For a while, a long while, I let this math blog just sit. I didn’t want to delete it. I spent too much time on it and I knew it was full of great stuff that was still being used. But I wasn’t in love with writing on it.
In my lethargy, the hackers and jerks managed to infiltrate and completely take it down. That was on October 23, 2025.
Today is December 30, 2025. I rescued all the posts and will gradually get all the good ones reposted. But I have to start over, creating the whole website from scratch.
Luckily the wayback machine (internet archive) has a nice snapshot of the images and layout. It’ll take me a while, but I’ll get it all back up. Maybe even with some improvements!
If you are looking for a specific post – something you remember from long ago or something you want to know about – leave it in the comments. I’ll hunt it down and get it posted.
I’m looking forward to having all those great math stories, thoughts and tips live again – I hope you are too.
In order to see what the difference is between motivation and inspiration when teaching math, I’m going to start with a quick story…
You have a dog named Herman. Herman is cute, fuzzy, has a pink nose and loves you unconditionally. You think he’s great. So you want to share him.
You put a bow around his neck, and hand him to your children, Abby and Dirk.
“Here is Herman. He’s cute, lovable, and a perfect pet. Isn’t he fabulous?” you tell them.
Abby looks at Herman and is so excited. She thinks he’s fabulous, wonderful and sees in him everything that you do. Inspiration hits her – she loves him like you do!
Dirk, on the other hand, wants a cat. He’s not sure how to voice this. But since you’re so excited about Herman the dog, he rolls with it.
He wants to please you, so he feigns interest in Herman.
Herman’s not a dog.
Herman is your curiosity. Herman is what you find interesting and inspirational.
And just because Herman is wonderful for you, doesn’t mean Herman is perfect for everyone else.
Abby loves Herman. And Dirk loves Herman, but only because loving Herman pleases you.
We offer Herman, and they take him. Because they want to please us.
Lots of educators these days are talking about helping children connect with math through real life experiences. They want to give children curiosity about math in the real world.
Some children like to build things. Give them a stack of Legos and they’ll work for hours.
There are kids who are outdoor people, always running around and wanting to see what next thing they can find in nature.
Some kids want to be in the kitchen, helping their parents cook dinner.
Some kids are quite happy connecting math just to math.
Some children are gamers, enjoying puzzles, riddles and games just for the fun of it.
And the list goes on…
Grownups take their connection to the real world, their own curiosity, and pass it on to children. We take everything that we find fascinating, our own personal Herman, and hand it to the child.
And they take it. Some because they are excited about it, and some because they want to please us.
Motivation is not inspiration.
The growing thought among educators is that children need to be curious in order to learn math. So we’re creating ways to get children curious.
But are we doing it right?
The child will happily take Herman, your form of curiosity. This could mean they are truly inspired by what you give. And it could mean that they are merely motivated.
Motivation isn’t a bad thing, for sure! But if we mistake motivation for inspiration we are doing the children a disservice.
If they’re motivated, they’ll only do what’s next to get praise. It’s about you, the grown-up, and how much they can please you.
If they’re inspired, they’ll want to take their learning to the next level – even when you’re not around. They’ll want to see and do things to enhance their understanding without needing your praise and attention. It’s about them.
And when things are about them, they own it. They succeed because they can, not just because we want them to.
What’s your Herman?
And have you passed him along? Was he inspirational or motivational? Share your thoughts in the comments!
This past Monday we had a great #mathchat via Twitter. The topic was: “If you could clear one misconception about mathematics and/or teaching it, what would it be?”
I was getting a bit frustrated that a couple of people kept bringing up the misconception that girls aren’t good at math. Even to the point of creating their own hashtag #girlsaregoodatmath2.
In my life, I’ve never heard anyone say this – in any other form than somebody complaining that people say it.
So here’s my response to everyone who keeps saying to me, “I wish people would stop saying, ‘Girls aren’t good at math.’”
What do you think? What will you say from here on out?
I was at my dad’s house the other day and decided to pull out my new Math’d Potatoes game to see how my super-gaming family liked it.
The kids in the house were too young to play, so my sister and I asked Aunt Linda and our stepmom to play with us.
They quickly claimed they were “math Neanderthals” but agreed to play anyway. My dad, an engineer, was asleep.
The game has simple rules.
You play Math’d Potatoes by drawing a card, rolling five dice and making an expression that “satisfies” the card.
The card requests various types of “answers”:
Even or odd
Equal to a certain number
Between two numbers
Less than/greater than a certain number
Everybody got into it.
Aunt Linda and Louise (my pet name for my stepmom) both agreed that it was a fun math game. This is in spite of the fact that neither one of them like math, and Aunt Linda doesn’t even like to play games at all!
My dad saw the game the next morning.
I had intentionally not waken up my father to play with us the night before. My decision was validated the next morning.
My dad is an engineer, and as such tends to use the phrase “all you have to do is,” and the word “just.” He’s a very smart man, and I’ve learned lots from him through the years. And one of those lessons is: “Keep an engineer away from sensitive math learners.”
Sure enough, when he saw the game, he eagerly said, “What’s this? Are we going to play it?”
When I explained we played the night before he responded with, “Why didn’t you wake me? I totally would’ve won.”
Math learning is slowly build, and quickly destroyed.
When we were playing, Aunt Linda and Louise were both starting to warm to the idea of math. They were enjoying the game. My sister and I were holding back just a little to give them an opportunity to discovery their own skills. (We both experienced the engineer–math–dad super push growing up.)
So by the end of the game that night, they were excited, confident, and enjoying themselves.
Had I woken up my father to play the game, he certainly would have won. He might’ve turned it into a competition, or he might have tried to help a little too much.
Either way they would’ve lost interest. Their confidence would have been destroyed. And two beautiful, smart and happy women would have their, “I’m a math Neanderthal” thoughts validated.
You can use this with your children.
If you or your spouse are in a math related field, or was “always good at math,” be aware of your potential intimidation factor. Hold back. Don’t help. Allow discovery and confidence to come at its own slow and natural pace. Your children will learn math, in their own time.
Don’t force it, or you might destroy it.
Note: They sent me this game for free. This is not a review, per se, but still – you should know how I got it.
To mix things up a little, this month’s Math Teachers at Play Blog Carnival is a love story – between two people and then their new cute daughter. It’s a story of the coolest carnival of all – having kids.
The Story of Bernice and John, Mathematician Parents
by Bernice Abel
When John and I decided to have children, I knew we would be Making More Math Geeks. And I was okay with that. I was actually quite excited about it.
“How many kids do you want?” he asked before we were married. I thought about it a bit and said, “I probably want an odd number of kids.”
“What base is that in?” He asked me. I swooned. Could it be that he knew about Odd Numbers in Odd Bases? One thing was for sure, I knew he was Asking Good Questions. Especially when he asked me to marry him!
“You know,” he said, “We should have just the right number of girls and just the right number of boys. The Golden Ratio of our own, so to speak.”
There were so many things to be in love with in this man!
The day daughter was born was a life scalar multiple.
“I don’t know,” I said, “I just gave birth to a math geek, so I’m feeling like I should be eating 1/8, 1/4, or even 1/2 of something. I really don’t want our new daughter needing Fraction Help. And I know this hospital has pizza cut into 8 slices.”
He said, “You know, The (Mathematical) Trouble with Pizza is…” And then I glared at him. “Get me some pizza!” I screamed. The love of a math guy was wearing off.
“What took you so long?” I asked when he finally got back with my pizza. “You didn’t have to calculate any tip, and even My New Percent Lessons wouldn’t have helped you figure out the tax – the cash register does it all!”
I said, “My idea of math and fun is some Tesseracts and Factor Lattices. And I didn’t have either to keep me entertained while you were gone.”
I didn’t mention my desire for a iPad even though I had heard of the new fad of iPad Gaming in Math and Science. Money was tight and Clementine was already proving to be an expensive bundle of cuteness.
U.S. Navy photo by Photographer’s Mate 3rd Class Ramon Preciado (Public Domain)
Written on September 11, 2011
Ten years ago today I learned about kids. Not that I didn’t know anything about them before. But I learned a great deal in one day because of the horror that took the U.S.
I was teaching at a high school – something I did for about 6 months – and doing a fine poor job of it. I had taught almost ten years of college math and was struggling with the concept of discipline and lecture – simultaneously.
The downright creativity of those guys was amazing – they could come up with the most ingenious ways of conning me into stuff. They were brilliant!
We were in Algebra when I read the news.
The email from the principal came through with an exclamation mark denoting high priority. I didn’t pay much attention to those flags because I didn’t have a whole lot of respect for her – she treated children and teachers alike, as if we were 2nd class citizens to be disciplined for rules that seemed to have no basis.
So my class went clueless for the hour. It wasn’t until the next class arrived that I learned something was up.
I headed back to the email – perhaps this time there was a wolf.
Sure enough, the super creepy email was there. Hard to wrap my brain around. Especially since I had never been to New York and hadn’t a clue what the World Trade Center Twin Towers were.
I went to the library during my off period and watched the subsequent disasters unfold.
And I watched the students’ reactions.
When I first started teaching there, I was very cautious in listening to other teachers who labeled certain kids as “bad.” In fact, I started to favor the students that had earned that moniker. How can you be “bad” at 14? Maybe on your way to bad, but certainly not there yet!
And sure enough, one of my favorite students (with a “very bad” label) was the most devastated by the tragedy. “Why?” he asked with tears in his eyes. “Why would anyone do that? I just don’t understand.”
No doubt the “good” kids who blew it off and make terribly inappropriate jokes did so out of personal protection.
It was strange to see the various reactions of all the different kids. And many of them were not what I would’ve expected.
There are many things I’ll never forget.
Indeed this was a moment, a day, and ten years that I’ll never forget. And most importantly, I’ll also not forget how children take things.
Kids are people too. And they aren’t bad. None of them.
If you’re a teacher, know this. If you’re a parent, remember this.
Years and years ago there was a math education model. It went like this:
Children would read a section or chapter of a textbook the night before class. They would come to school the next day ready to ask questions and do hands on practice with a teacher close by to help.
This was a “normal” classroom situation.
Over the course of many years, textbook publishers have squeezed more and more topics into textbooks. Thus, they have squeezed more and more detail out. Which has gotten rid of much of their value.
As math texts had their details extracted to fit more topics, children began having difficulty comprehending them. Even if they attempted to read the section the night before, the teacher would have to fully explain it during class the next day.
Thus the first flip happened!
Kids gave up altogether on trying to read math textbooks. They soon realized that the teacher’s instructions to “read the section” as homework was just an empty request. The teacher would explain all of it the next day anyway.
This model, the first flipped classroom, has sustained for quite some time.
Enter web-based video.
Fun to watch and easy to rewind, online videos allow kids to flip back the model. Because videos aren’t regulated, nor monetarily driven, anyone can make them – including people who are really good at it.
Yes, a pair of teachers at Woodland Park officially did the first flip. But check out what kids have done without teachers. They found Cousin Sal’s videos before it was ever <cue music>Khan Academy.
They inherently knew that there could be more and that there was a better way to learn. They started watching videos at night after they didn’t get everything they needed during the day. And they started going to school the next day asking questions of their live teachers: “I saw this video on YouTube and he did it this way… can I do it like that?”
We didn’t flip anything.
Yes, we think we’re really clever and have this great “flipped classroom” model. Guess what? We adults haven’t done squat – we’re just writing about it and making cute infographics.
Let’s give credit where credit’s due, shall we? Textbook companies drove the first flip. And kids are driving this one.
Over the past ten years or so I’ve been hearing this word “creationism.” It seems that it’s the opposite of “evolutionism.”
No problem – until I read about people trying to “prove” creationism. And articles trying to refute it.
I’m not sure what the big hubbub is about. 20 years ago I heard a guy make a simple statement about it all. He proved creationism in 30 seconds.
And it was a mathematical argument.
Before I give you that 30 second super-statement, let’s chat a little about what a real mathematical proof looks like.
Math starts with definitions.
We say, “Okay, here’s the deal. Let’s define a nebino as a number that’s greater than all prime numbers,” or something of that nature. (And yes, you get to make up your own words if you want.)
No math – none – ever starts out with confusing terms. If it does, someone jumps in and says, “You’ve got stuff that isn’t defined clearly.”
Everything shuts down until that gets resolved.
Math assumes… well… assumptions.
Once you have your definitions clear, you get to set up what you assume. This actually might come before the defining part. And often it isn’t said out loud at all.
Which is one reason that scientists sometimes think that they can do math. They’re always assuming the world (i.e. reality). Mathematicians don’t cotton to such vast and willy-nilly assumptions.
Then you get your hands dirty.
You’ve got definitions and you know what you’re assuming. You’re foundation is down. Now you build.
In other words, you create some math.
But things don’t always work out like you planned. So…
If it doesn’t work, you change the definitions or assumptions.
Yep – sometimes we really want something to work, so we just go back and tweak some of the starter points. Which means we change a definition or add (or delete) an assumption.
(Which means if you’re using someone’s math, you have to make sure you’re working with the same definitions and set of assumptions.)
And that’s the best argument for Creationism.
The statement I heard from this Creationist was, in essence, this:
We don’t have to use any evidence of science to prove God created the world in 7 days, 6,000 years ago. God planted the fossils and created all sorts of nifty things like DNA that would contradict the Bible. It was all meant to test our faith.
Voila! Creationism proven.
Brilliant! Change the assumptions, and you’re there.
Beliefs are just that: beliefs.
Which means there’s just no proving them. Kinda like my thoughts on the real line. I don’t believe in it – to the chagrin of my Twitter friend Colin.
So if you want to prove something, change the rules. Or ignore them. Mathematicians do it all the time.
*If you’re really really interested in my beliefs, I’ve shared them here.
