New Math, Old Frustration, and a Side of Idioms

Listen, I’m all for education. Learning is great. Knowledge is power. Yada, yada, yada. But helping a 13-year-old with new math on a Saturday? That’s where I draw the line.

First of all, why did they change math? Was regular math not working? Two plus two still equals four, right? Or does it now equal four, but only if you show your work in 17 unnecessary steps and a color-coded bar chart? Because apparently, if you arrive at the correct answer but don’t take the scenic route, you’re wrong. What kind of logic is that?

Back in school, teachers would warn, “You won’t always have a calculator in your pocket,” yet today, our smartphones and watches have proven them hilariously wrong.

And let’s talk about the actual content. Circumference of a plate? Excuse me, but when in his future life will Max ever need to know this? Is he planning on designing dinnerware? Running calculations on his burrito-to-plate ratio? Teach the kid how to do taxes! Explain why groceries cost a fortune because of tariffs! Give him a breakdown of inflation so he can understand why his bag of Takis now costs the same as a full meal. But nope. It’s all about angles, parabolas, and other things he will promptly forget the second he walks out of high school.

Since math isn’t my bailiwick (an idiom I didn’t forget, thank you very much), I’ve turned to ChatGPT for help. Because if I have to relearn math, I’m at least going to outsource it to a robot. But let’s be honest—when ChatGPT explains it, it still sounds ridiculous. “Find the rate of change using the slope-intercept form and…” STOP. Just STOP. If it takes me five minutes to decipher the instructions, then we’ve got a problem.

And then there’s Max. Mr. I Forgot About This Homework Until Now and It’s Due Monday. Oh, and guess who has to help him? Not the school that assigned the work. Nope. Me & his dad,Rick. On a Saturday. And somehow, we’re the bad guys when I suggest that maybe—just maybe—he could have started earlier in the week. That gets me nothing but an eye roll and a muttered “you don’t understand.”

Oh, I understand, kiddo. I understand that the last thing I want to do at 52 is math homework on a weekend. So lose the attitude, grab your laptop, and let’s get through this before I “burn the midnight oil” (which, for the record, is an idiom meaning suffering through unnecessary late-night work, which—oh, look!—applies perfectly to this situation).

On the plus side, this whole ordeal has at least reminded me how much I love idioms. So while I may not understand this ridiculous math, I can now provide you with an excellent list of phrases that sum up exactly how I feel about it:

1. Bite the bullet – What I do when I have to sit down and help with this nonsense.

2. Break the ice – What I attempt when Max is in full “angry teenager” mode. It does not work.

3. Hit the nail on the head – The exact moment I realize I still don’t understand this math.

4. Let the cat out of the bag – When Max admits he totally forgot about this assignment.

5. Spill the beans – When I tell my friends I’ve been tortured by 8th-grade math all weekend.

6. Burn the midnight oil – What I refuse to do for a math worksheet.

7. Jump on the bandwagon – What I do with other parents complaining about the school system.

8. Throw in the towel – What I want to do five minutes into the homework.

9. A blessing in disguise – The fact that I’m relearning English in the process.

10. Under the weather – My excuse next time he asks for help with math.

So yeah, the homework battles rage on. But maybe, just maybe, they’re teaching us both something—him about responsibility, me about patience (or at least creative negotiation). And at the end of the day, no matter how many deep sighs, eye rolls, or last-minute scrambles we go through, I know we’ll get through it. Because if nothing else, I’ve learned that sometimes the best lessons don’t come from the homework itself, but from the messy, frustrating, and unexpectedly funny moments along the way.

And hey, at least I’ll be ready when the next crisis inevitably arrives—probably about a missing permission slip.

And there you have it. A weekend well spent. Not.Not.