Three had all month to work on an extra credit project for science. I offered to help him more than once, but he blew me off. Sunday came, and he realized it was due Monday. We were in the middle of math homework, which we only knew about because we checked the teacher's website. It's odd for Three to have homework assigned over the weekend, unless it's a project. So, even I was surprised. Then I had to get my brain in algebra mode, which takes a few minutes. I was a literature major.
The math was frustrating, so Three gave up on the idea of doing the extra credit. I reminded him of his sub-spectacular science grade. Here is our discussion:
"I don't need the twenty points. It's not like they go to my grade. They only go on a test grade."
"Yes. And that goes toward your cumulative grade."
"So, big deal. My grade will go from a C to a C+. It's all still a C, which is average, you know."
"Yes, I know. And average will get you nowhere."
"It doesn't matter. I'm going to the NBA."
"You may recall, Three, that one can no longer be recruited straight out of high school." (This is known as "The LeBron James Rule.") "I am also pretty sure no one has ever been recruited out of community college."
"I'll go to Community, and then transfer to a good school."
"And how will you get there, if your grades suck?"
"You worry too much, Mom."
At 9:30 PM he realized he needed the extra credit. So, we had to research hurricanes and tornadoes, and draw a floor plan of our house, with highlighted safe zones. We finished at 10:30. The Captain got home from his hockey game, saw us working in the kitchen, and promptly headed for a shower. Better to avoid killing the only one that looks like him.
Today, Three came home, fell asleep on the couch, and started his homework late. But he read ten chapters in a book, finished some computer-based math, and, together, we figured out complex fractions. We felt pretty brilliant.
At 9:30 PM he remembered he had to answer chapter questions. I got to type.
So, clearly, there are still issues. But we're working on it. Usually, late at night.
P.S.: For Chrysanthe, who can't believe the conversations we have here:
"Mom, can I borrow your computer for Study Island?"
"No, you can use the other laptop. And Three, could you please stop looking at celebrity sex tapes?"
"There was a program that wouldn't close on the computer, and it was some idiot sex tape. Those are loaded with viruses! So, unless you have the $250 to fix the infected computer, could you lay off the skin flicks?!"
Thanks for the virus tip. That seemed to work better than plain scorn.