, in the bathtub (no, he didn’t fill the tub with water), reading a book about (his current obsession) astronomy.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Nothing”

“Where’s your phonics page?”

“I don’t know,” he says, still under the blanket.  Realizing that asking him to try to find the phonics page and the pencil would waste a few hours, I decide to go looking for them myself. Fifteen minutes later I find the phonics page under a pile of books in the family room, but the pencil is nowhere to be seen. 

 

“Fine,” I say.  “Here is your phonics page and here is another pencil.  Let’s go over to the other room to work on the page together.”  I follow him to the other room. Ha! I drag him to the other room. 

  

He decides that he wants to sit on the floor to work on his phonics page; I sit on a chair right next to him and pretend to read a book in order to make sure that he’s focused on his work.  Five minutes later I look down to check on him.  “So, how much have you gotten done?”

“I’m almost done,” he says.  I check his page and notice that he has barely started the assignment.

“Where’s your pencil?” I ask.

“What pencil?”

“The one I just gave you.”