After I finished the dishes, I worked with Frances on his reading and drilled him on his addition facts. He seemed to have a good head for numbers and liked doing word problems. Carlo wrinkled up his nose and said they were tetious, which after a bit of time, I figured out that Carlo had heard Mrs. Penn saying it (frequently) to Frank. The word Carlo meant was tedious.
It was a very big word for such a little boy, but he seemed to have grasped the meaning perfectly. But like Frances, I never found mathematics tedious. I thought math was as smooth and fluid as a poem, part magic and part logic. I loved the consistency of it, yet, also admired how it rippled snakelike in contortions that kept one occupied by its adaptability.
I mean, take three numbers: 3, 4, 7. The family of them plays with each other: 3 + 4 = 7, and 4+3 = 7, 7 – 3 = 4 and 7- 4 =3. But then in multiplication, and it becomes a brand new family with a 12 involved: 3 x 4 = 12, 4 x 3 = 12 and then there was division with all the fun ways of writing it. Yes, it was like a complete story with all the characters being numerals. I frankly loved manipulating its dance moves.
I told Frances my joy with being a juggler of numerals, and once the boys heard what a juggler was, they insisted on going outside to become jugglers. We first filled up a couple of unmatched socks Mrs. Smith had shoved into the basket down in the basement. Stuffed with rags and a bit of sandy dirt from a pile in the corner of the yard, our juggling balls were ready. Of course, they were very inferior for our game, but we didn’t have any others. It seemed better than nothing. We carried the “balls” over to the side where we wouldn’t fall over the picnic table. We started with one, just tossing it up and catching it. (I was thinking that apples might work better, but Frey wouldn’t like us tossing them anywhere other than into his mouth.)
Carlo lasted about two minutes. Frances persisted at least twice that long, but, even catching one sock ball seemed to defeat him. When I showed him how a real juggler could work three balls at once, his eyes popped big and he cried out, “You’re wonderful, Shama. I’m going to be just like you when I grow up.”
That was a rather laughable sentiment, but I didn’t even crack a smile. I was too busy concentrating on keeping my fake balls in the air.
When I finally dropped them, Frey moved in to pick up one with his teeth, then ran off with it. Willow swooped in on a second ball, swatting it about as if I’d made the thing just for her. Meanwhile, the boys bent over in laughter as they watched our juggling balls disappear as play toys for our two resident animals.
Once the boys stopped laughing, they shrugged, not caring in the least that their juggling practice was over. They were already bored with the activity and ready to play tag.