Explosive Heads

Has anyone ever seen the movie 'Scanners'?  Peoples' heads exploded in it.  Same thing happened in 'The Kingsman' as the 'Land of Hope and Glory' music played, and it was to great effect, and had me screeching laughter like some kind of nocturnal mouse catching bird of prey with big eyes and reported great wisdom.  I bought my older son a copy of the movie for his birthday, at his request, and he plays it often, and gets sick of seeing his mother playing air guitar in the scene where the yummable Colin Firth is kicking arse in a Southern church, as 'Freebird' is playing. 

But my point is, MY head is about to explode.  My younger kid has been home sick from school for the past few days.  Today I contacted the school and arranged to collect some work to keep him occupied, and prevent him falling behind.  His teacher assigned Maths.  I sat it on the table, and then came the dreaded plaintive call, 'Will you help me, Mum?'.  You see, the problem here is this: my mathematical skills are total dung.  I have always hated maths.  But I soldiered on, and sat with him and looked at his work book.  Multiplication.  Well, thought me, no drama; I can help with this.  I then saw the example formula and equation.  I spluttered, 'What the hell is that meant to mean?' to my poor, coughing sick kid.  I have seen this before, on a DVD.  Being a mainly male household - pets included - the viewing material is confined to 'Top Gear' and 'The Big Bang Theory'.  That equation in my eleven-year-old's book is very similar to what I've seen scribbled on Dr Sheldon Cooper's white board when the fam is watching 'The Big Bang'.  And you'd have to be Dr Cooper, or Professor Stephen Hawking to understand what the blue fuck it's meant to mean.  I don't know if I've caused bafflement, bamboozlement, befuddlement, or be-whatever-ment, but I told my kid the only way I can do multiplication is the good old-fashioned, and UNDERSTANDABLE, method which was indoctrinated into my by the Good Sisters of St Joseph.  Well, they weren't all that good.  Most of them only wore veils to hide their frickin' horns.  And that's how we did it at the dining table.  He understood it, too.  He got the concept of 'put down the whatever and carry the thingummyjig'.  I wished so much his dad was home.  His dad's working today, but his dad his fab-u-loso at maths, and would have explained it so much better than I. 

Well, we're taking a break from all that now.  I got him out 'Paddington Bear' to watch because he's been told he's NOT playing on the computer or his iPad while he's home sick.  He did want me to get out 'Frozen', but it was out.  In any event, that damnable song is something else that makes my head feel like it's going to explode.  I don't want my head to explode.  I don't want bits of brain and skull and associated gore flying around the room like sparks from a Catherine wheel, and sticking to the walls, and drying there.  My dispersed cranial filling would most likely remain in hard flecks on the wall like a Jackson Pollock painting, because it is impossible to get my kids to clean.