There are stories from Irish folklore of mystic creatures, banshees if you will, who fill the night air with haunting cries and bowel-shaking moans.
These fables were created generations ago when man was still a nomadic, tribe-like civilization. I am here to tell you that the legend lives on.
I know this because my daughter Elsie produced those sounds this week as we settled down to complete her math assignments for school at home.
Not to brag on Elsie, but she takes pride in her school work and has made mostly As and impressive grades with her studies. But the subject of mathematics has proven to be a struggle for her without the skilled instruction provided by her regular teacher. By the end of the evening, she comprehends the lessons. But it takes a whirlwind journey to get there.
We began our math lesson about mid-afternoon, and it took us four hours to pull through them. In between those hours, we had multiple breakdowns. A few tears, cries of anguish and even a few dead-weight body drops occurred in between fractions and weight conversions.
I was never a great math student, but I figured the exercises out pretty well when I was a student. I admit, I wasn’t a great explainer, and those equations began to make sense in my brain and on my paper. But I was never a great teacher when it came to group work with my fellow classmates on how I came up with the answers.
The same still applies today. I know the answers, but I have a hard time explaining how to get those answers to Elsie. She is just as hard-headed and stubborn as me. If she doesn’t understand something quickly, she literally breaks down.
In the middle of a math lesson, I have to hold a therapy session to get her mind back in tune. Along with math, I am learning the techniques of a therapist.
“Did you ask Daddy to help you with these before I came home from my work shift,” I asked.
“I never ask Daddy because he doesn’t get math,” Elsie replied.
Her father is capable of running a business, but somehow elementary math sends him running for the hills.
After finishing Elsie’s work, I was ready to celebrate by myself in the living room. And then I saw my oldest son James, peering around the corner.
“Will you help me with my math,” James asked.
My heart fell into the pits of my stomach, and my brain was on the verge of exploding in my head. Sixth grade math now? It just keeps coming.
“You didn’t start on this with Daddy earlier,” I asked, rubbing my temples.
“No, because Daddy is not good at math,” James said. “He always tells us, ‘ask Momma.’”
Sitting in the living room, with my husband Jason by our side, we tackled James’ math lessons. Through a few explanations and a detailed factor tree we made it through them.
“You remember how to do that,” Jason asked.
“A little bit,” I replied, easing back into my recliner. “I just have a hard time explaining it.”
Thinking I was done for the night, our baby Jase approached me with his kindergarten lessons to check.
“Lord, give me strength,” I whispered, easing back to the edge of my seat.
At this point, Jason proudly sat up in his recliner. With a smirk that I strangely think is cute, he spoke…
“We did Jase’s work earlier, and it’s all correct,” he said. “I checked it myself.”
Please know, dear reader, I love Jason with all my heart. And I don’t mean this to be mean… but yes, he was correct.
Jase’s work was perfect.
My friend sent me a text moments later, complaining that tonight was “math night” with her kids too.
“Yeah, us too,” I replied. “Elsie and James needed a lot of help but Jason helped Jase with his work so I didn’t have much to do with his stuff.”
“What did Jase have to do,” my friend asked.
“He colored a Bible page and traced his letters,” I replied.
Wow…a coloring page and tracing exercise. I thought about that for a moment as Jason was still grinning with pride as Jase shared their achievements.
All jokes aside, I appreciated it, and it shows that we are working as a team in this family. But I will admit, nobody handles school quite like Mommas do. I don’t say that to complain or whine. It is merely a true statement.
And I don’t mind it deep down. Dads are meant to handle some things, and Mommas handle other things their way. And we do them both quite well.
“Jase’s stuff was all correct, wasn’t it,” Jason asked, still smiling as he proudly walked away from a day’s hard work.
But that is what I love about Jason, and it doesn’t take a complex equation to figure out he is my answer to this lesson called life.
