Yin and yang

Yesterday I had to go to the school for a meeting with Emma and her counselor.  They meet with all of the sophomores to discuss their high school path.  They gave us an overview as a group and then we had to wait in line for our counselor.

I brought a book to read (that's just basic safety).

Emma, on the other hand, was going over the results of the pre ACT test which she took awhile ago.  (They had handed us the results at the meeting.)

If there's anything that ruffles Emma's feathers, it's being told that she's wrong.  She looked up what she got wrong and would nudge me and ask me what I thought the right answer was.  I would tell her.  She would say, "That's what I got too!"

So maybe she can blame her wrong answers on me?

But no, she refused to believe that she (and I) were wrong.  They were English questions so I suggested she ask her English teacher.

We finally got to see the counselor (I didn't get much reading in).  The counselor remarked on Emma's high test score.  Emma smiled a tight lipped smile.  Then we started talking about her future schedule.

The counselor offered two possible calculus classes Emma could take next year and Emma immediately chose the harder one.  (My grandma's penchant for decorating skipped my mom and landed on me.  My mom's penchant for doing hard things on purpose skipped me and landed on Emma.  Generations of women mystified by their daughters...) The counselor said that was usually for people that were going to major in math.  (Emma's not planning to.)  I asked about the lesser of the calculus classes, thinking that was a better choice.  Emma disagreed.  The counselor looked from overachieving daughter to underachieving mother and recommended we ask her math teacher.

Emma's schedule is sort of a problem.  Between her insane desire to torture herself, classes from Washington that are not transferable (they don't really care that much about WA state history here), and her elective choices that are in her words "not negotiable"--namely French and choir, there is not enough room.

We left the meeting and I could tell Emma was ready to melt down.  Serendipitously, Braeden came ambling down the hall.  He can immediately assess his sister's distress and eliminate it.  He's like a ninja.  I asked him why he wasn't in class.  He said, "It's PE.  We can leave after the first 15 minutes.  Best PE class ever."

Emma demanded his answer to a question on the pre ACT test that she missed.  He gave the same answer Emma and I had.  "See?" Emma said to no one in particular.

Braeden offered to walk Emma to class (he had time on his hands obviously) and away they went, my high strung daughter (with her test clutched in her hand so she could ask her teacher) and laid back son.

They're good for each other.  And me.