Yesterday morning CC and I were sitting at the table, improving our minds via the internets on our laptops after the kids had gone to school. This week I came across a really funny blog that I started following, and then it got picked up on Freshly Pressed. I was reading the follow-up post out loud to CC because it was totally cracking me up. I clicked back twice on my browser and Freshly Pressed refreshed.
And there was Brickie, staring up at me with his purple curlicue and really goddamn big smile.
I cracked up all over again.
Wow and thanks are all I have to say. Because really, The Good Greatsby is way funnier than me and you should read his acceptance post. I tried to commission him to write my FP follow-up post but he’s wisely put multiple layers of protection in between his greatness and everything else, and he wasn’t willing to be paid in candy, which I feel is remarkably short-sighted of him.
Y’all left me a billion comments and I think that’s way cool. I am reading them, and checking out your stuff.
#5 is our resident math genius. He assured me, when I presented him with yesterday’s statistics (even though I claimed they were “just numbers” and refused to say anything else), that I got forty times the best traffic I’ve ever had.
I would use a calculator, but the kids have broken them all. I could find one on my computer, but I believe him for two reasons:
1) One time we came home from work and saw that the kids had been outside drawing with chalk on the driveway. Upon closer inspection we discovered that it was completely covered in numbers. The powers of ten, to be precise. It’s a rather large driveway. The babysitter mentioned that while they were all outside #5 disappeared. He had finished filling in our driveway and had started in on the next door neighbor’s. He was six at this time.
2) At the beginning of this school year, I was checking all of #5’s homework every day when he finished with it. One day I paused to check the math sheet he brought me in between loads of laundry and told him that all were correct except the last one. I carried on folding clothes. He came back and said, “What’s wrong with it?” and I snipped, “It’s the wrong answer.” I went back downstairs to switch laundry again. He came into the laundry room. “But which part of it is wrong?” and I snapped, “The answer part! The answer part is wrong!” It was typical early 3rd grade stuff, adding up a series of three numbers that were in the ten thousands. Finally he came back to me and said, “I’ve added these up every way I know how and still get the same answer.” So I looked at it again, and of course he was right. Because when I did it I didn’t carry the one.
There are moments as a parent when you can’t hide your assholery, and there’s only one thing to say.
I said, “Don’t ever let me check your math homework again.”
I have to break it to him tomorrow that he’s doing our taxes this year.