Hell Hath No Fury...

Forget a woman scorned.  I don't think there's anything quite as scary as a woman stressed out.

And Emma is no exception.  She's always been a perfectionist.  It's something about her I've always admired but knew was out of my grasp.  Kind of like how I admire athleticism in other people.  I know I'll never be athletic (or a perfectionist) but it is a praiseworthy way to be.

I remember Emma as a zealous 5 year old, running to her room and slamming the door because she couldn't form her letters perfectly.  I remember her outrage when I dared to mark something wrong in her schoolwork.  She does not like to make mistakes.

And it turns out deadlines are also her Achilles heel.

She has been working on a project for school...it's called Survival Math.  Adam's taken to calling it Suicide Math.  She has several of these projects scattered throughout the year...the first one is due Friday.  She gets extra credit if she turns it in early.  So of course, she wants (needs) to turn it in early.   To prove that she takes after her father more than she takes after me, she's been embracing technology and conversing with Adam along the way on good ways to present her material.  Yesterday afternoon she was almost ready, just putting on the finishing touches. She's been trying to expand the project and do more!  More!  More!

Her agitation was also expanding.  More!  More!  More!  She couldn't get Excel to cooperate (and I was no help).  She accidentally ripped her paper and she dissolved into sobbing tears when she inadvertently erased a paragraph from her Word document.  I was trying to be comforting and bolstering and reassuring and told her to re-lax but it didn't help too much.  She was a whirling dervish of panic and fury and I was bracing for the onslaught when Adam called and needed us to pick him up at our mechanic's where he was dropping off his car for a little TLC.

It was just the change of scenery Emma needed.  And I promised her that Adam would help.  I said, "Don't you think Dad can figure out the Excel problem?"

She said, "I know he can."

"So it's going to be OK?"

She said, "I don't know.  I HATE deadlines."  And I could read the hysteria simmering below the surface of her demeanor.

Sheesh.  I was considering a tranquilizer IV drip for her.

But it turns out, Adam, our steady and unwavering mooring was the perfect anecdote.  After years of practice in calming yours truly down, he encouraged and troubleshooted and advised and when I was hearing them converse about colon and semi-colon placement, I knew I was a foreigner in a foreign land.

Adam and Emma.  They don't rest until it's right.  They want the ideal.  The best.

I'm glad they have each other.  And I'm glad I have Braeden.  Together we're masters of Good Enough.   

(Which is a nice way of saying we're kind of slackers.)