Certainly not two peas in a pod

Two years ago my eldest daughter took the SAT as a 7th grader as part of her membership in the Duke University Talent Identification Program (TIP) for children who score higher than 95% on their standardized tests.  She wanted to take the test just to see how it was and how well she matched with high school level students.  She did remarkably well because she is one of those students who is great at taking tests and because she remembers everything she learns except anything I teach her.

The day she was to take the test with other 7th graders at our local high school ended up being the day of her grandfather's funeral, and so other arrangements had to be made and she had to take the test the next go around two months later.  We arrived at 7:45 AM as required and the two of us joined a mass of students sitting around the entrance to the school.  All of the students were high school juniors and seniors.  Madison was the youngest and suddenly she began acting like one.  She hunched over even more than she usually does, her chin into her chest, her eyes on the ground.

Me:  "What are you doing?  Stand up."
Madison:  "How old are these kids?"
Me:  "Honey, they are 17, 18 years old.  You knew that."
Madison:  "I thought there would be kids here my age."
Me:  "It's a test.  And the tests are at tons of high schools.  Maybe everyone that is late taking the test is taking it at another school.  You'll be fine."

As we are talking she is inching closer and closer into a line of bushes in front of the brick wall to the cafeteria.  By the time the conversation reached the above point she was completely in the bushes, and my boiling point had reached its high.

Me:  "Get out of the bushes!  What are you doing?  Act like you have some sense."
Madison:  "I'm scared!"
Me:  "Of what?  You're going to be taking a test in a room overseen by adults.  I'll be back at the end.  You'll be fine."

Her name was called first and she was sent into the cafeteria where a nice woman took her aside and put her at a table away from everyone else right next to the adults.  She had tears in her eyes when the lady told me I had to go.  I hugged her tight and told her she would be fine.  When I drove out of the lot I was a nervous wreck, and was a wreck until I picked her up five hours later.

Two years later I'm back today doing it all again with my youngest.  She isn't the test taking type, but she wanted to do it.  She too had to take the test later than the kids in her class because she isn't 13 years old yet and thus I couldn't sign her up online, but had to do it by mail. 

She was the one who woke me this morning as I forgot to set my alarm.  We were to leave the house at 7:30 and she woke me at 7:26.  She was dressed and ready to go.  We got to the school where only a handful of kids were loitering around the brick wall.  This time I went straight to the cafeteria and the same nice lady opened the door.  I explained who my daughter was and she told me where the test was being given and what time to return.  She told Darcy to wait with the other kids until they were all called by name. 

Darcy:  "Okay."  She leaned against the wall with another girl.
Me:  "Are you okay?  Do you want me to stay with you until they call your name?"
Darcy:  "Nah.  I'm good."
Me:  "Are you sure?"
Darcy:  "Yeah I'm good."
Me:  "Okay then.  I'm leaving.  Are you okay?"
Darcy:  "Mom.  I'm good.  See you."

And off I went, just a tad nervous as I looked back in my rear view mirror at her leaning against the wall like all the other kids.  One minute she is excited about her Life-skills project of raising a sack of flour as a pretend baby and the next minute she is hanging with high school kids as if she were the same age.  Everyone tells me I'm in for trouble, but I see a confident little girl becoming a confident teenager ready for more responsibility and life lessons. 

Now if only I were ready for that...