Manic Motherhood

Spring has sprung, the grass has riz, I wonder where Junior’s science fair project is.

                                      Anonymous as reinterpreted by me

Woo-hoo, it’s spring. Yes, I know most people are admiring fresh blooms, mowing lawns and listening to the birds sing. And me? Well, I’m a parent. So that means I am celebrating the official end of the Science Fair Project from Hell. 

If you have a child in school, you are no doubt familiar with the dreaded science fair project. Parents all over the country tremble in fear whenever it’s mentioned. Oh, it always starts with good intentions. Sometime in November or so, the teachers start peppering students with contracts and forms and ideas for projects. 

And your little Sally or Sam comes home from school excited and happy. After all, science fair projects are just great big bundles of fun! Yeah, no. They aren’t. In fact, they are actually an instrument of torture designed by teachers to get revenge on parents for not teaching their little darlings manners before sending them off to school. Although you know, I could be wrong. But just in case, I would like my son’s science teacher to know that I did try to teach him manners. Is it really my fault he failed to learn them?

Anyway, as I said, the kids come home bursting with ideas for the Best Science Fair Project Ever. Most involve the use of radioactive materials, a few James Bond-like gadgets, quality time at Lawrence-Livermore Labs or the topic title: “Broccoli, the Silent Killer.” I once spoke to a mom whose child seriously wanted to do a project called “How long will my smellies smell if I seal them in jars.” Yeah. Science fairs are THAT fun.

Of course, once Sally or Sam has finished arguing with the parents on a topic, the teacher has to approve it. Look, let’s be honest. Some parents just give up trying to convince their children to do something normal. And that is why the teachers listen in growing horror to little Sally or Sam as they propose sending an animal into space on a rocket borrowed from NASA and then say, “Yes, Mrs. Science Teacher, my parents think this is a great idea.” 

And then the parents have to write an email explaining that basically Sally/Sam has stopped listening to them and they’re leaving it to the teacher to tell Sally/Sam that NASA has a policy against renting the space shuttle to 12 year olds. And the parents usually add a PS begging the teacher to suggest a more realistic project like freezing salt water or watching plants grow. You know, something a parent can handle. 

After the emails have flown and the project is approved, the actual experiment can begin. This is where the science fair project escalates from annoying to truly the project from hell. You see, little Sally or Sam will have specific ideas on carrying out that experiment. Usually these ideas involve the most complex way ever designed to measure how fast salt water freezes. In fact, Sally or Sam will insist on new freezers, fancy salt that costs approximately $5,000 per ounce and fresh water gathered at dawn from a rushing river and stored in non-reactive buckets. 

And trust me, you don’t want to know how complicated the whole plant growing thing can get. I mean, it’s a science fair project, for pete’s sake. Sally and Sam don’t want to just throw some plants in a pot full of dirt. Where’s the fun in that?

During the actual freezing, measuring and growing, the parents will take many, many pictures. And those pictures will be lost, thus ensuring that the night before the project is to be turned in there will be a photo session in the kitchen requiring elaborate costume changes and extensive use of Photoshop so that nobody knows that Sally/Sam’s parents are idiot parents who lost every single picture of the science experiment.

And finally, the day of reckoning will come. Sally and Sam will drag their science fair boards to school. They will present them to the class, who will take notes on the presentations that say helpful things like, “science sucks” or “plants grow.”

And the parents will know it is truly spring. Because there aren’t any more plants being killed in the backyard and the new freezer is no longer full of salt water.  And NASA isn’t sending people to your house to find out why you haven’t returned their space shuttle.

A few weeks ago, we decided that sadly, we had failed in training our dog. And by “we,” I mean me. Of course there is a silver lining to this—while Kirby may not be trained, she’s actually done a fantastic job of training me. 

Fr example, I am completely potty-trained. Yes, our dog has done a fantastic job of training me in this area. She did so using a clever system of rewards and consequences. First, she would stand next to the backdoor and wouldn’t make a single sound. She’d just stand still, staring into the yard. If I did not notice her—and most of the time I didn’t--she would provide a consequence for my behavior and silently make her way upstairs to Junior’s room, which was filled with clean, fluffy, white carpet. Then she would bark like a crazed animal to get me to go into Junior’s room and step in my reward. 

Pretty smart, eh?

Of course, I needed training in more areas than simply indoor/outdoor bathrooms and advanced stain removal. Take walking, for example. It became obvious from the first day after Kirby’s arrival that she had her own method of taking a walk. For me, walks mean strolling fairly briskly through the neighborhood on a path I like to call a sidewalk. For her, walks mean alternating between walking, running and sitting on her butt refusing to go any further—all done in the safety and comfort of the middle of the dang street. 

To add to the walking experience, Kirby will periodically break into running spurts to chase shadows, small children, other animals and fast-moving cars. Unfortunately, I am not always prepared for these spurts and now I must live with the consequence—one arm is permanently twelve feet long. 

She also trained me in the art of fear. Kirby has no fear. That’s why she will bark like crazy at any animal, no matter how big, and then lunge at it. I swear to you, an elephant could enter the neighborhood and if Kirby was on a walk, she’d go nuts barking and lunging at it until the poor elephant finally went berserk and trampled everything in sight. Including me, of course. 

Kirby has also fully trained me in the art of sealing our backyard until nobody can get in or out. This is because Kirby is apparently a wonder dog and can squeeze through an opening in the fence approximately 1 millimeter wide and escape so she can bark at the UPS guy and alert every dog in the neighborhood to the fact that he is making deliveries.

And while we’re on the subject of barking, Kirby has done a fantastic job of teaching me to “speak.” I speak—and by that I mean I yell “Kirby, quiet”--whenever she barks, which is pretty much all day.  She is particularly fond of barking whenever something strange startles her, like the wind blowing or a leaf falling from a tree. And she will not stop barking until she gets a treat. This has been such a successful method of training me that Kirby has gained a full 1/3 of her total body weight in the last two months.

Sadly, this is only a partial list of my failures at dog training. And that is why, after careful consideration, we have decided that Kirby will be entering obedience school this week. I can only hope that the instructor uses the same system of consequences and rewards. Because as you can see, I’m very successful at being trained in that manner.