Okay, the middle kid has been stressing out for a week now, leading up to her GRE today. She’s been studying. She’s been taking practice tests. She’s been reading up on Geometry. She actually started this whole process in a lighter way back in May, but this past week has been much more intense.
So today, she’s ready to go. I tell her she’ll be fine. Her father has been telling her she’ll be fine. She’s still looking pretty worried. I’m trying to tell her everything will be okay, and she’s always done well on these tests, and she’ll do better than she thinks. She’s smart, she’ll be fine. And she starts out the door without her sweatshirt.
Half an hour later, the phone rings. “Mom, I can’t find the place.” I look it up, tell her which direction to go, she says she still can’t see it, I tell her to call them. “Okay, that sounds good. Bye.”
Wait, wait, wait. Hope she found it and she’s not sitting somewhere crying in the car.
Four hours later. Phone rings. “Mom?” I can’t read the voice, so I say, “How did it go?” hoping the next thing won’t be tears. “On the verbal I got 660, and on the math I got 610.”
Tomorrow I’ll get her a Slurpee. It’s what we always did for the kids when they got a good report card.