My 8th grade daughter needed some help with her algebra homework tonight. Because I can barely remember what I did yesterday, let alone what I did in math class 27 years ago, I had to Google the question in order to find the formula, which would help her find the equation. Confused? Me too.

One of the first websites I came across was called something like “Math is Fun!” which is where I sat and stared at my computer screen for a good three minutes before I could even figure out what I was looking at. It was basically a collage of letters, numbers, exclamation points and parentheses; then my brain exploded. Math is not fun for everyone. Just ask my brain.

The truth is, if it weren’t for the internet I wouldn’t be able to help her with algebra at all and I highly doubt that my parents would have been able to help me nearly three decades ago, either. You know, if parents had been inclined to help with homework back then. They didn’t drive us anywhere either. We rode our bikes. Uphill. Both ways.

I digress.

My point is, some people complain that modern technology is a detriment to the minds of our children, but if we didn’t have it in this house, the detriment would be all mine.

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Dear Miss Teacher,

Look, I understand that the paper was on food safety, but I’m thinking he should get partial credit for this. Why waste time with hygiene when there is a sandwich involved?

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My nine year old son started attending school when he was two.

For the first year, or so, he went to a county-run preschool for children with developmental disabilities because of his motor and speech delays. It was a good place for him to get daily therapy and socialization, but it wasn’t really the right fit for him.

When he was old enough, we moved him to a local preschool and into a classroom with a teacher/student ratio of 2/9. The teachers were attentive and patient and we kept him there through Pre-K, which, in the end, turned out to be a pretty disastrous school year.

For Kindergarten, we turned to a small, private school where they hired me to work as an aide. If my son ever had any issues, I was right upstairs, and when he moved into first grade I started working in the cafeteria so that I could be there even more.

This year, he is in third grade. I don’t work at the school anymore and, ironically, it is the first time that I have sent him off in the morning without ever-looming worry. I know he will be fine.

What makes this year so different isn’t that he’s doing better academically; he has always done well in that regard. It isn’t because he’s more independent, because that has been a long, slow process that I couldn’t help but see coming. And, it isn’t because he doesn’t choke as often when he eats…though that is pretty awesome.

This year is terrific because his teacher “gets” him.

There is something to be said for understanding that everyone, even children, have different personalities…and boy, does my kid have one! The third grade teacher appreciates my son’s sense of humor. I know this, because almost every time she approaches me to tell me when he’s been up to, she is laughing.

The other day, when she saw me at the school, she did just that.

Apparently, that day, when the class handed in some papers, she saw that my son’s wasn’t labeled with his name.

She noticed before he walked away and said, “Hey, wait a minute. How will I know this is yours if you didn’t put your name on it?”

He took his worksheet back from her and quickly took pencil to paper.

Then he handed it back and said, “Here. Mine’s the one with the X.”

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On July 4th, 1998, I found out I was pregnant. My period was a couple of days late and there was a huge jug of vodka and cranberry waiting at a party with my name on it. Late periods and vodka don’t mix, so I took a test. Don’t worry, friends don’t let friends’ liquor go to waste.

My husband and I had closed on, and began to renovate, our first house in February, 1998. We got a puppy in May and the pregnancy news came just before our first anniversary that August.

At the time, we both had great jobs. We both worked together for a successful local business. It was a mom and pop corporation…big responsibilities with a family atmosphere. It was intense work, but I enjoyed it.

Just before Christmas that year, my pregnant self said goodbye to my co-workers for an extended holiday vacation. I never came back to work. Our daughter was born 10 weeks early on December 29th.

One preemie led to two and that second one? Well, he came complete with problems galore. I stopped working in the corporate world and, instead, became a nurse, physical therapist, occupational therapist and occasional Heimlich provider. I walked around with a phone attached to my ear listening to a permanent loop of health insurance voice systems.

Two years ago, when my son was in Kindergarten, I was offered a unique opportunity to work at the school as a teacher’s aide during the hours he attended. It worked out great. And last year, when he was at school all day and eating in the cafeteria for the first time, I became a lunch lady. That Heimlich thing? Well, it doesn’t always work if you’re not there to do it.

But, now my son is going into the second grade. He has made advances we never thought possible, one of which is clearing food from his mouth before he chokes on it. My daughter will be in middle school and my mom recently moved back to our neighborhood after many years away. Clearly, I’m running out of reasons to hang out with my children all day.

As much as I would love to be a housewife, take care of my home and laundry, plan meals and otherwise be organized instead of chaotic all the time, those things don’t pay the bills.

We have been struggling for a long time. My car is 13 years old and sometimes the doors don’t open and the horn doesn’t work, which totally gets in the way of me telling people what bad drivers they are.

Our washer and dryer are not long for this world, our computers are starting to implode and the stove is like a hormonal woman and only cooks when it wants to.

I have committed to the school until 2011. Basically, I have a year. I have a year to decide what I want to be when I grow up. I am almost 40 and though I’m not afraid to go back to school, I just don’t know what I want to do when I get there.

I want to write, I want to design, I want to be creative. I want to be passionate about something in the way I have been passionate about my children. I want to be fulfilled.

I also want to pay the bills and I just don’t know if the two go hand in hand.

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