by Laura J. Davies
It was 7:30 pm, otherwise known as the witching hour in my household. My 10-year-old son, Mac, was sitting at the computer desk and staring at a blank Word document, his arms crossed defiantly, his eyebrows furrowed.
“I can’t do it!” He stomped his foot and pounded the desk with his fist.
“I don’t get it!” He scowled at his baby sister, who was toddling around the corner with her little grocery cart filled with plastic fruits and veggies.
“This is too hard!” He shuffled the papers in front of him, and in a dramatic show of pre-teen angst, flung the whole stack onto the floor.
Hmmm, I thought. Perhaps it’s time for some parental intervention.
My first instinct was to gather the papers, put them back on the desk, and let Mac know in no uncertain terms that the blame for not starting…
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