Wednesday, January 23, 2013
A Failed Science Project
Notice I said "will"?
In December, a week before Christmas, when The Storm chose her subject matter, I knew immediately that this could go wrong. You can't grow mold overnight. We would need to be prepared, start early.
I remembered science projects of previous years: the time Balthazar and Hollywood stayed up all night making crystals to present to the class the very next day; and another time when Sunshine and I drew color wheels and mixed food coloring in egg cartons until long past her bedtime.
"Remind me to buy your breads as soon as the holidays are over," I told The Storm.
In fact she reminded me several times, and each time she did my heart skipped a beat with worry.
"Yes, shoot, we need to get on that." But each time it was early in the day, hours until my next grocery trip. Or late at night, when I would say, "I'll buy them first thing in the morning."
Then I would forget all over again.
Anyway, here it has arrived, the day before her data collection portion is due and I've yet to buy her breads to mold. I've screwed up.
"Don't worry," I said, to calm her tears this morning. "I'll write a note to your teacher. The actual project isn't due until February. We'll make it work."
Here is the note I would like to write:
Dear Ms. Fourth Grade Science Teacher,
Please excuse The Storm for not submitting her data collection today. I forgot to buy the bread. Or rather, I forgot to remember to buy the bread.
It would seem a simple thing, the purchase of a few extra loaves of bread--for a woman who visits the grocery store almost daily, in order to feed her family nutritious homemade meals. However, alas, I did not remember.
It seems odd, doesn't it, that I could continually forget to remember to purchase the bread to mold? When I never would forget the bread to eat? Nor the many tasks that needed to be done to earn the bread, to buy the bread to eat, or mold?
In fact, everyday, since the science project was assigned, I was able to remember the thousands of things necessary to manage the lives of the five of us in our family: the cupboards were filled; the laundry was done (the blue and black soccer uniform for Tuesdays, the orange and white for Thursdays, the white game jersey for weekends); the kids were always delivered and picked up from school and their various activities; there were presents under the tree at Christmas; and multiple feasts set at our table to accommodate our holiday guests; orthodontist and dentist appointments were kept; as were the dog's grooming appointments (although my own roots were let to grow); the kids received the help they needed with their daily homework; and the chastising they needed to ensure they themselves tended to this work; I read to them; I counseled them; I scrubbed behind their ears; I pulled countless ponytails through colored elastics; I kept the house clean enough to fend off mold (in hindsight, this was perhaps an error in judgement); I smiled pleasantly across the table for business associates; I bandaged knees; and served up spoonfuls of medicine this flu season; I wrote several articles; and edited just as many; I checked regularly for lice (a paranoid habit, perhaps); I flipped at least 360 pancakes since the science project was assigned (both wheat and white--I should have let these mold); poured juice; spilled juice; cleaned spilled juice; mopped floors; changed sheets; reminded them to cough into their elbows; I've cheered on the sidelines and cried on the sidelines of soccer fields; and life; I've pulled my son out of the middle school where he was being badly bullied to implement a new homeschooling curriculum (free of science projects, for now); I've had several serious conversations with my 15-year-old daughter about sex, and trust, and the dangers of peer pressure; I've made New Year's resolutions; new family budgets; new schedules for 2013; replaced four faulty appliances and a car; negotiated with two car salesmen; answered to six different editors; I've made countless lists (some even included "buy breads"); and reminded the kids to write lists, keep track, get done all that they needed to get done; "Do you have a sweater?"; "Where's your lunch?"; "Did you take your vitamins?"; "Make good choices out there,"; I've hugged them; stroked their heads; patted their backs; wiped their tears; and tucked them into their beds at each day's end; I've locked the doors and set the alarm; and I've lain awake making more lists. I've even cleaned cupboards and tossed into the trash molding breads (that had not been properly observed or recorded)--but for the life of me I could not remember to buy the damn breads to mold!
I thought temporarily of helping The Storm to falsify data for submission, and would have had no problem doing this myself, as a young student in dire straights--it would be easy--but I'm a mother now, and my priorities are completely changed:
Growing strong, healthy, good and honest children is my primary objective. So, I won't be teaching The Storm to cheat, this week.
Instead, all I can do is beg for your mercy, and an extension. How long does it take to grow mold anyway? That's how long we'll need..., assuming I remember to buy the breads this time.
The Storm's Mom
But that isn't the letter I sent. Instead, I wrote this--
Dear Fourth Grade Science Teacher,
The Storm is still in the process of collecting her data on molding bread. We would be grateful for an extension of approximately two to three weeks.
--with this quote, from mind:
I'm hoping The Storm's teacher is a percipient scientist!