I Am (no) Smarter Than a 5th Grader.

I am going through the 5th grade for the fifth time. Once, in 1967, I did it myself. (That is actually starting to sound like a really long time ago - even to me. But I digress.) Then I went through it in 1998 with Amanda and 1999 with the twins and now, in 2010, I am going through it with my 4th and final child. You'd think I'd have it nailed.

Nah.

Grace is in the midst of the fifth grade state report. Her state is Washington. I've been there. A bunch of times. My sister lives there. Washington used to be part of my sales territory. I know Seattle, Puget Sound, Bellevue, Tacoma, Vancouver, Olympia. I know Nike, Nintendo, Microsoft and Nordstrom. I know Mount Ranier and Mount St. Helens. I know Seattle Rep and The Space Needle. I know Pike Place Market. I know Starbucks. I know the rainy weather. And I can't think of how to help my daughter.

I'm a "stream of consciousness" writer I guess, which means I can't write about anything really except what is passing through my brain. Coming and going. Hello and goodbye. I never really was very good at outlines and index cards. I hated making note cards for term papers. Those insufferable 3X5 cards on which you were to write a couple of bullet points that would remind you, when you finally got to the rough draft, of the volumes of data you just absorbed in research. I didn't ever master that. I either crammed what was essentially the entire paper on the front and back of one of those index cards (rendered unreadable due to excessive smudging of #2 lead pencils) or I wrote two or three words I was certain would joggle my memory only to find that "250,000 pl", "woodcrafts", "sm.bld." - meant absolutely nothing when I finally needed it to.

So when Grace came in whining about how she needs help writing her notes - I was mad. Really. Mad. Because I do not want to be in the 5th grade again. And I know that she needs my help but I feel helpless to assist my child and when I am helpless I get mad at whatever is making me feel that way. In this case, my child. Poor Grace. (At least its not as bad as Christine's 5th grade report on Stradivarius - a man on whom virtually nothing at all has ever been written . Don't believe me? Try to find something. He made violins. That's it.)

I get why parents just do the work for their kids. Its so much easier. But I have never been one of those parents who writes the report or builds the model or does the science project - and I'm not going to start now. Which means I have to delve into 5th grade again, and right now, so that I can guide and help and not just take over and do. And I don't want to delve. So I bitch. But I'm a mom and that's what we do. We help our kids. No matter what. And bitch about it.

So tonight, when you are going to the movies or to dinner or watching a good program on HBO or reading something juicy or just going to bed - think of me, will you? Because tonight I will be curled up with a cup of tea and a text book titled: "The State of Washington" by Ima Bore(actually I'm not sure of the author's name) learning all I never needed to know about a state I like to visit but would never want to live in. And tonight, perchance I'll dream about next year in 6th grade when I get to learn all about some country I will probably never see.

For the fifth time.