The difference between No 1 and No 2

This morning, No 2 did times tables, four pages of English exercises and Chinese writing.

With the times tables, she wanted to recite them, and not by heart either. I would say "0 x 2" and she would answer "0", while looking at the times tables placemat. One has to start somewhere, I suppose.

The best part was discovering - quite by accident - some patterns in the 11 times table that would make working out the answer easier. Good fun.

Getting No 1 going, now that was a whole different challenge.

First, she rose at the glorious hour of 12 noon.

The first thing I assigned her was to do some math in preparation for the KIC scholarship entrance exam in February.

She promptly went into meltdown, railing about how she hates KIC and refuses to take the scholarship exam blah blah blah.

She "just" wanted to be happy and to be herself, and not think about stuff like high school, uni and her future. She "just" wanted to stay at her current school and complete her VCE there.

Which prompted a meltdown on my part.

Would she still be happy, I asked, if her friends C, R, T and A moved schools in Year 7 and she was the only one of her circle remaining at her school?

I raged on about how her dad and I were giving her all these opportunities and extras, how her dad was the only grad in his family and had supported himself through uni by giving tuition, how God had blessed her with wisdom and intelligence and potential, and "all" she wanted was to throw it "all" away by sailing through the system with minimum effort while others were drilling themselves in preparation for Westbourne, KIC and Suzanne Cory.

And what would happen if there was a dire change of circumstances, if he lost his job, or one of us fell seriously ill?

How would we finance the rest of her private school education if she wasn't prepared to work for and win a scholarship, or gain entry into a select-entry high school blah blah blah?

I admit, I deserve a PhD in the art of exaggeration.  And in the art of maternal emotional blackmail too (guess where that came from!).

So now we had two people in tears, me asking myself (yet again) if we have raised a spoiled, immature child who can't think beyond her own immediate gratification.

Epic parenting fail.

Then again, who am I to judge an 11 yo when I am myself a work in progress and a late bloomer at that?

Funnily enough, a few minutes later, No 1 came up to me and meekly asked, "Can you help me with my 13-15 times tables?"

As I write, she is working through a "Strive to Score for PSLE" Math practice paper, with a lot of cussing and swearing going on.

"What is this?"

"What are they asking??"

"What's pi???"

"Oh my gosh!"

(And the best one) "Dammit!!"

No better time for a reality check, I say.