Spreadsheets (and other scary things)

Math has never been my strong suit. My earliest memory of my aversion to mathematics goes back to grade school. Details are fuzzy, but flash cards and standing with chalk in hand at a blackboard with snickering classmates behind me were involved in the torture. No amount of remedial help or after supper tutoring from my dad could erase the ill feeling of dread and fear whenever our teacher would stand in front of the class with a stack of paper and ask us to put our books away and take a pencil out of our desks. I can still picture her walking up and down each row of evenly spaced desks, placing a sheet of paper face-down on our desks, instructing us not to turn it over until she gave us permission. The only thing pleasant about the dreaded math quiz experience was the strangely pleasing pungent aroma of the alcohol (spirits) on the fresh, purple-inked quiz paper freshly printed on a “spirit-processed” Ditto machine (now I’m really dating myself).

I dreaded getting my paper back after my teacher graded it too. That purple ink on the page would more often than not be accompanied by numerous red check-marks next to each wrong answer. Oftentimes, right next to the grade at the top of the paper, there would be a little note from the teacher that said “See Me” or something like that. It was embarrassing to never quite “get it” when everyone else around me (so it seemed) was catching on just fine.

In marriage, opposites often attract. My husband enjoys math. It’s probably not an exaggeration of facts to say that

playing with numbers brings him great satisfaction. On a related note, he truly enjoys spreadsheets. Creating them. Updating them. Analyzing them. Sharing them. He’s the type of guy that looks at pieces of information and says with a smile, “Hey, let’s build a spreadsheet for that!”

While I struggle with remembering which credit card to use in each purchasing situation, drag my feet at keeping spreadsheets updated, struggle with understanding investment principles, and chafe at always being asked for receipts for updating those spreadsheets, I can be thankful my husband is strong in those areas. His love of managing details means we can pull up a piece of needed information with a moment’s notice when caring for my mom and brother. It means he is a natural choice to be their financial power of attorney (a job I very willingly relinquish). It means our own budget is always balanced. Our retirement investments always well-tended and growing. Our bank account never lacking. Our vehicle and home maintenance always scheduled at appropriate times. Our emergency fund always available. Our taxes always done on time and without error. Our giving always done wisely and with generosity.

For this man, I give thanks to God.

Author: barefootlilylady

I love sharing about my barefoot gardening adventures, hence my blogger name. As I write, some of my other passions might spill out -- like fun with grandkids, baking and sewing endeavors, what I'm studying in Scripture, and the like. My readers will notice that one of the primary things I write about is Alzheimer's. May what I write be an encouragement to anyone who is a caregiver for someone they love with memory loss. View all posts by barefootlilylady