For “Good Mother” Behavior, I Completely Failed.

Shane struggles in math. Whether or not he has Nonverbal Learning Disorder (and I tend to think he does), math has always been a little tougher for him than he’d like.

When he goes to high school next year, he will probably take on-level math classes. What that means is, his friends will all be taking advanced math and he will be taking “regular” math. But since he will be in Algebra 2 in 9th grade – three years ahead of when I took it in high school – I think it’s best that he take Honors classes in other subjects.

This year, however, he is in Honors Geometry. In 8th grade, because the kids who are taking Geometry are already so advanced, they don’t even offer a geometry class that’s “on level.”

So Shane is taking a high school course that is actually worth more to his GPA than a regular class.

And he’s getting an A.

While he has a strong B going into the end of this quarter, his first quarter grade was an A. And while I’d like to say that I’m just bragging about my math-challenged son getting an A in an Honors Geometry class, that’s not actually the case.

I’m writing about it because I completely forgot that he got an A during the first quarter.

Not only did I not remember the A, but I actually challenged Shane when he reminded me about how hard he’d worked at the end of the first quarter to pull off that A. I forced him to show me, in the online grade book, because I didn’t believe that he really had an A.

And of course, he was right. And then it all came back to me: the end-of-quarter quiz retake, the hours of studying he did before the final exam – er, “performance assessment” – and the triumph over the percentages, giving him an A for his first quarter in an honors-level math class.

Shane earned that A. He really, really worked for it. And he deserved to get an A this semester, thanks to that A (and the hard-earned B) that will combine to make an A for his high school transcript.

But for “good mother” behavior, I completely failed. Sure, I tried to make up for it by making a big fuss after I remembered. I drew happy smiley faces on a note and left it outside his bedroom door. But I should have known. I should have recognized that hard work with something more than ice cream and a pat on the head.

I should have recognized it with my whole heart and soul – the same way I recognize the things that worry me. If nothing else, I just should have remembered.

And I do, now. I remember all of it. But now I will remember that I forgot, too.

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