Chloe and Sophie have big days tomorrow.
Sophie has her school play. She will be part of the chorus, playing a tree frog. I don’t know much about the play, except it’s based on a kids’ book and it’s about the environment and being green. She’s nervous about forgetting her dance moves. I told her not to worry about it. That response did nothing to satisfy her. “But what if I forget, Mom? What do I do?” I then told her to do what all good performers do. “What’s that, Mom?” “You just need to continue and forge ahead. Don’t think about the mistake.” Sophie smiled, reassured. She remained content for all of about five minutes, until she scampered downstairs because she couldn’t fall asleep.
Chloe has her algebra placement test tomorrow. If she passes, she’ll be able to take algebra in 6th grade next year. And because she’s an overachiever and takes after me, she’s determined to pass. The letter that we received about the exam warns the kids that they should expect to be frustrated by the questions and that they may feel like they failed. I’ve reminded Chloe of that admonition several times, but she’s still anxious. She really, really, really wants to take algebra next year. I am confident she’ll do just fine, because she happens to be quite good at math. But that confidence does not reassure her. It just causes her to roll her eyes and say things like, “Of course you think I’ll do fine. You’re my mom. You’re supposed to think that.”
Yes, I am supposed to think that. Because that’s what moms do. And one day she’ll understand, because one day she’ll be telling her kids the same shit.