Second Grade Math Could Kill Me If I Let It

I used to think of myself as fairly intelligent. I graduated near the top of my high school class. I was accepted into one of the nation’s top universities.

Not to toot my own horn … well, OK, I guess it’s too late for that … But I’m not talking next Nobel winner intelligent! More like able to at least chew bubblegum and walk a straight line at the same time kind of savvy.

And then came second grade math.

Have you looked at a second grader’s homework lately?

It’s hard. I mean really, really hard.  I check over my daughter’s every night. With a calculator.

Yes, second grade math makes me do things I never thought I’d do.

Like hiding in the kitchen when my daughter needs help with her homework, fingers crossed that Daddy knows the answer because I sure as heck know I don’t.

If he’s not around, I do what any good mother in my situation would do. I tell her to wait until Daddy gets home to help her with her math.

OK, that’s not true. First I try to Google the answer. Then I tell her Daddy will be home soon and let her go play before her homework is technically done.

If only the folks who administer the SAT could see me now. They’d revoke my decent score in a New York minute.

Suddenly, all those math classes I took under threat of not being granted a Regents diploma make more sense.

They weren’t preparing me for the job world (ooh, those tricky guidance counselors). They were trying to make sure I wasn’t the writer mom who got a deer in the headlights look every time her kid opened her homework folder.

Well, joke’s on them!

I’m the writer mom whose eyes glaze over instead. But I don’t panic. No sirree. I just pin it on Daddy.

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