Same second grader. Same type of homework. Standardized test. Multiple choice question.
***************
Which one of the following numbers does not belong with the others?
24, 28, 30, 32, 36, 38?
***************
OK, people. I have an advanced degree in a math/science field, and I have no idea what they are looking for on this question. Am I over-analyzing it?
In fact, it reminds me that when I was in high school, I had a math teacher who would throw a chalked-up eraser at you if you ever said the words dumb or stupid. Maybe he never saw this question, though, because either this is one stupid question, or this is one stupid typo, or I am feeling pretty stupid.
You might say that 24 does not belong, assuming they are counting by twos, but then why does it skip from 32 to 36?
You might say that 30 does not belong, assuming they are counting by fours, but then why is 38 there?
You might say that we should be marking both 30 and 38, but the question asks for ONE answer.
I am so confused! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Lipstick?
Last night we had a minor tragedy at our house. My favorite vase got chipped.
This morning my husband lovingly retrieved the superglue and carefully repaired the chip. (Too bad he also superglued his fingers together.)
As he left the house for work, I turned to examine the repair job. Not bad. Then I looked down at my toddler who was now holding the tube of superglue.
You know how sometimes your life happens in slow motion? Well, in that one moment, my morning brain processed about a billion things at once.
"He's trying to tell me something. He's trying to show me something. Oh, he's holding superglue. The lid is off. Wait, he's not happy about something. He's starting to cry. Oh, the way he's holding that superglue, it reminds me of something. It reminds me of him holding my tube of lip balm. Hoooolllddd on. He thinks it's lipstick or vaseline or something. Did he just put that on his lips? Yikes, his lips are going to get stuck together like my husband's fingers! Oh, thank goodness, his lips are open. I need to make sure he keeps his mouth open. How do you get superglue off of lips? How much did he put on anyway? Whew. I think he didn't get much on there. Maybe I can get it off. Oh, yes. If I scratch it a little it comes off. Whew! Whew!"
So anyway, did you know that a tube of superglue looks a lot like a tube of lip balm? Gives whole new meaning to the word "lipstick."
This morning my husband lovingly retrieved the superglue and carefully repaired the chip. (Too bad he also superglued his fingers together.)
As he left the house for work, I turned to examine the repair job. Not bad. Then I looked down at my toddler who was now holding the tube of superglue.
You know how sometimes your life happens in slow motion? Well, in that one moment, my morning brain processed about a billion things at once.
"He's trying to tell me something. He's trying to show me something. Oh, he's holding superglue. The lid is off. Wait, he's not happy about something. He's starting to cry. Oh, the way he's holding that superglue, it reminds me of something. It reminds me of him holding my tube of lip balm. Hoooolllddd on. He thinks it's lipstick or vaseline or something. Did he just put that on his lips? Yikes, his lips are going to get stuck together like my husband's fingers! Oh, thank goodness, his lips are open. I need to make sure he keeps his mouth open. How do you get superglue off of lips? How much did he put on anyway? Whew. I think he didn't get much on there. Maybe I can get it off. Oh, yes. If I scratch it a little it comes off. Whew! Whew!"
So anyway, did you know that a tube of superglue looks a lot like a tube of lip balm? Gives whole new meaning to the word "lipstick."
Why Kids Today are Failing Math
My 2nd grader just asked me for help on his math homework. This was somewhat shocking to me since he never asks for help on his math homework. I am sure there was a slightly raised eyebrow on my expression as I walked over to his seat at the table.
What I saw surprised me even more. This is not the kind of problem he should need help with. "Which record is the fourth from the guitar?" And there was a picture of a guitar on the left with five records in a row next to it.
I start to explain, "Well, it looks like you're supposed to mark the fourth record. Start at the guitar and count, first, second, until you get to the fourth one." He was still confused. Did I not explain it well enough? Why doesn't he understand this?
Then a metaphoric light bulb went off over my head, so I asked, "Do you know what a record is?" No mom. That's the problem. "Oh, see those circles. Those are records. Find the fourth circle."
Yeah. Kind of helps to write questions that are pertinent to kids in the 21st century.
What I saw surprised me even more. This is not the kind of problem he should need help with. "Which record is the fourth from the guitar?" And there was a picture of a guitar on the left with five records in a row next to it.
I start to explain, "Well, it looks like you're supposed to mark the fourth record. Start at the guitar and count, first, second, until you get to the fourth one." He was still confused. Did I not explain it well enough? Why doesn't he understand this?
Then a metaphoric light bulb went off over my head, so I asked, "Do you know what a record is?" No mom. That's the problem. "Oh, see those circles. Those are records. Find the fourth circle."
Yeah. Kind of helps to write questions that are pertinent to kids in the 21st century.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
A Perfect Day
Do you ever have days where you wake up and everything just goes smoothly, and you feel like you are on top of it all? And you go to bed thinking, "wow, what a perfect day!"
Me neither.
On Thursday I thought I was having one of those days, though.
I woke up, got everyone off to school, with prayers said, lunches packed, papers signed, shoes on, and time to spare. I was showered, dressed, make-up on, nice hair, earrings in. The weather was nice, the kids were happy. I even felt brave enough to go grocery shopping.
In the grocery store, the kids were well-behaved, despite all the comments about how full my hands were (seriously, at least six separate people on that one trip, and two of the kids were at school...) I remembered to bring my list with me to the store, and I actually got everything on the list. There was only one moment of seething anger (when I noticed that yet another food item had reduced the weight in their standard package while keeping the price the same. rrraaarrrgh!)
I successfully comforted my daughter when she found her 'pet' worm dead in the hot car, and I successfully convinced my kids to eat a yummy lunch that did NOT include peanut butter and jelly for once. We even had good bonding time, reading books after lunch, and my barely-verbal toddler tried to repeat some of the words with me.
I was able to start chopping dinner vegetables before kids got home from school -- while tutoring my friend's daughter in math. Then my baby went down for a nap just in time for me to finish dinner preparations, and I let it finish cooking while I gave my son his practice spelling test. I was all ready to put our (healthy!) dinner on the table, take twenty minutes to eat, and shuttle kids off to baseball practice. Perfect!
That's when it happened. The phone rang.
I was on the phone for less than five minutes, and to be fair, the destructive behavior probably started while I was giving the spelling test. Either way, by the time I got off the phone, my 8-year-old was on his way downstairs, soaked and screaming. My daughter and toddler had been gleefully dumping water all over each other and the bedroom carpet. The carpet was soaked; they were soaked; there was water all over the bathroom. Wet, wet, wet.
SO... I let out a blood-curdling scream... then we got out lots of towels for the floors, changed clothes, opened the windows, went to baseball practice, and came home to our now-cold dinner.
And that's what I get for thinking I could have a perfect day. Thank goodness for microwaves.
Me neither.
On Thursday I thought I was having one of those days, though.
I woke up, got everyone off to school, with prayers said, lunches packed, papers signed, shoes on, and time to spare. I was showered, dressed, make-up on, nice hair, earrings in. The weather was nice, the kids were happy. I even felt brave enough to go grocery shopping.
In the grocery store, the kids were well-behaved, despite all the comments about how full my hands were (seriously, at least six separate people on that one trip, and two of the kids were at school...) I remembered to bring my list with me to the store, and I actually got everything on the list. There was only one moment of seething anger (when I noticed that yet another food item had reduced the weight in their standard package while keeping the price the same. rrraaarrrgh!)
I successfully comforted my daughter when she found her 'pet' worm dead in the hot car, and I successfully convinced my kids to eat a yummy lunch that did NOT include peanut butter and jelly for once. We even had good bonding time, reading books after lunch, and my barely-verbal toddler tried to repeat some of the words with me.
I was able to start chopping dinner vegetables before kids got home from school -- while tutoring my friend's daughter in math. Then my baby went down for a nap just in time for me to finish dinner preparations, and I let it finish cooking while I gave my son his practice spelling test. I was all ready to put our (healthy!) dinner on the table, take twenty minutes to eat, and shuttle kids off to baseball practice. Perfect!
That's when it happened. The phone rang.
I was on the phone for less than five minutes, and to be fair, the destructive behavior probably started while I was giving the spelling test. Either way, by the time I got off the phone, my 8-year-old was on his way downstairs, soaked and screaming. My daughter and toddler had been gleefully dumping water all over each other and the bedroom carpet. The carpet was soaked; they were soaked; there was water all over the bathroom. Wet, wet, wet.
SO... I let out a blood-curdling scream... then we got out lots of towels for the floors, changed clothes, opened the windows, went to baseball practice, and came home to our now-cold dinner.
And that's what I get for thinking I could have a perfect day. Thank goodness for microwaves.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Rice Cereal on the Menu? Or Not
The recommended age to begin feeding your baby solid food is 4 to 6 months.
My own baby just passed her 6 month mark, so today I finally conceded and made the trek to the store to buy rice cereal.
We arrived home, just in time for lunch. I mixed her up a little bit of the cereal, with freshly pumped momma-milk, put on the bib, and started to feed her.
Three bites later, she reached out and dumped the whole bowl -- all over both of us.
And I suddenly remembered why I had waited so long to start feeding her solid food. I wonder how long it will be before I venture a second try. Maybe I'll wait till she can feed herself?
My own baby just passed her 6 month mark, so today I finally conceded and made the trek to the store to buy rice cereal.
We arrived home, just in time for lunch. I mixed her up a little bit of the cereal, with freshly pumped momma-milk, put on the bib, and started to feed her.
Three bites later, she reached out and dumped the whole bowl -- all over both of us.
And I suddenly remembered why I had waited so long to start feeding her solid food. I wonder how long it will be before I venture a second try. Maybe I'll wait till she can feed herself?
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Lights. Camera. Shoot!!!
Anyone want to know how a typical photo session goes at my house? I'll share today as a somewhat typical example...
First, I'm in a good mood, the baby's in a good mood, no snot all over her face, the light coming in through the window is good, and she just turned six months old, so it is appropriate to snap some photos.
I decide I'll try to take some pictures.
I look for the camera.
I find the camera.
I turn on the camera.
Memory card is full. Aargh. That means the kids found it first and have been playing with it again, taking pictures until the camera doesn't let them take any more.
I don't want to wipe the card because some of the pictures are ones that I took.
Maybe I'll just download the pictures onto the computer.
Can't find the card reader.
While I was looking for the card reader, toddler tortured baby, so now she's crying and I'm not in a good mood anymore.
While comforting baby, I go back and manually delete several pictures from the camera, mostly pictures of my carpet.
Baby is stable, so I put her down and start taking some pictures. She starts crying.
I cheer her up, get her laughing, but toddler heard me and wants to be part of the action. He starts climbing on me, making it impossible to take a clear picture because I'm being jostled every second.
I get him off of me, and then he starts walking all around the baby, casting shadows and getting random body parts in the pictures.
Just as I succeed in distracting him, the camera shuts off, saying that I need to replace the battery.
That would be fine except that my husband left the extra battery in his pants pocket a few months ago, and it went through the wash. (Sound familiar?)
Photo session over. Shoot!
First, I'm in a good mood, the baby's in a good mood, no snot all over her face, the light coming in through the window is good, and she just turned six months old, so it is appropriate to snap some photos.
I decide I'll try to take some pictures.
I look for the camera.
I find the camera.
I turn on the camera.
Memory card is full. Aargh. That means the kids found it first and have been playing with it again, taking pictures until the camera doesn't let them take any more.
I don't want to wipe the card because some of the pictures are ones that I took.
Maybe I'll just download the pictures onto the computer.
Can't find the card reader.
While I was looking for the card reader, toddler tortured baby, so now she's crying and I'm not in a good mood anymore.
While comforting baby, I go back and manually delete several pictures from the camera, mostly pictures of my carpet.
Baby is stable, so I put her down and start taking some pictures. She starts crying.
I cheer her up, get her laughing, but toddler heard me and wants to be part of the action. He starts climbing on me, making it impossible to take a clear picture because I'm being jostled every second.
I get him off of me, and then he starts walking all around the baby, casting shadows and getting random body parts in the pictures.
Just as I succeed in distracting him, the camera shuts off, saying that I need to replace the battery.
That would be fine except that my husband left the extra battery in his pants pocket a few months ago, and it went through the wash. (Sound familiar?)
Photo session over. Shoot!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Clickable Magic
Last night I was walking up the stairs and heard my son reading a book to his brother. The lights were supposed to have been off ten minutes before, but maybe I was in a good mood or something, because at that moment, it was just amazing to hear them reading together, sharing something they both like in total brotherly love.
At times like that, I find myself doing what I call a "Cam Jansen click." Cam Jansen is a fictitious kid with a photographic memory, and when she wants to remember a particular scene, she closes her eyes and says "click." This helps imprint the scene so she can recall the details of it later. She calls it her mental camera.
I don't really claim to have a photographic memory. But there are many moments in my life that make my heart flutter, when I just wish there was a way to capture the emotion of that moment. Sometimes a real camera helps with that, and sometimes a journal or blog helps, but usually I find that I have to simply live the moment, flutters and all, then I mentally "click" and hope that I can remember it.
Here are a few that came rushing back to me tonight:
* This might sound insane, but some of my favorite 'click' moments are from the quiet hours of the night, when I am taking care of one child or another after they've had a bad dream, or when they can't quite fall asleep and we're reading stories or singing songs.
* I love singing hymns as lullabies, while I look into the eyes of my baby and we're just staring at each other, feeling, listening, and it seems as though the words of the song carry my testimony into their little heart. And their eyes tell me that they know too.
* My oldest isn't super talkative, except at night. When it's late at night, and he's supposed to be going to bed, this kid will sit and talk about everything. Sometimes I tell him that's how I know he's tired, but I love when I occasionally 'break the rules' and take the time to listen instead of ushering him off to bed.
* I am realizing that all of my kids will eventually grow out of being small enough for me to just hold them. So sometimes I just hold them and hold them, hoping that if I do it enough we'll both remember it when they hit their annoying stages.
I guess that the ironic thing about these examples is that the very things I love the most can also infuriate me -- when kids are supposed to be sleeping and they want more stories or songs, when they're supposed to be sleeping and want to talk, or when they're supposed to be in their own bed and are instead flopping all over me in mine.
When I do it wrong, the moment is caustic, and when I do it right, it's pure clickable magic.
At times like that, I find myself doing what I call a "Cam Jansen click." Cam Jansen is a fictitious kid with a photographic memory, and when she wants to remember a particular scene, she closes her eyes and says "click." This helps imprint the scene so she can recall the details of it later. She calls it her mental camera.
I don't really claim to have a photographic memory. But there are many moments in my life that make my heart flutter, when I just wish there was a way to capture the emotion of that moment. Sometimes a real camera helps with that, and sometimes a journal or blog helps, but usually I find that I have to simply live the moment, flutters and all, then I mentally "click" and hope that I can remember it.
Here are a few that came rushing back to me tonight:
* This might sound insane, but some of my favorite 'click' moments are from the quiet hours of the night, when I am taking care of one child or another after they've had a bad dream, or when they can't quite fall asleep and we're reading stories or singing songs.
* I love singing hymns as lullabies, while I look into the eyes of my baby and we're just staring at each other, feeling, listening, and it seems as though the words of the song carry my testimony into their little heart. And their eyes tell me that they know too.
* My oldest isn't super talkative, except at night. When it's late at night, and he's supposed to be going to bed, this kid will sit and talk about everything. Sometimes I tell him that's how I know he's tired, but I love when I occasionally 'break the rules' and take the time to listen instead of ushering him off to bed.
* I am realizing that all of my kids will eventually grow out of being small enough for me to just hold them. So sometimes I just hold them and hold them, hoping that if I do it enough we'll both remember it when they hit their annoying stages.
I guess that the ironic thing about these examples is that the very things I love the most can also infuriate me -- when kids are supposed to be sleeping and they want more stories or songs, when they're supposed to be sleeping and want to talk, or when they're supposed to be in their own bed and are instead flopping all over me in mine.
When I do it wrong, the moment is caustic, and when I do it right, it's pure clickable magic.
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