A couple weeks ago, it was Whitney Heichel. I was sad when I read about her on the news and had no idea she was one of Jehovah's Witnesses. I was hoping they would find her, but thinking it hardly seemed likely. I was thinking how pretty she was and how adorable her husband was and how cute and happy they looked together. Then I read on facebook that she was one of Jehovah's Witnesses. All the sudden, it's different. She's one of ours! If I lived where she did, she'd be my friend and I'd work with her in service and I'd have been at her wedding and bridal shower. It's just amazing how much it really affects (did I do it right this time?) us when we find out something has happened to one of us. We call each-other brother and sister, and you don't realize just how true those terms are. So you read about something like that, and then you find out it's your sister, and suddenly the stakes are so much higher, and you feel like you know her, and her mom personally, even though you really don't. Then the bad news starts rolling in and I'm crying reading the news online, and then I'm crying reading the posts her friends and family made on facebook. Then I'm crying looking through the photos from her funeral and seeing all the friends, in a Kingdom Hall, dealing with the loss. I'm thinking that I'm gonna just have to quit looking at the pictures and reading about it all because it's just making me sad and I don't actually know her or her family, and there's no use being sad for someone I don't know when there are so many people to be sad for that I DO actually know.
About that time, I start reading about the little two year old boy with the spiky hair and the adorable grin who loves Lightning McQueen and got hit in the head by a large tree limb when Sandy was coming through Georgia. And then I find out that his family is in the same congregation with my cousin and also an old friend, and they are hurting about it because they're watching his family hurting about it. And the little boy's parents are also Witnesses, and once again, he's not just an adorable little two year-old boy, he's one of ours. If his family were in my congregation, his mom and I would be stuck in the mother's room together with our children. He's not just any kid, he's family. Now I'm checking for updates several times a day to see if he's still hanging on, and how he's doing, and worrying cuz tonight, they're gonna try to slowly take him out of his medically induced coma, and his mommy's a nervous wreck about it. So I'm a nervous wreck about it too. I hope it helps somehow to have the prayers and support of thousands of brothers and sisters who don't actually know you. I wish I could DO something for his family. But there's only one thing I can do for them, so I'll be praying for little Tripp Halstead and for his parents and his family. Hoping that everything turns out ok for them, and that if it doesn't, they'll have the strength to endure.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Friday, November 2, 2012
In Which I Have A Parent/Teacher Conference
Had a parent/teacher conference with Dalton's teacher yesterday. I was a nervous wreck, as we had gotten a lot of emails from her early in the year about difficulties she was having with him.
Got there, and she had another parent in the room with her, so I had to wait my turn in the hallway. There was a large bulletin board on the hallway wall with tacked up books some of the kids in his class had made about geography, explaining what a mesa, plains, mountains, and valleys and stuff are. I found Dalton's and started reading. There were factual components, such as "a mesa is a mountain with a flat top." But there were also very Daltonesque parts throughout his little book. "Mountains are not really pointy, that's just the way you draw them." "Some people think valleys are called valleys because they look like little 'vs.'" Or how about this one "A canyon is really nothing but a ridiculously large hole in the ground." And then there was my absolute favorite, "The plains are also called flatlands, because there is really nothing there to see. Except in movies and on tv, often you will find cruel people in saloons." When I read that one, I actually snorted!
Anyway, finally got in to see the teacher, and she said that although they got off to a rocky start at the beginning of the year, she now loves having Dalton in her class, says he has vastly improved. She said she's found that what he needs more than anything is to continue to be challenged, and she said she has found it best to have him help other students, which keeps him busy. She also said she would not be suprised at all if he grows up to be a writer, and she is not the first of his teachers to tell me that. Although, I don't really know what genre he would specialize in, because do you classify it as fiction or nonfiction when someone writes that in the movies, flatlands have cruel people in saloons?
Got there, and she had another parent in the room with her, so I had to wait my turn in the hallway. There was a large bulletin board on the hallway wall with tacked up books some of the kids in his class had made about geography, explaining what a mesa, plains, mountains, and valleys and stuff are. I found Dalton's and started reading. There were factual components, such as "a mesa is a mountain with a flat top." But there were also very Daltonesque parts throughout his little book. "Mountains are not really pointy, that's just the way you draw them." "Some people think valleys are called valleys because they look like little 'vs.'" Or how about this one "A canyon is really nothing but a ridiculously large hole in the ground." And then there was my absolute favorite, "The plains are also called flatlands, because there is really nothing there to see. Except in movies and on tv, often you will find cruel people in saloons." When I read that one, I actually snorted!
Anyway, finally got in to see the teacher, and she said that although they got off to a rocky start at the beginning of the year, she now loves having Dalton in her class, says he has vastly improved. She said she's found that what he needs more than anything is to continue to be challenged, and she said she has found it best to have him help other students, which keeps him busy. She also said she would not be suprised at all if he grows up to be a writer, and she is not the first of his teachers to tell me that. Although, I don't really know what genre he would specialize in, because do you classify it as fiction or nonfiction when someone writes that in the movies, flatlands have cruel people in saloons?
Thursday, November 1, 2012
In Which I Have Two Sick Babies
Haven't written on here in quite some time. Been pretty darn busy and my mind has been elsewhere. Both the twins were acting very strange, just really grumpy and nothing making them happy, and wanting to sleep all the time. Then on Tuesday afternoon, as I was telling Charles about how weird they'd been acting, we each noticed that the baby we were holding had a rather warm forehead. They got warmer and warmer till bedtime, and just wanted to lay there, glassy-eyed, not moving, on our laps. Finally took a temp and it was about 101. The next morning they no longer felt warm, but they still acted grumpy and fatigued pretty much all day. Auntie Marilyn came to the rescue and came and helped me hold and feed and bathe and all that good stuff, even stayed overnight to help me, which was wonderful. Especially wonderful to Weston, who is completely enamored with her and her little songs she sings, and the way she does his "piggies," etc... Aila is more reserved, as always. But she sat very still on Marilyn's lap this morning in her litle polka-dot pajamas, stone-faced, while Marilyn poked all her dots and said "Polka-dot, polka-dot, polka-dot.." etc... No smile, no facial movement at ALL out of Aila. But the second Marilyn stopped, Aila grabbed her hand and put it to her pajamas as if to say "Do it again." She may not have smiled, but she clearly liked it. Then Weston got jealous and Marilyn had to poke the dinosaurs on HIS pajamas and say "Dinosaur, dinosaur, dinosaur..."
The babies did finally seem to have their appetite back today, and were thrilled when I made them a big plate of cut-up, syrupless french toast. Aila grabbed two pieces, one for each hand, so Weston grabbed the hand she wasn't eating out of and stuck it in his own mouth.
Also new around here, Weston following the cat around yelling "Tiddy!!!" (Kitty, in case you were wondering.) It's pretty darn cute.
I'm wiped out and don't have any interesting things to write about, other than watching my poor sick babies, so, oh well. Maybe soon. I'm gonna try to load a video I took of them Wednesday when they were feeling horrible but being very sweet to each-other. I already put it on facebook, but I'll put it here too, because I just think it's the sweetest thing. I've watched it about 50 times myself already! Hope it'll load...
The babies did finally seem to have their appetite back today, and were thrilled when I made them a big plate of cut-up, syrupless french toast. Aila grabbed two pieces, one for each hand, so Weston grabbed the hand she wasn't eating out of and stuck it in his own mouth.
Also new around here, Weston following the cat around yelling "Tiddy!!!" (Kitty, in case you were wondering.) It's pretty darn cute.
I'm wiped out and don't have any interesting things to write about, other than watching my poor sick babies, so, oh well. Maybe soon. I'm gonna try to load a video I took of them Wednesday when they were feeling horrible but being very sweet to each-other. I already put it on facebook, but I'll put it here too, because I just think it's the sweetest thing. I've watched it about 50 times myself already! Hope it'll load...
Thursday, October 25, 2012
In Which 9 yr old Boys Irritate the Snot Out Of Me
Can we talk for a moment about how irritating 9 year old boys are? It's MY blog, so of course we can! :) 9 yr old boys are THE WORST.
I first discovered this when my brother turned 9. His teeth grew fuzz. He smelled horrible. A mixture of boy-child wet puppy smell and adult body odor. He wore stupid stuff trying to look cool, like parachute pants and calculator watches. Everything about him made me kind of want to throw up. I was only 3 years older, so it wasn't like I was an adult or anything, but even I could see this weird changing time from boy to adolescent, and it wasn't pretty. About the time he hit 13 or 14, he suddenly became very likable and not so gross, so I guess it was that weird age range of pre-teen.
Next was my cousin, who we'll call "Z" to protect the guilty. You wanna talk about some fuzzy teeth?! Z had the fuzziest teeth ever. You know how 9 year olds have those GIANT front teeth that are way too big for their heads? Why is it that God made it so that right when their teeth are THAT HUGE is the same time they decide there's no need to brush? Once again, after a few more years, he became fun to be around again, and grew into his teeth, and started to brush them.
After I was an adult, another cousin and HIS cousin, both of whom I was around a lot, turned 9 at the same time. I kinda remembered that it was a gross age from my previous experience, but these two made it perfectly clear to me that it was something about this particular age.... We'll call them "G" and "J." J's mom brought him over for me to babysit. I liked kids, and thought this would be fine. I had a metronome, those little "tick-tock" devices that one uses to count off beats when you're playing music. Well J found it, almost immediately, and had to play with it. It wasn't a toy, and it was kind of expensive. But I let him anyway, cuz it kept him quiet. So this is what I heard "Tick----tock-----tick------tock------tick---" He had it set on a slow time. Then he messed with the weight that made it change speeds "Ticktockticktockticktockticktock" on and on and on and on and on until I couldn't stand it anymore. "J, do not play with that anymore. Turn it off." I said. He looked at me, and grinned a sly devil grin, showing his giant fuzzy teeth. "J, I said DO NOT DO IT AGAIN." He flicked it, "TICKTOCK!" and laughed. He just HAD to do it one more time, to show me who was boss.
G would argue incessantly with his Mama, because he was 9 and therefore knew everything. We were outside, and a baby in the family threw up or something and got stuff everywhere. "G, run to the car please and get me the baby wipes." said his mother. "Why?" said G. "Because the baby threw up and we need it! GO!" "Uh! Why do I have to go get it?!"
Another time, we were at his house, my mom and I, while his mother was gone. He was skateboarding across his kitchen, and I am not making this up, on his knees. Whamming into the cabinets, scraping up the floor, falling off and rolling around. My mom said to him "G, please stop doing that, you're gonna get hurt." "But WHY?! I'm not gonna get hurt, I'm fine! I'm just...." I couldn't take it anymore "GET OFF THE SKATEBOARD BECAUSE SHE SAID TO DO IT AND SHE'S OLDER THAN YOU AND IF SHE SAYS NOT TO, DON'T DO IT!!!" "Whatever!" he said, and then he was sad cuz I had yelled at him, and I felt horrible because I had yelled at him. I had loved this kid to pieces and held him and played with him since he was a tiny baby, and now he was getting on my last nerve. And do you know why? BECAUSE HE WAS NINE!
Nine year old boys (and I'm sure it's true of girls as well, but for some reason they don't bother me quite as badly) start getting hormones. They have a weird smell, and then they don't want to bathe. They think they know EVERYTHING, and there is no reasoning with them. They feel grown-up, so they get all "You're stupid and I know more than you" and "I look cool in my navy blue tie with my black suit, and don't tell me what to do!" You could LITERALLY tell a 9 year old boy the sky was blue and they would argue "Actually it's kind of a periwinkle" or whatever, trying to show off their advanced knowledge. Their teeth are too big for their heads, but they don't want to brush them. They talk back to their moms, because they're growing up and they're testing their boundaries. They're too big for toys, so instead they want to hang around and hear all the adult conversation. But they hang around DIRECTLY UNDERNEATH YOUR BUTT-CHEEKS and they overhear everything you don't want them to hear, and then quote it at inopportune times. "My mom told my dad they can't make the mortgage payment this month, so we may have to move." or other stuff like that. You say "Stop!" and they keep on going, you say "STOP" in a more forceful way, and they continue doing what they're doing, at least one more time, just so you know you don't really have control over them, because, after all, you're an idiot and they are all-knowing. Then, when you completely lose your mind and yell and get really, really angry....they cry their eye-balls out and ask why you don't love them anymore and want to hug you, because they're really just 9 years old, and they're still (despite what their hormones are telling them) just a little kid, and they don't really MEAN to be bad. And then you try to comfort them by giving them the hug they so desperately need, but dadgummit their breath smells like something died in their esophagus and their body odor is so puppy-doggish and pungent, and it's everything you can do to not gag.
So, this is all my way of telling you that right now, I have a very-close-to-nine-year-old boy. He is reminding me very much of my brother and cousins lately. He has been the light of my life, and I find him brilliant and amazing and funny, and when I'm not desperately trying to pay attention to my 1 yr old twins, I love to hear all the weird things he has to say. But he is a nine year old boy, and he is making me tired. And right now I can't wait for another few years to pass when he becomes your garden-variety teenager, and I can enjoy being around him more fully. (notice the careful wording!) So if you're the mother of a nine year old boy, or have ever had one, and you have experienced any of these things as well, feel free to comment, so I don't feel like I am all alone in my traumatic 9-yr-old experiences.
I first discovered this when my brother turned 9. His teeth grew fuzz. He smelled horrible. A mixture of boy-child wet puppy smell and adult body odor. He wore stupid stuff trying to look cool, like parachute pants and calculator watches. Everything about him made me kind of want to throw up. I was only 3 years older, so it wasn't like I was an adult or anything, but even I could see this weird changing time from boy to adolescent, and it wasn't pretty. About the time he hit 13 or 14, he suddenly became very likable and not so gross, so I guess it was that weird age range of pre-teen.
Next was my cousin, who we'll call "Z" to protect the guilty. You wanna talk about some fuzzy teeth?! Z had the fuzziest teeth ever. You know how 9 year olds have those GIANT front teeth that are way too big for their heads? Why is it that God made it so that right when their teeth are THAT HUGE is the same time they decide there's no need to brush? Once again, after a few more years, he became fun to be around again, and grew into his teeth, and started to brush them.
After I was an adult, another cousin and HIS cousin, both of whom I was around a lot, turned 9 at the same time. I kinda remembered that it was a gross age from my previous experience, but these two made it perfectly clear to me that it was something about this particular age.... We'll call them "G" and "J." J's mom brought him over for me to babysit. I liked kids, and thought this would be fine. I had a metronome, those little "tick-tock" devices that one uses to count off beats when you're playing music. Well J found it, almost immediately, and had to play with it. It wasn't a toy, and it was kind of expensive. But I let him anyway, cuz it kept him quiet. So this is what I heard "Tick----tock-----tick------tock------tick---" He had it set on a slow time. Then he messed with the weight that made it change speeds "Ticktockticktockticktockticktock" on and on and on and on and on until I couldn't stand it anymore. "J, do not play with that anymore. Turn it off." I said. He looked at me, and grinned a sly devil grin, showing his giant fuzzy teeth. "J, I said DO NOT DO IT AGAIN." He flicked it, "TICKTOCK!" and laughed. He just HAD to do it one more time, to show me who was boss.
G would argue incessantly with his Mama, because he was 9 and therefore knew everything. We were outside, and a baby in the family threw up or something and got stuff everywhere. "G, run to the car please and get me the baby wipes." said his mother. "Why?" said G. "Because the baby threw up and we need it! GO!" "Uh! Why do I have to go get it?!"
Another time, we were at his house, my mom and I, while his mother was gone. He was skateboarding across his kitchen, and I am not making this up, on his knees. Whamming into the cabinets, scraping up the floor, falling off and rolling around. My mom said to him "G, please stop doing that, you're gonna get hurt." "But WHY?! I'm not gonna get hurt, I'm fine! I'm just...." I couldn't take it anymore "GET OFF THE SKATEBOARD BECAUSE SHE SAID TO DO IT AND SHE'S OLDER THAN YOU AND IF SHE SAYS NOT TO, DON'T DO IT!!!" "Whatever!" he said, and then he was sad cuz I had yelled at him, and I felt horrible because I had yelled at him. I had loved this kid to pieces and held him and played with him since he was a tiny baby, and now he was getting on my last nerve. And do you know why? BECAUSE HE WAS NINE!
Nine year old boys (and I'm sure it's true of girls as well, but for some reason they don't bother me quite as badly) start getting hormones. They have a weird smell, and then they don't want to bathe. They think they know EVERYTHING, and there is no reasoning with them. They feel grown-up, so they get all "You're stupid and I know more than you" and "I look cool in my navy blue tie with my black suit, and don't tell me what to do!" You could LITERALLY tell a 9 year old boy the sky was blue and they would argue "Actually it's kind of a periwinkle" or whatever, trying to show off their advanced knowledge. Their teeth are too big for their heads, but they don't want to brush them. They talk back to their moms, because they're growing up and they're testing their boundaries. They're too big for toys, so instead they want to hang around and hear all the adult conversation. But they hang around DIRECTLY UNDERNEATH YOUR BUTT-CHEEKS and they overhear everything you don't want them to hear, and then quote it at inopportune times. "My mom told my dad they can't make the mortgage payment this month, so we may have to move." or other stuff like that. You say "Stop!" and they keep on going, you say "STOP" in a more forceful way, and they continue doing what they're doing, at least one more time, just so you know you don't really have control over them, because, after all, you're an idiot and they are all-knowing. Then, when you completely lose your mind and yell and get really, really angry....they cry their eye-balls out and ask why you don't love them anymore and want to hug you, because they're really just 9 years old, and they're still (despite what their hormones are telling them) just a little kid, and they don't really MEAN to be bad. And then you try to comfort them by giving them the hug they so desperately need, but dadgummit their breath smells like something died in their esophagus and their body odor is so puppy-doggish and pungent, and it's everything you can do to not gag.
So, this is all my way of telling you that right now, I have a very-close-to-nine-year-old boy. He is reminding me very much of my brother and cousins lately. He has been the light of my life, and I find him brilliant and amazing and funny, and when I'm not desperately trying to pay attention to my 1 yr old twins, I love to hear all the weird things he has to say. But he is a nine year old boy, and he is making me tired. And right now I can't wait for another few years to pass when he becomes your garden-variety teenager, and I can enjoy being around him more fully. (notice the careful wording!) So if you're the mother of a nine year old boy, or have ever had one, and you have experienced any of these things as well, feel free to comment, so I don't feel like I am all alone in my traumatic 9-yr-old experiences.
Monday, October 22, 2012
In Which I Fret Over Vaccinations
Tomorrow is vaccine day, the twins get the infamous MMR shot that all the controversy swirls around. I tried to do a little research, to see if I had reason to worry or to try to fight it. Apparently, the Moms of a lot of kids with autism swear that the symptoms coincided with their child getting this shot. While Dr.s swear it has nothing to do with it, and have done a bunch of studies and found nothing to prove it. Meanwhile, even in countries such as Japan where they've changed the protocol and now give the vaccine in several doses, autism rates continue to rise.
So If I allow the shots to be given, are my children going to suddenly develop autism, leading me to spend the rest of my days hating myself for my mistake? Or if I refuse the shots, are my children going to get measels, mumps, or rubella, possibly die from these diseases, or cause someone else to get sick?
Feeling very caught between the proverbial rock and hard place and like I'll be a bad mother no matter what I do. NOT LIKING THIS.
So If I allow the shots to be given, are my children going to suddenly develop autism, leading me to spend the rest of my days hating myself for my mistake? Or if I refuse the shots, are my children going to get measels, mumps, or rubella, possibly die from these diseases, or cause someone else to get sick?
Feeling very caught between the proverbial rock and hard place and like I'll be a bad mother no matter what I do. NOT LIKING THIS.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
In Which I Hate Math
Got an email from Dalton's teacher tonight saying that he's been having trouble with word problems in math, and she thinks I oughtta practice them with him at home.
Those of you who really know me know just how funny that is. That's like if she asked Charles to work with him on doing things faster. It's like if she asked Steven Hawking to work with him on his jogging skills. Math is not just something I hate, it's something I simply cannot do.
I have had this problem since I was a little kid. I guess nobody noticed it till I got older. The first big clue was when I in 7th grade math class, and we were learning geometry, and the teacher talked for a week about parallel planes. After about the 3rd day, I was wondering why we kept discussing this subject, I thought it was just the same word problem that we'd been going over for days, and, stupidly, I raised my hand. "Ms. Packard, I just don't get it. We've been talking about parallel planes for 3 days now, and I mean, really, just how often is it an issue that 2 planes are flying side by side? Why do we keep talking about this?" There was a loooonnnng pause and a lot of confused faces as people tried to figure out if I was serious. Then there was BOOMING laughter, and that was just from the teacher. I was looking around at everyone as they rolled around in their chairs laughing going "What? WHAT??!!" mad that they were laughing at me and not understanding why. Ms. Packard told it in the teacher's lounge, and it became the stuff of legend. Teachers I barely knew made jokes about it to me. Sigh.
A few years later, I'm an older teenager, I forget how old, 17 or so, and I'm in the store with my mother. There's something I'm considering buying, and the sign said "5 for a dollar." I'm staring at it going, "Ok, I know that 4 quarters is a dollar, and each quarter is 25 cents, but if they are 5 for a dollar, how much is one?" I stood there thinking, trying to picture the math problem in my head, trying to divide....Mom saw the look on my face (gears turning) and said "What?" and I said it, out loud. Worst mistake EVER. "Well, these are 5 for a dollar, but I only want one, so how much would one be?" She's like "Shelly, come ON. If they're 5 for a dollar, one would be.....???..." and stared at me like it should just "bing" into my head any second. It didn't. She finally had to tell me. I know how much one would be now, but frankly, only because she told that story so many times, the answer got drilled into my brain. I can't just figure it out like a normal person.
I also can't tell time on a regular clock. It's related, apparently it's all on the same side of your brain. Whereas a normal person might see 12:42, for example, I see 3 minutes till 15 minutes till 1. It's not that I don't KNOW what time it is, it's just that I can't say it. Unless it's on the quarter hour, in which case I can verbalize it ok. Otherwise people will ask me "Could you tell me what time it is?" And I have to stare at my watch going "Ummmm...." While I figure out how to say 4:26 instead of 4 minutes till 30 minutes after 4.
There is also my issue with left and right. And by issue, I mean, I can't tell them apart. I have to envision myself "writing" with my "right" hand. Or hold them up to see which one makes an L for "left." I'm 41, it's humiliating.
When I was 19, I stopped to get gas one day. My family can stop reading now, cuz they've all heard AND told this one a million times! Anyway, I pulled my car up to the gas pump, and got out. But when I got out I realized my tank was on the other side. I got back in my car, started it up, and drove around to the next pump. I got out, looked for the tank, and realized it was still on the other side. I got back in my car, started it BACK up, pulled around a couple pumps down and hopped out again....it was STILL on the wrong side! I was late to get somewhere and I was getting very frustrated! So I tried AGAIN. Suffice it to say, this went on for a good solid 3 minutes until finally I was sobbing in frustration and embarrassment, and the gas station attendant came out of the station, crying himself (from laughter, and I am not making this up) and said, through his giggles and tears, while wiping his eyes, "Maam, if you get back in your car, I will direct you around to the pump where the tank will be on the correct side, I promise!" and he did. That remains one of my top 5 most embarrassing moments in all of my 41 years of life, and I've done a lot of embarrassing things, so that's really saying something.
It's just irritating to me, because I think I'm a relatively smart girl, but this math stuff that everyone else can do just fine, my brain just shuts down and CANNOT and WILL NOT do it. Thank goodness for calculators, is all I can say.
So, anyway, I don't think I'm gonna be helping Dalton with word problems any time soon. Particularly not if it's a word problem about those pesky parallel flying airplanes!
Those of you who really know me know just how funny that is. That's like if she asked Charles to work with him on doing things faster. It's like if she asked Steven Hawking to work with him on his jogging skills. Math is not just something I hate, it's something I simply cannot do.
I have had this problem since I was a little kid. I guess nobody noticed it till I got older. The first big clue was when I in 7th grade math class, and we were learning geometry, and the teacher talked for a week about parallel planes. After about the 3rd day, I was wondering why we kept discussing this subject, I thought it was just the same word problem that we'd been going over for days, and, stupidly, I raised my hand. "Ms. Packard, I just don't get it. We've been talking about parallel planes for 3 days now, and I mean, really, just how often is it an issue that 2 planes are flying side by side? Why do we keep talking about this?" There was a loooonnnng pause and a lot of confused faces as people tried to figure out if I was serious. Then there was BOOMING laughter, and that was just from the teacher. I was looking around at everyone as they rolled around in their chairs laughing going "What? WHAT??!!" mad that they were laughing at me and not understanding why. Ms. Packard told it in the teacher's lounge, and it became the stuff of legend. Teachers I barely knew made jokes about it to me. Sigh.
A few years later, I'm an older teenager, I forget how old, 17 or so, and I'm in the store with my mother. There's something I'm considering buying, and the sign said "5 for a dollar." I'm staring at it going, "Ok, I know that 4 quarters is a dollar, and each quarter is 25 cents, but if they are 5 for a dollar, how much is one?" I stood there thinking, trying to picture the math problem in my head, trying to divide....Mom saw the look on my face (gears turning) and said "What?" and I said it, out loud. Worst mistake EVER. "Well, these are 5 for a dollar, but I only want one, so how much would one be?" She's like "Shelly, come ON. If they're 5 for a dollar, one would be.....???..." and stared at me like it should just "bing" into my head any second. It didn't. She finally had to tell me. I know how much one would be now, but frankly, only because she told that story so many times, the answer got drilled into my brain. I can't just figure it out like a normal person.
I also can't tell time on a regular clock. It's related, apparently it's all on the same side of your brain. Whereas a normal person might see 12:42, for example, I see 3 minutes till 15 minutes till 1. It's not that I don't KNOW what time it is, it's just that I can't say it. Unless it's on the quarter hour, in which case I can verbalize it ok. Otherwise people will ask me "Could you tell me what time it is?" And I have to stare at my watch going "Ummmm...." While I figure out how to say 4:26 instead of 4 minutes till 30 minutes after 4.
There is also my issue with left and right. And by issue, I mean, I can't tell them apart. I have to envision myself "writing" with my "right" hand. Or hold them up to see which one makes an L for "left." I'm 41, it's humiliating.
When I was 19, I stopped to get gas one day. My family can stop reading now, cuz they've all heard AND told this one a million times! Anyway, I pulled my car up to the gas pump, and got out. But when I got out I realized my tank was on the other side. I got back in my car, started it up, and drove around to the next pump. I got out, looked for the tank, and realized it was still on the other side. I got back in my car, started it BACK up, pulled around a couple pumps down and hopped out again....it was STILL on the wrong side! I was late to get somewhere and I was getting very frustrated! So I tried AGAIN. Suffice it to say, this went on for a good solid 3 minutes until finally I was sobbing in frustration and embarrassment, and the gas station attendant came out of the station, crying himself (from laughter, and I am not making this up) and said, through his giggles and tears, while wiping his eyes, "Maam, if you get back in your car, I will direct you around to the pump where the tank will be on the correct side, I promise!" and he did. That remains one of my top 5 most embarrassing moments in all of my 41 years of life, and I've done a lot of embarrassing things, so that's really saying something.
It's just irritating to me, because I think I'm a relatively smart girl, but this math stuff that everyone else can do just fine, my brain just shuts down and CANNOT and WILL NOT do it. Thank goodness for calculators, is all I can say.
So, anyway, I don't think I'm gonna be helping Dalton with word problems any time soon. Particularly not if it's a word problem about those pesky parallel flying airplanes!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)