I was ambushed by algebra when I walked in the door.

“Hi Mom,” my oldest said. “Can you help me with this?”
She had to identify the variables and write the equation. When was the last time I did this? It wasn’t remarkably difficult and she got it with a little prompting. I said,
“That was kinda fun. It was like a puzzle.”

Eye roll

It occurs to me that I am reaching the ceiling of helping my kids with math. I never took anything higher than Algebra 1 and Geometry. A few years ago when I was at my sister’s, her daughter asked if I could help with a math problem.
“Sure!” I responded enthusiastically, flattered that she asked.
That pride quickly deflated when she showed me the problem. Synthetic division. Was this the polyester/rayon version of the denim algebra I was familiar with? I read back through the section. whoa. I was further behind than I realized. I could not help her in the time I had. I would need to take a class first.

I pointed out her options:
Take a stab at it and be sure to ask the teacher tomorrow
Phone a friend
Call Grandpa

Calling Grandpa is a desperate measure, although I’m sure he knows synthetic division – and not just that it needs to be tumble-dried on a low temperature setting.

My niece chose option number one.
I went home and remember to shift the laundry.