(Oh hiiiii, y’all. School ending was uplifting for the kids, who got great marks and had no end of celebrations, and soul-crushing for me as I ferried them to their gazillion obligations when all I wanted to do was to go to the pool – kids optional.)
I had a revealing conversation with Miss M the other day.
(Side note: I have largely accepted my inability to figure her out. I don’t mean to seem like it doesn’t bother me – because BOY DOES IT EVER – but when she is 9 and I have yet to find a way to consistently get her out the door without yelling, I have to forgive the parties on both sides. We’re working on it.)
Miss M: “Ema, how many pounds are in one kilogram?”
Me: “There are 2.2 pounds in a kilogram.”
Miss M: “What?! What’s the point-2 about?”
Me (bewildered): “What do you mean? It is what it is. There are 2.2 pounds in a kilogram.”
Miss M: “But why can’t you just say 2 pounds per kilogram?”
Me: “Because it’s not accurate. It might be more convenient, but it’s not accurate.”
Miss M: *disapproving noise*
And, I thought, there you have it. There is a metaphor here for coming at life from completely different perspectives. How many connections are we missing because she rounds down and I don’t?