Afternoon Blow-Out

Last week wasn't a time of high academic achievement for Jesse.  He failed a test and had three missing pieces of homework.  On Friday afternoon I broke the news to him--having invited him to sit with me on the colorful Adirondack chairs in the front brick patio as he came home from school--that he was grounded for part of the weekend, at least until he got all his make-up work finished.

"WHAT???"  he screamed.  "WHAT???  NO WAY!!!  EVERYBODY has missing homework.  My school is too hard!  Nobody's parents act like this!!!  Why do you act like this?'' He went increasingly beserk as the cruel reality of being pursued by his missing homework straight into the safe haven of his weekend dawned on him.  He dropped his backpack and kicked it. Then he picked it up again with a homicidal grab, got out a notebook, and slammed the notebook onto a chair.  Then he screamed and kicked his way into the house.  From the front patio I could hear him banging his shoes, shoving furniture, and throwing things.  "Try not to break anything!" I called helpfully.  "DAMN IT!" he was screaming.  "I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!!"  He stormed through all the rooms, startling everyone.

I went to the kitchen to cook.  He stormed in, slamming chairs out of his way. He sat furiously down at the kitchen table and raged on.  "WHY?'  JUST TELL ME ONE THING:  WHY????"  

I browned the onions.

He went to the front hall for his backpack and drop-kicked it most of the way towards the kitchen.  Sighing mightily he opened it and slammed his books onto the kitchen table.

I added some spices.  

"MY WHOLE WEEKEND???" he screamed.  "GOD!!!!!"  He tore at his hair.  "You think missing homework is such a big deal.  EVERYBODY has missing homework!!!"

I poured myself a glass of sweet iced tea and peered into a cookbook.

He dragged some crumpled papers out of the backpack, smoothed them out, and started writing.  He settled in and wrote some more.  He picked up a book and flipped through some pages, then wrote some more. I left to go get the mail.  When I came back into the kitchen, he was still writing.  He looked up at me with a terrific smile and said, "Mom, I think I'm handling this really well, don't you?"