Julianna (she’s 9) is having a really tough time with the 4th-grade homework. There’s reading and ‘riting and ‘rythmatics.

Also, lots of tears and hugging and explanations.

So, math is taught much differently than when I was from the ’70s. There are now math “sentences,” “paragraphs,” and even “stories.” Next up a novel: “50 Shades of Grey.” Yeah, inappropriate. That’s why I’m funny.

Julianna (again, 9) is crying, not understanding any of this even though she has always excelled at math. Forget her Reading assignment, she’s can’t get beyond the 3 x 4 haiku she has to dissect. (Or something like that… Hippie Art School!)

It’s all I can do to get her into pajamas and into bed.

Me, snuggling (she’s still whimpering): It will all be Ok. You are soooo smart. I had trouble with school. Mommy had trouble with school. Everyone does.

Julianna: But, I don’t know if I’ll ever GET it.

Me: You will, Sweety. You’re the best Julianna I’ve ever known.

J: I know. Thank you, Daddy. Zzzzzzzz.