Grandma Jeans: A Milestone Update
I wrote this when I turned 50 (well, 51). Now that I’m hitting 60, I figured I’d check in—still alive, still working, and likely responsible for planting at least 100 more things in the yard since then.
Weird how I’ve been thinking more about what I’d like to do in my next life. Sad, really—kinda messed up, like I want a do-over before this one’s even over. Definitely part of getting older, trying to be realistic. The body—this body—can’t keep up with what the mind wants to do.
Next time, I want to be a full-time farmer. An acre of land sounds good. Goats, chickens, dogs, cats. Vegetables and flowers year-round.
I raised chickens for a year and a half before I had to rehome them—too much travel for work. Funny thing is, I was terrified of handling chickens and anything feathered as a kid. When we went to the feed store, they had a few available, but I couldn’t even look at them. They were in that ugly, gangly, half-feathered stage. That’s when I knew—I had to raise them from chicks.
Who knew you could have chicks shipped to you through the postal service? I ordered six and got eight—four Orpingtons and four Rhode Island Reds. I read so much to make sure I had everything right. The whole experience was delightful. A lot of work, but completely worth it because—like all animals—they don’t talk back.
My favorite thing was just sitting in their coop on a tiny stool (it’s too low for me to stand) and letting them jump on my lap. One in particular always hopped up and stayed as long as I was there. I always said chickens are the smartest and dumbest animals. Smart, because they know their routine. Dumb, because they shit constantly and then step right into it. I cleaned their feet regularly—held each one firmly, used a washcloth, got the gunk out of their nails. Clearly, their shitty feet bothered me way more than it bothered them.
I still get to visit classrooms and facilitate a task or two, thanks to my wonderful former colleagues who let me have that privilege.
Earlier this week, a second grader took a break from her whiteboard work, pointed at my pants, and said, “My grandma would definitely wear those!”
Later, I did a whiteboard task with 8th graders, and the first student to recognize and name the Fibonacci sequence said she had learned it in Pakistan. Very cool. I don’t remember ever learning about Fibonacci in my K-12 math—how sad is that?
We talked about the golden ratio and how our bodies are packed with 1.618.
The only downside to visiting a classroom is not having more time with the students. I tend to rush through a lesson, pushing them along faster than I’d like. What should have been a two-day lesson got crammed into one.
I think about all the things I love about math—working through a challenging problem, finding patterns, mental math, drawing diagrams, making connections, talking through a problem with classmates… None of this was my experience as a math student. That’s why I’m so grateful for the work I do now. I get to share the joy and beauty of mathematics with teachers and students, always pushing for more problem-based and joy-driven learning.
Don’t think I’ll be a grandma anytime soon—not that I’m complaining. Honestly, it’s probably for the best, because I’d want to quit working (which I can’t afford) and move in next door.
Nicolai is still in Malaysia. His job sent him there right before the COVID lockdown, and he loves it—no immediate plans to return to the States.
Same with Sabrina—she’s been in South Korea for a year now, but before that, she spent two years soaking up most of Europe. She once posted on social media that she was glad to be “home.” I thought, Wait, you’re home? And you didn’t even tell me? Turns out “home” was Edinburgh.
I completely forgot Gabe’s 30th birthday last week. First time I’ve ever missed one of my kids’ birthdays. He gave me grace, though, “No worries, Mama. I know you love me. It’s technically your birthday anyway, ’cause you gave birth, lol.”
Still letting 60 sink in. Or maybe it already did when my company gave me the honor of being a guest on our podcast, Beyond My Years. Take a listen if you’d like.
It’s remarkable, really—how blessed I am to have three wonderful adult humans who call me Mom. How grateful I am for teachers who come up after my talks (like just a few hours ago at my NCTM session in Kansas City) to say the kindest things, to remind me that I make a difference.
