Watching Isla do her Xtra Math lesson the other day– an online program that practices mathematical recall– I scared myself.
I was like that awkward mother in the viral YouTube clip who was caught on film– watching her daughter perform at the Olympics–squirming in her seat, muttering, uttering and shouting– Tourettes-fashion–
“C’mon, C’mon, stick it!”
Isla’s been doing Extra Math for a few weeks, but this was the first time I was paying attention. The first few times she asked me to help her, I didn’t get it. Problems flashed on the screen and disappeared so quickly. Isla pecked away on the number keys and eventually a few smiley faces would pop up when she was finished.
It took me a while to realize she was being timed. Perhaps, in hindsight, that’s what got me, a former competitive ski racer and snowboarder who lived and died by the clock, salivating.
As Esther, my eldest, described it, I was foaming at the mouth as I sat next to Isla that day. I was “helping her” by reading the problems out loud. And I could not keep my mouth shut. I egged her on. I urged her to speed up. I chided her when she kept hitting the wrong key. I acted like a big fat idiot.
Unsurprisingly, before starting the second session, Isla said, “Mom, can you please go away.”
I went away. When she was finished, she calculated her smiley-face score. She got twice as many smiley faces with me on the other side of the room as she had when I was being her math coach from hell.
My overzealous behavior may have been rooted in the discovery, over the weekend, that Isla’s best friend is a freakin’ math wizard.
We were bringing the friend home. Isla asked how many quarters it took to make one hundred dollars. “400” I said, feeling more than a little proud of myself for answering before Ian did. Then Ian asked “How many dollars does 100 quarters make?”
Within seconds, a fraction of a second after the number came into my head, Isla’s friend answered “$50, no, $25 dollars,” in her still very baby around the edges, 7-year-old-girl voice.
I praised her for her cleverness, then went quiet for the rest of the ride.
“We don’t talk about numbers and math and money enough,” I said to Ian later that day. “Unless of course we’re talking about how we don’t have enough to pay this or that bill.”
I continued in my defensive, angst-fueled rant:
“You need to be the math parent. Numbers hold zero interest for me. Numbers make my mind switch off. I would die happy if I never heard another number for the rest of my life. Unless of course it’s a hockey score or a Downhill race time. But measuring, weighing, calculating, speculating, all those things people do with numbers that don’t end up as sport scores or something you eat…. bored now!”
But hearing that little kid spout off a sum I doubt either of my girls could come up with, without help, in less than 10 seconds, if at all, struck a nerve. The one that leads straight to the ego.
Yesterday, Isla asked to do Extra Math before dinner. I found the page for her and she logged on. I hovered over her chair for a minute, then she said “Mom. Remember I don’t like you watching.”
“Oh right,” I said, sidling back to the broccoli and cheddar soup cooking on the stove.
I grated the cheese into the soup and stirred, meditatively. I thought of many things to tell her, but I said nothing.
Finally, after what seemed like a year and a half but was only three minutes, Isla said
“Mom, guess how many smiley faces I got.”
“I can’t guess. How many, Isla?” I said.
She counted out loud. There were 11. Twice as many as she had ever gotten before.
Ever catch yourself comparing your kids to their friends?