That Old Black Magic...

Car rides are the most fun thing EVER in my world right now.

 

Little O has discovered ten.

 

She has learned to add, and thinks it is a giggly magic trick each and every time you can give her an addition problem that she can figure out.  This presupposes that you are adding numbers no larger than five.  I forget occasionally and give her something like eight plus two.  There's a pause as she begins counting, she can even get the eight on two hands, but then she is stymied because she is out of hands.  I get the scold, but it's so funny.

 

How do I keep this magic alive?  Math is magic and fun, and I don't want her to lose that.  My mother loves math--the elegance and the straightforward answers.  She wanted to be a math teacher, but my grandmother laughed and told her she would never earn a decent living as a teacher, she would be a nurse, like her mother.  The math gene skipped a genereation--I am my father's daughter, and words are my enchantment.  Numbers are little sharp toothed gremlins, nipping at my heels. 

 

If Little O can have both Math and the Written Word, how glorious.  It's all stretched out in front of her.