Math is our albatross. I am cursed, ergo crazed. One minute I'm: "Guess what? Plenty of people in this world are not good at something. Do they let that get them down? They do not. They focus on what they are awesome at." And then the next minute I'm like: "Do you understand how important this is? If you can't focus and pull it out when you need it you will not be able to advance to the next grade." It is mind boggling for me. It must be soul-destroying for him.
Today I was volunteering. While I was away The Sister completely reviewed a concept. He seemed to have it. At 11am the knitting teacher whom we all love came with some math ideas to practice. Apparently when she asked him for some answers (that he just "knew" an hour before) he could not retrieve them. When I got home The Sister looked like she had been through war. She said the sweet brilliant knitting instructor also seemed frustrated before she left. Even that lovely creature.
If I allow myself to get too caught up in this, it becomes totally consuming. It must be so frustrating for him. I know it is. Math was the same for me as a kid. The difference was that my entire school-identity was not threatened by it. Neither did it determine whether or not I would go on to an awesome middle school or a hell-hole of a middle school (for the record, the only option was a hell-hole middle school, but that's a story for another time).
On the IXL program that follows what is to be mastered for fourth grade we opened the Roman numerals a while ago, tried them out and quite frankly, both of us kept getting confused as soon as too many letters got strung together (add these two, or subtract these two?). I bought some cool Roman numeral candles and said that someday when he passed that section we would make a cake to put the candles on... and then we moved on to another section.
I'm not sure why today, when we had already had math set-backs in areas that we thought were mastered, I decided to reopen the Roman Numeral section, but I did. I sat for a while and really concentrated and finally figured it out. I remembered being in sixth grade (yes, that would be a full TWO years later than when they are expected to learn it now), and my friend coming to school with a little phrase memorized that her dad had made up (L---- [her last name] Children Deserve Money) -- to remember the order (L = 50; C = 100; D = 500; M = 1,000). At the time, I didn't notice that I committed the phrase to memory (because I was so hopelessly lost regarding Roman numerals I don't think I really got what the LCDM business meant), but I clearly remember thinking was how jealous I always was of her home life. In an enormous -- always chaotic -- house there were five kids, piles of laundry and other stuff, random pets, a stay-at-home mom, and a dad that helped with homework. That was a future that I wanted someday. I do not recall being worried that not learning my Roman numerals would in any way destroy my opportunity for success and happiness.
With that memory swirling about, I invited The Boy to come and sit with me and work through some problems (3,467 = MMMCDLXVII). And then we worked through more. And it was almost kind of fun. And he was pretty good at it. At one point he said: "I think this is one of my skills." And I thought: "Of course it is -- because knowing Roman numerals is so relevant and useful," but I said, "I think that you're right."
He finished the section. Saturday, when some friends come over for dinner, we are going to have our cake with our Roman numerals candles.
I anticipate that we will continue stressing about math -- and bigger things -- but I also anticipate that as long as we capitalize on our strength -- that we are a family that works together -- the kids will be okay. By being that working-together-family we will be what my 6th-grade self desperately aspired to be a part of. To think: I made my most precious life-goal without ever becoming proficient at math. Ever.
Though, it has to be said, The Boy and I are both kind of attacking the Roman numerals (1,734 = MDCCXXXIV).
