The art of math was lost on me as a student. And while I often finished a term with good marks, the ugly in-between struggles with homework, the cram sessions, the agonizing and painful hours spent in review were true tests of my scholastic prowess. I couldn't bring home a grade less than a "B." Though I highly doubt my father would've truly thrown me out for a low report card grade, the threat was enough to keep me pushing to achieve.
Admittedly, Chi has inherited my lack of natural mathematical ability. She has little concept of the meaning of figures, and at eight she still confuses the value of quarters, nickles, and dimes. Plastic, it seems, doesn't have that kind of value gradation (uh oh!).
But when it comes to the mathematics of family, the figures seem to come about much more easily. One plus one made three. One plus two made four. And it made sense.
Life though, sometimes involves complex equations that no one accounted for. You see, while one plus one made three, there never really were three - only two. And when one plus two made four, one eventually became a fractional figure in the ebb and flow of our lives. Then there were only three remaining.
Now, as Mommy pushes forward in her own life, this little thing called a family seems to be working on multiplication tables. Surprisingly, this new mathematical endeavor is easy. We're doubling our number. It's new, yet, but it feels so... right.
I think I'll call it Mommy math.