You know how some people are good at a lot of things? Well, I'm not one of those people. I can write and edit. That's it. All I got.
When committees come together and delve out chores, I'm always like, "Um, I can proofread the flyer?" I can't cook. I cried the last time I tried to sew. I'll go to my deathbed mystified about the science behind fax machines. I really don't have much going for me, but, thanks to my BFFs Google and YouTube, I can sometimes fool the masses. (Okay, tiny masses. Small groups. As in two. Okay, sometimes I can fool my kids.)
Math is one of many things that eludes me. In high school, I took algebra, geometry, and a little bit of trigonometry. Instead of bringing my calculator to the trig final, I packed my television remote. I never did find the cosine button on that thing. I quit that class at Christmas break. My freshman year of college, I took elementary math. When I transferred colleges, I cried in some lady's office until she agreed to transfer it as an algebra credit. (Oh, there's another thing I'm unintentionally good at -- I'm a fantastic crier.)
That said, I know we have to use math in the adult world, and I generally get by with help from my friend, the calculator app. Still, there are problems I wish I'd learned the answer to in high school. Maybe, instead of taking that (one semester of) trig, I could've taken mommy math. This should be a thing, people.
Mommy math should be offered after geometry. We have to keep geometry so that I can continue to refer to myself as a "geometrist" as I pin house plans I'll never be able to afford on social media. FYI: I'm also a biologist every time I scrub an unidentifiable substance off a wall.
A course in mommy math would include real mom problems, not questions about how many cookies Davy ate. If you'd just put the cookies on the top cabinet behind the canned asparagus, Davy would never steal the cookies. Any mom worth her weight knows that.
I propose that mommy math be a required high school course. As a helpful reference as to what the course would look like, I've included some mommy math problems below.
*You have sixteen ounces of spiced pumpkin latte and a sleeping toddler in your car. It's been three hours and two Dasanis since you last peed. How many ounces of pumpkin bliss can you safely drink without interrupting the kid's nap with a potty break at some bacteria-infected rest stop?
*Your ten-year-old wants a puppy. In grams, which breed pees on your carpet the least?
*If you kept tweezers on your nightstand, how many of your husband's leg hairs would you have to extract before he would wake up to change the crying baby?
*If you're seven miles from school pick-up and already fifteen minutes late, what's the optimal speed at which you should travel in order to slide into the car rider line just before the cops are called? EXTRA POINT QUESTION: And how long should you have to apologize to the teacher on duty?
*At what age can you tie your son's iTunes account to your debit card without waking up to $300 worth of mommy-unauthorized charges?
*If you tell your teenager that he can have a party and invite twelve friends, how many extras will show up?
*How many times do you have to tell your daughter to clean her bedroom before she actually cleans her bedroom? (Seriously. Because she's seven, and I'm not sure she's ever cleaned her bedroom.)
*If you're eating an ice cream cone alone while driving home and your mother-in-law calls, how many times can you ignore the call before she calls your husband to tattle? BONUS: How many calories could you save by letting the ice cream cone melt and picking up on the first ring?
I'd offer you the answers, but I don't have them. Call your legislators or something. I need answers. And an ice cream cone.