Leslie Langtry is, in fact, a mom and a Girl Scout leader, but she has never assassinated anyone, either professionally or for recreation. Okay, she knits, but she almost never garrotes anyone with the circular needles.
Instead, she lives with her husband, Tom, and two children, Margaret and Jack, in the Quad Cities – with no immediate plans to train either child as an assassin. She wants to make that perfectly clear.
Leslie shares blog space with four other amazing Dorchester writers at Killer Fiction. I Shot You Babe is scheduled for release July 1, 2009.
When Fractions Happen to Good People
The other night, my ten year old daughter asked me to help with her math homework. I laughed because, just how hard can 5th grade math be? I mean, I went through 5th grade and did okay. So we sat down to work. I kind of pictured it as a sort of Norman Rockwell painting…”Loving and Intelligent Mom Helps Child.” That sort of thing.
The first few problems were easy. No problem I thought. Of course I know what 1/5 of 100 is! I’m so smart it’s scary! The next two problems followed suit. I was really impressing my kid with my mad math skills. Little did I know that this is how they lure you in and then reduce you to monosyllabic rants.
What is 1/2 of 5/7? I rubbed my eyes. Surely this was a trick question. The answer was probably “mauve.” I read and re-read the question while my daughter looked at me expectantly.
“Um, er, what do YOU think the answer is?” That’s it! Deflect with psychology! She’d know the answer and I’d nod wisely, indicating that I knew it all along.
Margaret shook her head. “No clue. I was sick they day they studied this. You’ll have to explain it to me.”
Damn.
I have broken out in a cold sweat before. There was a job interview where they asked something and I promptly forgot the question before giving the answer – which, it turned out, I didn’t know. There was a pop quiz in Kievan Russia 1490-1628 when I hadn’t attended the class in a month. There was even the time I lied to my husband about how much that pair of shoes really cost just before he produced the receipt ala Perry Mason. This was like that.
Me: “Oh. Well, what is half of 5/7?”
Margaret: “That’s what I’m asking you.”
Me: “I think you should have to figure it out.”
Margaret: “Okay, but you have to help me.”
Me: Banging the book on the table and hoping for a distraction of epic proportions that, by the way, never comes. “What does it say in the chapter?”
Margaret: “It isn’t in there. I looked already.”
Me: After letting out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding in, “It’s a secret.”
Margaret: “You don’t have any idea, do you?”
Me: “Sure I do! I have a masters degree! I’m over 40!”
Margaret: Shaking head slowly. “You are so sad.”
Me: Pulling out my cell phone. “Yes I am. Let’s text Daddy.”
My husband came home later that night after the kids were in bed. He found me sitting in the kitchen, swearing at my daughter’s math book with an empty wineglass and, um, an empty bottle of wine.
He didn’t know the answer either.
Don’t let math happen to you.
