<p><strong><em>These strategies will take the sting out of homework time for you and your child</em></strong></p><p>I’m not sure who despises homework more, my eight-year-old son or me. What I do know: the “H word” can turn my otherwise delightful child into a whining, stomping monster, and it can turn my otherwise mindful <a href="https://esme.com/resources/c/parenting" target="_blank" class="wordlink">parenting</a> into something that might qualify me for a visit from <em></em>Jo Frost, aka Supernanny. </p><p>Sound familiar?</p><p>How can Solo Moms take the sting out of homework time? Here are 10 tips from Solo Moms and their kids:</p><ol><li><strong>Understand how your child works best.</strong> When is your child most likely to be productive? Does she work better alone or with a helper? Does he need to be in a quiet place or in the middle of the action? Does she concentrate for long periods of time, or does she need breaks every 15 minutes? Creating a homework plan that matches your child’s work style sets up your child for success.</li><li><strong>Find the real reason behind the struggle.</strong> When homework time became a wrestling match at my house, I had a private talk with my son. I learned that he was embarrassed about his performance in certain school subjects, so he’d do pretty much anything to avoid those subjects, including acting up at homework time. Learning what’s behind the struggle can help you tailor homework time to your child’s needs.</li><li><strong>Schedule wisely. </strong>Put a kid who hates homework together with a solo parent in a rush, and you’ve got a pressure cooker ready to explode. Luckily, many teachers pass out assignments long before they are due, so you can avoid the rush and help your child stay ahead of the game. </li><li><strong>Try the “quality time” mind trick.</strong> Instead of dreading homework time, I try to think of it as quality time I get to spend with my kid. Sure, maybe we’d rather be throwing a baseball or looking at a housefly’s wing under a microscope, but when I give my son my full attention—eye contact, careful listening, mindful responding—any time can become quality time. </li><li><strong>Be a study buddy.</strong> Some days I just plain don’t have time to sit down and do homework with my son, so I bring my own work to the table. While he’s reading a current-events article, I’m balancing my checkbook. When he’s practicing his math facts, I’m responding to work emails. When I get focused, he gets focused, and we both get our work done.</li><li><strong>Invite friends. </strong>If your child is lucky enough to have classmates who live nearby, try a homework playdate. Kids have more fun doing homework together, and when they’re done, they get an instant reward: a real playdate. Better yet: do a homework-playdate swap with a friend so you get some free time, too.</li><li><strong>Outsource the job.</strong> Some kids work more diligently for others than they will for their parents. If you have the resources, outsource the role of homework taskmaster to a school-based homework club, a beloved friend or family member, or an older kid in your neighborhood. Then stand by, ready to applaud a job well done.</li><li><strong>Give as many choices as you can. </strong>Homework is not an option; kids have to do it. But parents can offer some choices along the way. For example, let your child pick when he will do his homework, choose which assignment she wants to tackle first, or decide what he’d like to do to celebrate the end of homework time.</li><li><strong>Put the responsibility where it belongs.</strong> If your child refuses to do homework, try saying this: “If you want to go to school without your homework tomorrow, that’s between you and your teacher. Just be ready to talk to your teacher about it.” Got a child who won’t study for tests? Try saying this: “I don’t care how you perform on this test; it’s your test. But I noticed that you don’t like how it feels to fail a test. If you don’t want to feel that way, you’ll choose to study.” Warning: these strategies work only with kids who have an inherent desire to please their teachers or pass their tests, so use them carefully!</li><li><strong>Make it fun.</strong> OK, yes, this might sound obnoxious. I mean, you and your kid have both worked a long day, and now someone’s telling you to make homework <em>fun</em>? Where are you supposed to get the energy for that? Fun doesn’t have to take a lot of energy. Fun can mean doing homework in a new place—like a coffee shop, the library, or a fort in your own living room. Fun can mean placing an M&amp;M at the end of each row of math problems, so your child has a treat to work toward. Fun can mean asking your child to read that boring paragraph in a Kermit the Frog voice. Fun can mean taking a 30-second dance-party break every 15 minutes. Fun means instead of using up your waning energy in a battle of wills, you put your energy toward getting your kid—and yourself—to smile.</li></ol><hr><p><span style="font-size: 11px;">Image via Shutterstock.com</span></p>
<p><strong><em>How I graduated college with a child and another on the way</em></strong></p><p>I had three, upper-division literature classes my final semester of college, along with a writing workshop lead by a guest poet. Over those ten weeks, I wrote over a hundred pages and read a dozen books. In my personal life, I’d hired a lawyer in Portland, Oregon, to get an appropriate amount of child support for my older daughter, spending all the money I’d set aside for the months following graduation. I was pregnant and without a partner, stressing over a due date that was almost exactly one month after I got my degree. </p><p>My final paper was about Shakespeare. It took almost eight hours to write. My friend took my then six-year-old for the day while I sat uncomfortably on the floor with pillows, books, and notes. I wouldn’t have enough money to live on after college, but I had focus on filling ten pages with my analysis of <em>A Midsummer Night’s Dream</em>. </p><p>The class was required for my English degree. It met in a stuffy room at noon three times a week for an hour. It was my only class on the days I normally cleaned houses, stacking my other classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’d had to let my clients go early in the semester from the scheduling conflict. </p><p>I brought my daughter Mia with me a few times, once for a particularly bloody discussion on <em>Macbeth</em>. She’d sat through a lot of classes by then. One time I nudged her out of dazed Netflix-viewing to point out my picture on the screen in front of the class, showing an article I’d published. Another time my instructor, author Debra Earling, bent over a little and said to Mia, “Your mom is a very good writer.” I hoped she’d remember these moments, instead of the many times I left her with babysitters or sitting in front of the television while I filled pages. </p><p>I took out the full amount of student loans to pay for living expenses. The Pell Grant covered tuition. I received a scholarship through WISP, Inc. (Women’s Independence Scholarship Program). My income from house cleaning teetered around $400 a month, the only money not spoken for. I began with taking classes online through a community college in northwest Washington, then transferred 500 miles away to my dream college at the University of Montana in Missoula. By the time I finished, I’d been in school year-round for the first five years of my thirties while raising Mia on my own.</p><p>She watched me walk across the stage to signify completing my degree. She watched me hug my professors, including the one who taught the Shakespeare class. For a while, I only saw it as this huge, selfish thing I’d done, going into massive debt for a piece of paper. All through college, I’d cleaned the floors and toilets of women the same age as me or younger. It made my low-income status sting, like I was below them somehow. As my freelancing career grew, and I got published more, that line in my bio about earning my bachelor’s defined me. I had worked, persevered, and finished what I’d started despite setbacks. Despite adversity.</p><hr><p><span style="font-size: 11px;">Image: Stephanie Land</span></p>