Mom Needs Kumon

Math.  Just that word is enough to give me a stomach ache and a case of the sweats.  I can trace my fear of numbers back to ninth grade.  I had a math teacher, Mr. A., that was not the most patient man.  I was always the last one to finish tests and when I would hand mine in on the way out of the classroom, Mr. A would always look at me with a mix of pity and confusion.  I'm pretty sure he was thinking, "How is this girl NOT getting basic algebra?!"

I am a lifelong fan of spelling, reading, punctuation and Mad Libs.  So when I was introduced to algebra, where numbers and letters started mingling, my brain simply shut down. Then I wondered if possibly I was born without the left hemisphere.

I truly envy those who "get" math and enjoy it.  (And those people who are good at math AND language arts? SO not fair.)  I wish I understood numbers.  Not as much as I wish that I had a Valleyfair-grade cotton candy machine, but close.

The cruel irony is that my own flesh and blood, my first-born child, seems to have channeled Mr. A.  In the past month, Ferg has enjoyed toting around a calculator, punching in numbers at random.  He has chosen me as the victim of a flurry of quizzes such as:

"Mom, what is 55+87?" (and he has the answer right in front of him, on his handy calculator)

"Mom, what is 45+32?"

"Mom, what is 438+57?"

He doesn't seem to torture anyone else with these pop quizzes; just his sleep-deprived, didn't-get-past-10th-grade-math mother.

He's currently obsessed with infinity and will inquire, "Mom, what number comes before infinity? Mom, have there been infinity hours in the world?" So he's combining his love of numbers with philosophy.  Awesome.  Because after having three kids my mind is razor sharp and I love to answer such questions while I am changing a poopy diaper or trying to figure out where that stench of urine is coming from.

Ferg recently came home from school with a worksheet on which he had to fill in missing numbers from 1 to 100.  He had missed one on a row, erased his mistakes, then started over.  He proudly showed his dad when he got home from work.  Dad noticed the eraser marks and commented to me, "Did 'mass comm mom' help with this worksheet?" I couldn't help but laugh (after I chucked an abacus at him).

Yesterday we were at an indoor play area.  Some genius at the playground equipment company thought it was a good idea to incorporate MATH into physical activity, and there is actually a grid on the equipment on which you can flip numbers and come up with your own math problems.  I would like to meet this demented individual and introduce him to my abacus.

Therein was Ferg's introduction to multiplication: "Mom, what is 'x'? What is 10 x 10?"

And here I am, trying to explain multiplication to him in front of other moms and dads.  He proceeds to grill me: what is 100 x 100? What is 2000 x 2000? And my mind is racing and I am trying to carry over the 0's and my armpits are sweating and so I just laugh and tell him I will explain the theory of multiplication further at home.

All I can do at this point is try to encourage his passion for numbers without letting on that they scare me.  I'm pretty sure it will become apparent, however, the day he comes home with a worksheet that says (x + 1) (y - 2).

Yours truly,

The Adult Imposter