They're Baaaaack.

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I don't like decimals and fractions. Give me a whole number any time of the day, and I can add, multiply, and divide that bad boy any which way. But, fractions? And decimals? They irritate me.

Don't get me wrong, I can do it. I've had calculus. I've kicked butt in the math department. No, literally, I got into a drop down fight with a nerdy TA in my college pre-calculus class...just kidding. That's a lie. I do that sometimes, lie. It's my fiction writer popping out to make boring writing more interesting.

Anyway, back to decimals and fractions. It was around 6am. I was irritated with Donny, my 11 yr old, for leaving some homework til morning. Now we were slightly rushed, and I was having to intervene because he and his dad, Texas Homeboy, were raising voices and clearly not playing well. So, the peace maker has to step in and help out. Plus, I'm the math genius (not).

I looked over the math sheet. I was surprised I had to get involved at all, because Donny IS a little math genius. He loves math. He kicks butt at math. Figuratively, as far as I know.

Ok, so, they're cross-multiplying fractions and decimals. One variable is missing from the equation, so that's X. They're just trying to find X. I can handle that. Then the next group of numbers switches where the X is situated. That's thrown Donny off. I try to explain, and he looks at me like I'm speaking Latin. Wait...I think I was. Ok, sorry.

He still looks at me like I'm speaking a foreign language. What the heck? This should be easy as pie for him. I explain things much clearer than his father. I don't raise my voice.

Donny bursts into tears.

My mouth drops open. When I can think again, I ask, "Why are you crying? What's wrong?"

He tells me, "I don't know."

I say, "Donny, sometimes we all just need to cry, to get our feelings out. It's ok."

And then, suddenly I get it.

I look around the room suspiciously. At first there's nothing. No hint of their arrival. Then I spy one hiding under the couch...the other is hanging from my ceiling fan. And the third one? He enters the room juggling smelly cleats like a goth-circus clow.

The hormone brothers are back.

"We warned you to be ready," the dramatic one said theatrically, throwing his arms out.
"You knew we were coming back," whispered the nerdy one, pulling up his pants.
"Yo, biotch, we're in the house," yelled the scary one, gesturing and narrowing his eyes at me.

"But, but...it's 6am!" I manage to speak.

"Time waits for no one," the dramatic one sighed tragically.

"I don't understand, he knows math, he's smart, this is EASY, and things have been fine," I said.

I think the nerdy one took pity on me. "Yes, but you see, it was time. These things happen on a logarithmic equation."

"You got a problem with that?" snarled the menacing one. He scares me. He took a few steps toward me...and then suddenly, they all vanished.

And I was left staring at my boy. My sweet boy, who went to school, and later in the day, when he was home again, he apologized for the morning drama. He admitted he understood what I was telling him about the homework, but that he just couldn't help it, he was feeling difficult.

We hugged and all was good again in the Texas Word Tangle household.

But I'm on the lookout now. I know those guys will rear their heads again when I least expect it.