Venting

Took a little trip to the edge of insanity last night. The Child was driving. I realize she's "at that age" but for the love of God! Here's a typical exchange:

Me: "How much homework do you have left?

Her: "A few problems of math".

Me: "Do you understand it?" (She's currently flunking math. Her teacher says it's because she doesn't ask for help even though she (the teacher) has set up a stigma-free zone for getting help).

Her: "Yes".

Me: "OK. I have to run an errand (something specifically for her, mind you). Can you be done by the time I get back or do I need to stick around?"

Her: "You can go."

I go. I return. She's playing with The Dog.

Me: "All finished with homework?"

Her: "Almost."

Me: "Almost? What's left?"

Her: "A few problems of math".

And it went like this all night. Whenever she was spoken to she processed it in some convoluted manner which took her 412 miles from where she was supposed to be. She sauntered into dinner last night about 10 minutes after being called for the third time. I suspect it was because she heard "Dinner's ready" and thought, "Mom just called me to dinner. The food is hot. She and Papa are sitting down to eat. Maybe I'll dress for dinner. Yeah, that's it. I'll put on all the cool new clothes Godmom brought me from Europe. I'll look super fantastic and they will think I am so cute". Sure, she was cute and furthermore, her table manners were very precise and grownup. But that is so not the point.

Then there's the whole vicious cycle of not turning off her light when told because she's too engrossed in that damn Harry Potter 6 which means she can't get up when I wake her which means she can't move beyond a snail's pace getting ready which means we're rushing out the door which means she's late to school which means she's scrambling into class behind the bell and not turning in her bloody homework so she's getting "missing assignment" citations for stuff that's in her freaking book bag.

Color me frustrated.