Old Math, New Math, Red Math, Blue Math

Several years ago I was helping my then seven year old daughter with some complicated addition and subtraction. I've never been a math whiz but I figured I could at least handle addition and subtraction. Was I wrong.

She was struggling with triple digit problems. What to do when you've got more numbers than will fit in the one's column? How do I take 7 from 3? And so on. As I worked her through the first few problems I began to notice she didn't know what to do with the extra digit. I told her that she needed to carry it over to the ten's place. "Carry it?" she asked. "What in the blue-blazes is carrying?" She might not have said blue-blazes but I just want to emphasize that she had no idea what I was talking about. "You haven't been taught how to carry?" I asked. "What about borrowing?" And to that she answered "You mean when you borrow something from your neighbor and then you should give it back?" I could tell we were in for a long night.

I then spent the better part of an hour teaching my daughter the wonderful mysteries of borrowing and carrying. Don't forget to carry the one became my mantra for the night. I wanted to write it on her arm in permanent marker so she wouldn't forget. I repeated myself over and over and by gosh, she was starting to get it. But inside I was a little concerned that the school that she had been attending for the last three years hadn't even taught her how to borrow and carry. I mean come on, I know we are underfunded, but borrowing and carrying are staples of second grade math.

Towards the end of the evening when carry-the-one rolled off her tongue as easy as any Hannah Montana song she remarked to me. "Mom, you know this borrowing and carrying are a lot like regrouping. That is what they taught us in school."

Regrouping. Huh. Turns out the powers that be in the last two and half decades since I attended elementary school decided to change the sayings of borrow and carry to regrouping. You don't carry the one. You regroup. You don't borrow from the 7 to subtract the 3. You regroup. My poor daughter. I had filled her head with the cacophony of don't forget to carry the one! When all she needed was being told to regroup. For those of you out there who are not familiar with regrouping it is exactly the same as borrowing and carrying except they call it what? Regrouping. Now they say don't forget to regroup! It just doesn't have the same panache as don't forget to carry the one.

Boompa (Boompa is my stepdad) is helping my son Aidan out with some math this weekend. As I dropped Aidan off at Boompa's he asked what does he need help with. As I showed him the flashcards I had so painstakingly prepared Boompa asked me if Aidan knew how to carry. "They don't call it that anymore," I answered. "It's now regrouping." You should have seen Boompa's face. "Well, who's gosh-darned idea was that!?" I laughed and told him I didn't know. Everyone born before 1990 is basically screwed when it comes to math now. We don't even know how to regroup!

In other math news, my son Alexander is deep in the throws of pre-algebra. One thing I can say about pre-algebra is that it is exactly the same as when I was in it 23 years ago. I think he may even have the same kind of book I had. One night when he was just about to pull his hair out he had a mini-tantrum. "Why do I care what X equals? Why do things change from positive to negative when they cross the equal sign? And how do you even have negative numbers! Nobody ever told me they had negative five apples! You can only have five apples! Not negative! Why do I even have to learn this!" After I got him calmed down a little we continued to work on it and he asked me how I knew algebra. "Well, Alexander, I took pre-algebra, algebra, and then for fun, algebra 2 in school. Pre-algebra is the easy stuff. Just wait." He was none to happy to learn that there was more algebra in his future. He was then quiet for awhile and then he became inquisitive.

"Mom? Have you honestly ever used this? I mean honestly? Have you ever used algebra in your life?" He asked. So I sat back and thought. Hmmm... did I ever use algebra? Did I use it when I tried to figure out how many diapers I needed to get through the week when I had two kids that weren't potty trained? Did I use it to double chocolate chip cookie recipes? Do I even use to balance the check book? The answer to all of these is no. I had to be honest. "No. I have never used anything in my life close to algebra, Alexander. But being a stay-at-home mom doesn't require a lot of complex math."

This answer infuriated him. "Why do I have to learn it then?!" I answered the only thing I could think of.

"Because. You have to learn it because I learned it. Because your dad learned it. Your grandparents learned it. And because someday when you are a parent and you have a 7th grader you will have to help them with their algebra and you won't be much help if you haven't learned it. That is the whole reason." He couldn't argue with that logic. That night he learned that through out history there is a great chain of learning algebra and then never using it. And that night, he was just another link.

Love And All That Other Stuff

Today is the day where you tell the one you love how much you love them. Valentine's Day. Because of our circumstances, Matt and I regularly tell each other how much we love, appreciate, miss and cherish each other. Sigh... I know. We are so sweet. Since he already knows the things I love about him, I will tell you.

I love...

Matt's smile. It's perfect (without the help of an orthodontist). It lights up the room.

How he can put anything together or fix anything. He went to install a water heater once in an apartment and I said "Wait. Do you know how to do that?" And he just said "I'll figure it out." And he did.

How we have running jokes just between the two of us that have been going on for over a decade.

How funny he is. Even when he isn't trying to be funny.

That he is such a great dad.

That he never misses an opportunity to go to the school and have lunch with our kids.

That he isn't afraid to stand up for someone or something he believes in.

That he buys me flowers.

How from far away his eyes look brown but when you get up close you realize that they are really gold with green flecks in them.

How he never tries to change the way I feel. 

That he loves to explore as much as I do.

That he will dance in the kitchen with me to Nat King Cole and Dean Martin.

That he will talk in a French accent while we eat French food.

How he never sits back and lets someone do all the work. Matt is usually the first and last one working.

That he worked two jobs and went to school when our kids were little.

How he lets me put my cold feet on his warm feet in bed.

How strong he is.

How he grows a goatee because he knows I love it.

How he wears the argyle sweater I bought him that he doesn't like as much as I do.

If something needs to be repaired around the house, he does it right away. He doesn't procrastinate.

That he holds my hand everywhere we go.

That he also insists on getting my door.

That he doesn't get embarrassed.

How he doesn't question decisions I've made.

That he isn't afraid to express how he feels.

How he will admit when he's wrong.

How he writes me love letters.

How he is exactly the right height for me to rest my head in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

That he makes me my favorite dinner almost every time he comes home.

That he will be silly.

That he will go down a slide backwards to make the kids laugh.

And I especially love that no matter how hard on myself I am, how unattractive I think I am, or how much I think I've messed something up, he is always there to disagree with me.

Down For The Count

I am starting the long road to recovery after a nasty bout of food poisoning. Never in my life have I wished myself dead except when I am worshipping the great porcelain god in my bathroom. But I actually don't want to write about being sick. You've all been sick before. You know how it feels. When you feel like you've been picked up and wrung out. When you've thrown up and everything else (I don't want to mention what "everything else" is, but you know what I mean) for so long you are sure that you are as empty as Lindsay Lohan's bank account. I mean sick. What I want to write about is what it's like when there is only one parent and that parent is down.

As you know, my husband Matt is deployed in the Middle East.  So when I get sick, or break a bone, or have major surgery (all these things have happened) while he's gone things get interesting around here. This latest bout with illness wasn't that bad. I was really only down for about 18 hours. Well, not really down. I was actually up. But I was busy. Let's just say there was a lot of knocking on my door and asking if I was okay and if I was going to come out. Most of the time I responded with a shaky "I'm okay honey. I'll be out in a minute." That was usually followed with the sound of the dry heaves. I know. I said I wasn't going to talk about being sick. It just keeps sneaking in.

One of the worst things about Matt being gone is I have no back up. There is no one to run to the store for ginger ale. There is no one to get up and get the kids ready for school. Or to drive them to school. Or to sign their notes. Or make them dinner. Yes, I do have great friends and neighbors that when it gets really bad I can call. But my three closest neighbors were down too. The first had a fever and hacking cough. The second just broke her wrist. And the third has five small children (having five small children makes you down all the time). I was on my own.

My children actually were pretty good. Ashlenne got herself up and then woke up her brothers. She made breakfast for everybody. She did the dishes. Alexander and Aidan helped out too. But there was no way I was going to ask any of them to run to the store. Alexander volunteered reminding me of the time his dad let him drive in a church parking lot. I told him that my car had enough dents on it from just me driving it. It didn't need anymore. I pulled on my weird knit hat and big coat (same thing I wore to the post office to send Matt his pillow) and dragged myself to Target.

Why Target? Target is the closest store to my house that sells anything that resemble groceries. As I walked through the doors I could feel eyes on me. I knew I was white as a ghost with purple circles under my eyes. I was moving like I was made of glass. Don't touch me! I might break or throw up on you. I selected a few items to purchase and made my way to the cashier. I bought Sprite, ginger ale, Imodium, anti-nausea medication, applesauce, and ibuprofen. She knew exactly what was going on.

But that was yesterday. Today is a new day. I feel pretty good. I may even eat today.

Day to day life on its own is pretty hard with Matt gone. He is missed a lot. Christmas and birthdays especially. But he is more than missed on other days. He is needed. I needed him yesterday. He offered his support over the phone and I knew he felt bad. But what do you do? You power through, alone. You get better, alone. You hope that whatever it is that you have doesn't get passed on to the kids because there is nothing worse than being sick and then having to take care of them, alone. And even though he was needed yesterday, you know that you can manage with him gone. That somehow things will work out. They always do.