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Nose pickers. Whatcha think about them?

Remembering What I Forgot

I thought of something really ranty to blog about earlier, and now I’ve forgotten what the hell it was. Not unusual for me lately. My head is full of to-do, so inconsequential things seem to feel they have no business being in my head for long. Things like switching on the slow cooker. I mean, feeding everyone isn’t that important, right? Going to the toilet—sod that for a laugh, my brain says, you can wait, Mr Poo! Forgetting your age—hey, what’s the problem with thinking you’re two years younger? Going for a bath and washing your greasy, looks-like-a-tramp’s hair—it’s good to stink once in a while. Makes you grateful you have running water and soap to wash with.

You get the picture.

Still, although my mind isn’t doing what it should in some areas, it is in others. I’m wondering, as I age, whether it’s just working that little bit slower when it comes to certain things. Do we feel that what was once imperative no longer is when we get older? I think so. At least I hope that’s what’s going on with me; otherwise, I’m in for a whole heap of trouble as the years roll by. I’ll be the old granny who pisses her pants because she forgot to visit the bathroom and then forgets to bathe afterwards, beige polyester trousers stinking of piddle and stiff as a board.

My catchphrase of the moment is: “Oh, crap! I forgot!” Family members are taking this well. I’m worried, though, that they’re going to start guiding me by the elbow to the thing I was meant to do and explaining in a slow monotone: “Mum, thiiiis iiiiis the toy-let. You sit on iiiit to peeee. Please sit on iiiit now. Noooo, you need to pull your pants down fiiiirst. Thaaaat’s it…”

A sobering thought.

And shit, here I am now, STILL trying to think of my original blog post. I bet it comes to me later, and then I’ll forget to write it down for tomorrow…

*whatisitwhatisitwhatisit?*

Nope, nothing. Absolutely sod all in my head except an ache.

Ah, my God, she’s got it! I’ll tell you how I remembered. You’ve got to love mind mapping and word association. After writing above that I forget to go to the toilet, and because I couldn’t bear to try and recall my rant any longer, I actually went to the toilet. While sitting there, as you do, I thought of my granddad and what he used to say when he went to the loo: “I’m going for a think.” And it works, you know. You do think. Granted, half the time I’m thinking, “I wish this wasn’t so much like giving birth!” but that’s another post altogether.

My rant came to mind, and it is this:

We only have one bathroom. Whenever I go to have a bath, someone ALWAYS wants a poo. Okay, they’ve gone from wanting one when I’m actually IN the bath to asking, “Who’s running a bath?”

“Me,” I say in a scary voice, knowing damn well what’s coming next.

“Oh, can I just quickly have a poo?”

How you can know whether your poo is going to be a quick one I don’t bloody know—we all know that’s a dicey thing to judge, don’t we?—but it never fails to amaze me how often this happens.

Before running the bath, I tend to ask if anyone needs the bathroom—years of my soak being interrupted by kids has taught me that—and everyone says, “No, no. We don’t need the loo.”

Well, they do. Something in their brains likes to lull me into a false sense of security, that I’ll have a bath with only the aroma of bubbles and soap. And then, BAM! The devil kicks in and decides I must have other aromas as well.

It. Really. Bugs. Me.

If I was a mean person, I’d ignore them, get in the bath, stay there for over an hour, and just let them shit themselves, but I can’t bring myself to do that.

No, I can’t.

Can I?

*evil laughter*

One Doesn't Laugh. I Don't Have Any LOLLAGE.

Everyone knows someone without an ounce of LOLLAGE in them. What I mean by that is no sense of humour. No matter how many jokes you crack, their face doesn’t register even the slightest hint of amusement. Boring shits.

The other day I was having an email convo with…let’s call him Humourless Hubert. It was the kind of convo that didn’t inspire much beyond inane chatter, until HH said something I found totally hilarious. And I told him so. I don’t think he found it funny, or what he said wasn’t even meant to be funny, because I haven’t had a response since.

No LOLLAGE, see.

I imagine HH huffed off, thinking me a childish brat for laughing, but I honestly thought he’d see the funny side of it. Evidently not. Ah, well. You can’t live all your life without offending someone…

So, I wonder if next time I hear from Humourless Hubert, whether I can make him laugh. He doesn’t have to respond with a ROFL, LMAO, or even a LOL. A lowercase lol would do me fine. Even a smiley face. EVEN a basic “Ha!” I think it’s my mission this year to make HH laugh.

What experiences have you had with the likes of HH? Please join in and make up a name for your person. I fancy a good laugh. Unlike HH.

My Daughter the Crow

Oooo... sparkly!

Gigi loves shiny, sparkly things. It’s not a new affliction. This is something that has been going on for a very long time, but now her favorite color has aligned with it. Once, she loved blue. She was all about blue. Seriously, she was. If she did not wear blue every day, she would get upset. It made for interesting days sometimes. (Have you ever tried to find blue clothes for a little girl? It’s gotten easier, but for the most part, everything is pink, pink, pink.) When asked what colors she liked, her answer was always the same: blue. All others paled in comparison. It may seem that I am going on and on and on about this (and I am), but her love affair with blue was such that we believed her first car would be blue. (At one point, she wanted blue hair and whenever she had her face painted, her face was…you guessed it: blue.)

Back to the shiny, sparkly things. One day, we were walking back from the park--she must have been three or so--and scattered all over the ground was a bunch of shiny, blue, metallic confetti. We had to stop and pick up every single piece she saw. My pockets were loaded down with this trash. Unlike many three year olds, she had a great memory. When we got home, she insisted I hand it over so she could add it to her stash of shiny things.

The other day, when I picked her up from school, we were walking home when she pulled me to a stop, said, bent down, and picked something up. She handed me one of those plastic jewelry stickers (no longer sticky).

“Look how it sparkles in the sun,” she said.

(And, yes, she does talk like that. g)

I looked down at this tiny sticker. It was no bigger than 1/8”, and I wondered how she had seen that with all the masses of people walking around. That was when I realized that my daughter is part crow. It’s the only explanation. (And yes, this sticker did make it’s way back to our house into her stash of shiny things.)

This attraction to sparkly things has only grown. It has grown to the point that her favorite color has changed to--can you guess?--that’s right, gold and silver. Gold first, of course. (I’m not sure if these are really her favorite colors because when she’s tired she still wants blue. HAHAHAHAHA)

I do have vague recollections of being enamored of shiny, sparkly things as a child. And I do think that at some point, my favorite colors were gold and silver, too. Matter of fact, I distinctly remember using the gold and silver crayons to color any a number of things (even animals) and usually being disappointed that the gold and silver colors on the page were never shiny or sparkly enough. (g)

Now, a couple of Gigi’s friends really like gold and silver, too. So, it makes me wonder if this attraction is something that is hard coded into women’s DNA. (That’s our excuse, right?) I eventually grew out of it. Oh, I still like gold (and diamonds and emeralds and rubies and…), but I don’t pick up a piece of trash because it’s shiny…at least not anymore. (g)

So, I have to ask: were you, or are your daughters/granddaughters, crows, too? Or are only some afflicted with this?

Play Dates and Things Kids Say

Kids are smart, funny, and downright maddening. My child is no different, but I have to say that she's never been so entertaining as when she started having play dates. Yes, play dates. You know, those wonderful occurrences that provide them with playmates and give Mommy (or Daddy) that little extra time to accomplish things. When they are at our house, I rarely accomplish as much as I could because I have one ear listening in on their conversations as I chuckle quietly in the other room. The way their brains work amazes me. Sometimes, they make such profound observations that I have to stop and think. I wonder, "Did my brain work that way, too?" If so, what happened? (g)

Some of my favorite play date moments are:

Charlie and I were sitting in the living room a month or so ago. Gigi had a friend over. They had asked if they could have a tea party. And this is how it went down:

"Mommy, we need some water," Gigi said.

"Mm..hmm..." I didn't get up because the magic word was missing.

Five or ten minutes passed before she says again, "Mommy, we need some water."

Again, no magic word, so nothing happened.

Another five or ten minutes went by and suddenly, Charlie and I heard them in the kitchen. I smiled because, well, this was how we learned as kids, right? Most of the time, we had to figure things out on our own...within reason.

Her friend: "You get the water, and I'll get the sugar."

Gigi: "We'll need the stepladder because we won't be able to reach the sugar without it."

The sound of the stepladder being dragged across the floor filtered out of the kitchen. I heard a thud, something being pounded against the kitchen counter, and then some frantic whispering.

Oh, this couldn't be good. My eyebrows rose, but I was trying not to laugh. How many times had I done something like this as a child?

Gigi: "I didn't spill that."

Friend: "Don't worry about it. I'll try to clean it up. You take the tea set to the table."

"Clean it up" got me out of my chair to investigate. Sure enough, the two conspirators were standing on the stepladder, the bag of brown sugar sitting on the counter in front of them, and a nice light coating of the same sugar all over the counter, the floor, and my stove. I struggled to keep a straight face and said instead, "You know, white sugar would have been easier to pour."

Friend: "I know, but I don't feel like white sugar." She held the little container she'd put some brown sugar in. "Do you think this is enough?"

There was probably a quarter to a half-cup of sugar in it.

Me: "More than enough."

Friend: "Well, if there's too much, I'll just eat the rest."

To myself, this was what was going through my head: HAHAHAHAHAHA. Outwardly, I said, "Um, yeah, I don't think your parents would care for that too much." (Sugar high here we come. grin)

So, they went over to the table and had some sugar water...for as long as it lasted, which wasn't very long because a few minutes later, her friend said: "We're out of sugar."

When I walked over to them after cleaning up the kitchen (it took me five or ten minutes to clean up all of the sugar off the kitchen counter and floor), there was a layer of brown sugar on the dining room table and on the floor. The girl was licking (yes, licking) the bowl that had held the sugar.

HAHAHAHAHAHA It still makes me laugh. It was hilarious. What can I say?

Now, just the other day, I was looking through Gigi's homework and came across this (Gigi is the blond girl in the drawing):

It made me stop and question why everything costs something. Why we can't just be sure everyone gets what she/he needs to live comfortably and be happy. I'm still pondering it. Is there a way? I honestly don't know, but they do say the darnedest things.

I'll wrap this up as I have to pick up that child right now, but I encourage you to share with me some of your favorite moments from your kids/grandkids/neighbor kids/any child you've witnessed doing something incredibly sweet, funny, poignant...

A Different Perspective

Four Strong Women’s blog is about rants, humor or a combination of both. However, with the disaster that has struck Japan I hate to whine or rant about anything, and I’m certainly not in a humorous mood. What gripe or problem can one compare to the total devastation, loss of human life and fear of a nuclear explosion that has descended on the people of Japan—one that will ultimately change the entire world!

Today, as I was surfing from one group to another, a post about Japan’s earthquake caught my attention and I clicked on it out of curiosity. I recommend surfing over to it. The author has a very thought-provoking post with several great resource links. I missed yesterday’s post here—once again family drama and chaos reared its head—so since L.K. inspired me, I thought I’d have a change of pace here on 4SW and consider the reality of how fragile our lives, our worlds and our outlooks really are.

One thing I mentioned in comments on the author’s blog was that my hubby and I were discussing the amount of national and world disasters we’ve witnessed during our life spans. We’re not old by any means, so as I reflected on the fact that I’ve watched the upset of Mt. St. Helen’s eruption, horrible tornados that have literally wiped towns off the map, Hurricanes Katrina, Hugo, Andrew, Francis, Ivan (and so many others), the last years of the Viet Nam War (police action? Not!), Desert Storm, the Gulf War (and so on), the horror of 9-11, the California Quake of 1989 that shredded I-880, the Haiti quake…

Get the idea? It’s scary when you think about it. My mother calls me and goes on about the Later Days, and once she’s finished, I say, “Gee, thanks for cheering me up, Mom.” She chuckles and replies, “I can always count on your sarcasm, Faith.”

I may be sarcastic, but there’s a note of seriousness in such a reply. My mother’s worries make me pause and think: Is all this craziness over the last 50 years normal? Is Mother Earth gearing up to shake her coat and send all the fleas on her back flying to the four winds?

I don’t mean to be all doom and gloom, but it’s human nature to take things for granted, so when disasters such as the Japan earthquake occurs and the threat of radiation hangs over our heads, it should force us all put our lives in perspective. So what if you couldn’t buy those delicious steaks because you were $50 short on the grocery budget. At least you have food. I’m sure there are many in Japan who would give anything for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich right now. So what if your mattress is lumpy. At least you have a bed and a roof over your head.

We all complain about things, but when it all boils down to the base of the pot, we have a lot to be thankful for.

And I believe there are blessings born from disasters. Perhaps this will wake up the world and make us all realize the human race will be further ahead by helping one another and tossing prejudices aside.

Next week Marci will be blogging here at 4SW, so be sure to follow us, if you haven’t already, and check our blog to see what Marci comes up with.

Oh, btw, today is my last day at Long and Short Reviews, so be sure to answer the mini essay questions (scroll down on the blog page there to access all the posts) or comment on one or all of them for a chance to win a $10 gift cert from Silver Publishing.

http://www.longandshortreviews.com/LASR/index.htm

Have a great weekend, and pray, light a candle, or whatever practice you observe for the people in Japan, and everyone throughout the world during these frightening times.

Guest Blogger: Cassandra Carr

This is an age-old question. From the time romance novels became popular, women have been asking why their men can’t behave/look more like the heroes in their stories. I am here to offer a few reasons why:

Real men don’t just “have” great bodies. They have to spend a significant portion of their time exercising. And when they’re at the gym that long, they aren’t attending to our “needs”, whether that means a foot massage, a night of hot sex, or doing the dishes (hey, I don’t know about you but I fantasize about my man doing the dishes without being asked!).

Real men aren’t all brawny, virile beasts who make you feel like a small, delicate flower in comparison. Some are tall, some are short, some are thin, some are beefier. But do you want a perfect-looking guy? Personally, it would give me a complex. I’ll take my five foot six husband, thanks very much. I can’t wear high heels, but they pinch my feet anyway and I don’t have to crane my neck every time I want to gaze upon his hotness.

Real men don’t have unlimited supplies of testosterone. I mean really – what woman wants to put up a guy who’s  constantly up for sex? (Wait, don’t answer that…) And what about a guy who lasted all night? Craig Ferguson is on, people!

Real men don’t all have exciting careers as international spies and special forces soldiers. Truthfully, I wouldn’t want my man to have either occupation – neither is home very often, which leads me back to that whole “attending to my needs” thing. My hubby has a fairly regular nine-to-five job, which means he’s home at night. He entertains my daughter while I write and then keeps my bed warm at night. How could I ask for more?

Then there are the things that make real men better than romance heroes:

Real men aren’t fazed by the minutiae in life. They pick up the kids from day care, wipe the runny noses, fix the leaky toilet, and trim the bushes. They go to the grocery store, crawl through the bounce house, and change the sheets in the baby’s crib after she spits up. How many of us can actually picture the typical romance hero doing all of that?

So there you are, ladies. Real men aren’t like romance heroes, but when it comes down to it, do we really want them to be?

Excerpt from Talk To Me:

The elevator doors opened, and Drew hurried to unlock his apartment and punch his code into the security pad before continuing straight to his bedroom. He spun and picked Jamie up as she neared the door, and she let out a squeak of protest.

“Drew!”

“What? I’m trying to be romantic. Efficient too.” He grinned at her when she struggled to get out of his grip. The way she fought against him both amused and aroused him. “Not so fast,” he warned her. “I’m not planning to let you get away until I’m good and finished with you.”

Jamie cocked an eyebrow. “Good and finished? Be still my heart! Such dreamy talk from a man like you! I had no idea.”

Drew laughed and dropped Jamie on the king-size bed with enough force to make her bounce, then climbed on top of her. Before she could protest again, he’d pressed his erection into her belly and taken her lips in another deep kiss. Jamie melted beneath him, snaking her hands around his neck while his found her hips, pulling her closer. “You need to get naked,” he declared, rolling off her.

“Just me? That’s hardly fair. If I’m getting naked, then this time, so are you.” Her beautiful, full lips pouted at him.

He stood up, and in seconds, his pants and boxer briefs landed in a heap on the floor. He pulled his shirt over his head and added it to the pile. “Your turn.”

Jamie rose up on her elbows and stared at him in disbelief. “How did you do that so fast? And may I add, very nice.” She smiled and waggled her eyebrows, giving him a quick once-over.

“When I want something, I don’t waste time. And I want you naked. Now.”

He reached over and started yanking her top over her head, but she batted his hands away.

“Hey -- stop that. You’re going to dislocate my shoulder with your beastlike strength.”

Drew laughed but allowed Jamie to gently pull her blouse over her head. He took it and tossed it on the chair near the window. Next she tugged her jeans off, leaving her in only her bra and panties, which Drew made short work of.

He groaned when she was fully nude. “God, you’re fucking gorgeous, you know that? And I’m gonna put my hands and my tongue and my mouth and my cock everywhere on and in your beautiful body, so you better be ready.”

Jamie shivered, and he covered her body with his, kissing her briefly before moving down her jawline, sucking and licking. This is gonna be good.

Buy link: http://www.loose-id.com/Talk-to-Me.aspx

Bio: Cassandra Carr lives in Western New York with her husband, Inspiration, and her daughter, Too Cute for Words. When not gleefully torturing characters Cassandra enjoys watching hockey and eating. For more information about Cassandra, check out her website at http://www.booksbycassandracarr.com, follow her on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/cassandra_carr, or "like" her fan page at http://www.facebook.com/authorcassandracarr.
 
Talk to Me, coming from Loose Id on March 22nd!
Uniform Behaviour, out now from Andrews UK!

I've Lost My Mind!

Yeah,I know. I missed my first day to blog yesterday. It seems that the gals who compose Four Strong Women are going through chaos of late ranging from family crisis to new jobs to all the irons in the fire falling out and setting the hearthrug on fire.

Pardon me a moment while I scream.

AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!

Ahem.

Seriously, February and March have been insane for my household. I am now three weeks behind in my work as a result, and I thank God all my editing for clients was finished before the crap hit the fan.

I thought this week would be quiet, but no! It has started off with a bang, and I’ve leapt from the chute to thunder down the road leading to the weekend. Today I’m heading to another appointment, and since it’s in the middle of the afternoon, it messes up my entire day.

So after a crazy day yesterday of dealing with my grandson, whose doctor wouldn’t see him due to a packed schedule, my dau and I ended up taking him to the ER to get drops for pink eye in both his eyes. Next, the pharmacy refused the insurance card because Human Services doesn’t seem to know how to update his card (we’ve been waiting 9 months for a new card), so the druggist tells her she has to pay for it out of her pocket. We tried to call my dau’s caseworker only to find out the woman was out of the office—again.

After I did a bit of cussing—hey, it’s been a long month and a half!—I marched into the drugstore. After I grouched about Human Services being so slow and the fact the caseworkers are always out of the office or on vacation, and the fact that they seem to have problems updating and cutting simple ID card for the baby. The druggist, bless his heart, gave me the store discount, and I only had to pay a third of the cost as a result.

After I marched back out to the blazer, I said to my dau, “You have got to learn out to talk to people to get your point across.” And then handed her the prescription.

So, on top of everything else, I’ve been under the weather going on a week. I got home in the late afternoon and crashed on the sofa, body thumping like a marching band. After hanging out with my two youngest for a while, I decided that since the pain reliever wasn’t getting rid of my achiness, I’d take a long, very hot bath.

But no!

My oldest son shows up and asks if he can take a shower after a day at the coalmine. And since we’re on well water, it’s not like we can run a lot of water at one time, so...

[bleepity-bleep-bleep-bleep!]

I sighed and got him a clean washcloth and towel, then I promptly made a beeline for the bottle of Advil on the kitchen table.

On the bright side, I was finally able to watch Pretty Little Liars and Being Human without any of the usual interruptions last night...well, not AS many.

This morning, I sat down here and thought, “I’ll check all my online work, answer emails, then sit for at least an hour with the laptop and get a li’l work done.”

Bwahaha!

As I was answering email, I suddenly remembered I have a new release today, so I had to compose a post for it to send to promo loops, post it on the usual social sites, and get another post ready to send through to my newsletter.

Damn! I have an author spotlight this week too! I had to hurriedly dash off another post and send that link through the social sites too.

Oh, wait! I have phone calls to make. Oh, holy heck!

[Stampedes down the stairs.]

I make the turn around the newel post —insert the sound of squealing tires—only to remember my coffee cup upstairs on my desk. “Aw, sh**!”

[Stampedes UP the stairs, grabs cup, hurries back down the stairs again.]

Quickly, I make the phone calls. I rush to the bathroom for a pee break, stomp back upstairs, sit down, and, “I don’t freaking believe this! I forgot to pour my coffee and bring the cup up here!”

With a big sigh of frustration, I head down to the kitchen again, pour my coffee and return to my office.

“Okay, now I’ll...” I frown at the screen. “I’ll...” Blink. Blink. “What the hell was I doing?”

It suddenly hits me, and I return to finishing my posts and promo links. However, as I’m doing this, a thought slams into me. “I forgot to blog at Four Strong Women yesterday! It’s Tuesday! I need to blog about SOMETHING!”

So here I am.

Now that I’ve blogged, I have to... Uhm...what was next on my list? Anyone have a clue?

Well, until I remember, here are the links to what’s going on with my work at the moment.

I have a new science-fiction romance release that comes out today. I hope you’ll slip over and visit it—Queen of the Storm. And from what I understand, this novel will be in print later this year!

This week I’m in the author spotlight at Long and Short Reviews. Answer each day’s question and/or leave a comment on each day’s post for a chance to win a gift cert from one of my publishers. This is the blog link where you can find my posts http://www.longandshortarchives.blogspot.com/ but the question for each day is on the index page here http://www.longandshortreviews.com/LASR/index.htm.

Oh! One more thing. I will be at Love Romances Café http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LoveRomancesCafe on April 5^th from 7 PM to 9 PM Eastern Time for the first official chat I’ve had in over three years. LRC has over 3,000 members, so I’m hoping for a great reader turnout.

Now, if someone could hand me the bottle of Gingko Biloba, I think I’ll take some with breakfast. Wish me a good day, folks!

Unrealistic Fantasies by Nichelle Gregory

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

We All Hang By A Thread

It never crossed my mind last night that when I went to bed I’d wake up to an email from a friend in Hawaii telling me not to worry because she was evacuating.

She gave no explanation and I suppose that was because she figured I knew what was going on. I didn’t, of course. I jumped up from the computer and turned on CNN to discover an earthquake of 8.9 magnitude had occurred off the coast of Japan—approximately 231 miles to the epicenter. The quake had triggered a tsunami with a wave of 20 to 30 ft (still unclear as reports have not been accurate on the size of the wave).

And in the aftermath of this quake and tsunami, Hawaii and our own West Coast had been placed under warnings. Thank God for those warnings. There has most certainly been enough lead time for everyone to have had enough time to evacuate by now. And as I write this post, the tsunami is presently hitting the Hawaiian coastline. So far no reports of any huge wave activity or damage. But they are bracing for this none the less.

My heart goes out to the people of Japan. The destruction that has happened is something they must live with for months and possibly even years to come. The death toll hovers at about 70 right now, but as those areas no one can get into at this time begin to open up, I’m sure that number will climb.

I can’t help but think of how we all hang by some delicate thread and that we never know when that thread is going to break. My prayers are with everyone affected by this disaster.

Math This!

Does your kid like math? Mine doesn’t. Have you ever used any of the math you learned in school other than consumer math—addition, subtraction, division, multiplication, percentages, SOME fractions? I haven’t.  Although I was forced to study algebra, trigonometry, and calculus. AND? I remember absolutely ZERO of any of the higher math and have absolutely ZERO use for it.

I’ll also add this: I never really understood any of the higher math courses until I got into college. That’s where I shined in math—even though I could not have cared less about taking the classes. I took them because they were required and because I wanted an excellent GPA and worked hard at getting an A. And I STILL never used any math other than consumer math.

So why the hell do the educators keep cramming math down our throats?

Doesn’t it make more sense to require consumer math all through your elementary, middle school, and high school years with elective classes for those who excel in math and have a natural aptitude for it or are going into a career that calls for higher math?

I was looking over a sample end-of-grade test yesterday and spotted several questions that required knowing the square root of a number. HUH? When the hell do we need to know the square root of anything? And just exactly who came up with that terminology? Square root? Sounds like a diseased tree or something.  Here’s another one for you—write the equation as a scientific notation. Why? And exactly who cares? How about “absolute value”? Well, last time I checked, $5.00 had an “absolute value” of $1.98—and THAT, my friends, is Tess’ Consumer Math. To calculate “absolute value” you take  how much it cost to fill up your car yesterday, factor in nuts in foreign countries going to war and some fat cats who don’t have enough money in their pockets yet, and voilá—you have the actual value of “absolute value”—which changes based on the price at the pumps!

X to the tenth power multiplied by positive 4 divided by the square root of 9 is still BROKE any way you figure it! So why must our kids suffer through all this math they will never use and cannot in any way, shape, form, or fashion buy them a milk shake to go along with their Chicken McNuggets?