Oh, the dreaded homework. When I left school I thought I'd left all that behind me. I still remember the sick feeling on a Sunday evening as Little House on the Prairie sounded on the telly and I realised I still had some exercise to do for school on Monday.

As my seven-year-old son Tim progresses through national school - he's now in first class - I'm back to the same feeling of "Oh no not the homework". They seem to get a lot more too: every night he has Irish and English reading, sums, writing and spelling.

"Tim, let's do the homework, ' I say each evening. "Not yet, I'm watching the Den." Or: "Mom, do I have to?"

Eventually when we do sit down to do it, anything distracts him.

"I must top my pencil." Or: "Do you see this rubber, Mom? I lost this in class today and found it under the teacher's desk. It had rolled all the way - imagine that."

"Let's get down to the reading now," I say. "Pay attention."

We get started and then: "Mom, will I tell you what happens in this story?"

"No, just read it," I say in a cross tone, trying not to lose my patience.

"Okay." He begins to get the message.

Okay for another few minutes, then he's distracted again.

I'm not worried though. He has this "base", as he calls it - a hideout among the trees in the back of the garden that he and his friends play in. It's like a secret club.

They have membership cards, no-smoking signs, no-entry signs, no-girls signs etc. He spends hours making these signs and cards, writing and drawing them out, then cutting them to size.

It is impossible to distract him or get his attention while he's engrossed in this exercise - it's child's play to him. Long may it last.