A Little Motivation

My son's school performance has unfortunately been slightly sub-par this school year. He just isn't making the marks that I think he is capable of. Especially since I was the ultimate over-achiever. Doing well in school was the most important thing in my life. And not just doing well, but doing amazing! I thrived on being my teachers favourite and loved every minute I spent in class filling my brain with whatever information was thrown my way.

Aydan has a slightly different attitude towards school. Apathetic would be the best description. He approaches every aspect of school with the same "meh" disposition. I've spent the entire year trying to impress upon him the importance of learning. For normal children, the constant words of motivation and threats of punishment would have been enough to inspire at least a minimal amount of extra effort. Sadly, I gave birth to one very strong willed little boy. Punishments just aren't always that effective with him.

Once, when Aydan was four years old, he wouldn't open his mouth so I could brush his teeth. Frustrated, I shouted at him that if his mouth didn't open, I was taking his bike away for a week. He looked at me for a moment, and then very calmly said, "Okay. A week isn't that long." While I stood there speechless, he left the bathroom and went to bed. I guess a week without his bike seemed a fair trade for a night without having to brush his teeth. This was not the first, or the last time, my punishment would be handled as a negotiation.

My latest attempt at giving Aydan a boost in his school career has been the not so nice approach. After a dismal parent teacher last week, my husband and I took away television, video games, and he is no longer allowed to play outside unless his homework is finished. This was met with a lot of tears, frustrated sighs and I've seen him roll his eyes at me more than once. But I'm holding my ground!

The last week has been miserable. For me and him alike. I figure, by the end of this school year, either Aydan will be doing much much better, or he'll be harbouring enough resentment for my parenting methods that he'll require hours of therapy as an adult.

Whenever I was a brat growing up, my mother would tell me how someday, I'd have a child just like me. I can safely say, she was wrong. There is no way I could've been this frustrating and lived to be 29.