The Eye of a Hurricane

Lin

After Pippa had left for the night, I collapsed on the couch and started scrolling through my phone.  Having her around for the evening was nice.  She was great with the kids, especially Isabel.  I was feeling a bit better about things since she'd gotten Isabel to talk.

I was conscious of not asking too much of Pippa, but I felt like I was drowning.  I had no idea how to raise two girls.  They'd been through some trauma and, quite frankly, neglect from their father.  How was I supposed to help them get through those issues?  The most important thing, though, was that I loved them.  I would do anything for them.

I texted Pippa to let me know when she'd gotten home.  She texted back that she was on the subway, next to someone with horrible B.O. 

It was almost 10:00 and Isabel was still working on her homework.  I hadn't turned the TV on because I didn't want to disturb her.  I wondered if my current apartment would be a good enough place for them.  Teenagers needed their own space and I'm sure Isabel would prefer not to have to share with a little kid.  I considered moving to make things more comfortable.

As I was scrolling through my Twitter feed, I heard a very quiet sob from across the room.  I turned my head a little and listened some more.  Another little sob.  I sat up and looked over at the kitchen table.  Isabel had her head in her hands, her notebook set out in front of her. 

I knew she wasn't terribly comfortable with me yet, but I couldn't just let her sit there and cry.  I slowly stood and walked over, taking a seat next to her.  I didn't touch her, giving her some space.

"Why are you crying, sweetheart?" I asked her gently.  I glanced down at her notebook.  There was a hole in her paper from where she'd erased several times.

"I'm so stupid," she choked out, her hands covering her eyes.

"You are most certainly not stupid," I told her.  "What are you working on?"

"Math," she said tearfully, and pushed her notebook away.  "I suck at math."

"Well, this was your first day in a new school," I reasoned.  "You may not have been in the same place in class.  How about we look at it together?"

She nodded and rubbed at her eyes.  I asked what number she was on and she pointed to number fourteen.  I glanced at her assignment notebook and saw she had thirty problems to do.  There was no way she was getting through this tonight.

I patiently read the problem aloud and thought back to my schooling.  I picked up her pencil and patiently explained how I would go about solving the problem.

"Does that make sense?" I asked her, and she nodded.  "Good.  Why don't you try the next one?"

She took the pencil and began to scribble down some numbers.  She made a mistake almost immediately, getting the numbers mixed up.

"Careful," I told her.  "You've got the seven and the nine flip-flopped."

She erased and corrected herself.  Soon, she'd made another error and I gently corrected her again.  She got frustrated and tossed the pencil across the table, then put her head down, crying again.  I took a chance and reached out to rub circles on her back.

"It's okay," I tried to soothe her.  "Math is hard.  Let's call it quits for tonight and I'll email your teacher in the morning."

"NO!" she sat up, looking horrified.  "Then she'll know I'm an idiot."

"Isabel, you're not an idiot, and I guarantee your teacher won't think so," I patiently explained.  "She knows you just started and you were schooled in Puerto Rico.  Things are bound to be a little different and she'll cut you some slack."