Put to the test

It’s that dreaded time of year, when despite the blooming trees and singing birds, many baggy-eyed humans have confined themselves to dark corners, their heads buried in musty old textbooks. Yep, Exam Week. The heavenly flora and fauna beckons us to run free, but for some, it’s Hell on Earth.

In the Molinari family, all three of our children are in the midst of brutal final exams. Dealing with one anxious, hormonal teenager is enough to give a parent palpitations. But with all three of our children taking tests, my husband and I are considering installing a defibrillator in our kitchen.

I wonder if they have a stainless steel model?

Interestingly, one individual may deal with being “put to the test” differently than another. In our family, we each have completely distinct test-taking personalities.

The Giggler

Our youngest daughter Lilly, a 9^th grader, doesn’t whine or complain. She simply disappears into the computer room at night, and momentarily, we happily forget that she exists. But then, usually about 30 minutes into her study session, we hear it.

At first a murmur, and then a giggle, followed by bursts of outright laughter. “Lilly!” we yell from our lounge furniture, after remembering that we do indeed have children, and that they are supposed to be studying, “What’s going on in there?”

“Julia and I are quizzing each other on Skype,” she claims innocently enough. But somehow we feel duped as the giggle-fest continues.

The Thespian

For our middle child, Anna, an 11^th grader, exam week is a time of high drama.

“I’m ready to be infuriated — wish me luck,” I said to my husband last night before entering our computer room to find out why Anna was crying. After years of enduring Anna’s melodramatic behavior, and her epic stress-induced wrath, I knew I was in for a show.

I opened the door to find her draped theatrically over the couch, surrounded by textbooks and paper. One gangly arm covered her eyes, while her downturned lower lip trembled. “What’s wrong?” I asked, bracing myself for histrionics.

“I’ll never get it all done!” she wailed, suspiciously not lifting her arm to show her allegedly tearful eyes.

I spent the next twenty minutes explaining to Anna that — if she takes a deep breath, breaks her work into manageable pieces, cancels unnecessary activities, etc. ÔÇô she will survive Exam Week. But a happy ending is not what Anna had in mind for this script, which she envisioned more like the inevitable doom in A Streetcar Named Desire or the dire destiny in Romeo and Juliet. As the weeping and wailing continued, I ducked out of the room to spare myself her operatic final curtain call.

The Sloth

Our eldest, Hayden, a Freshman in college, takes a more laid back approach to Exam Week. In fact, in response to the added pressure, he “lays back” on just about anything he can find ÔÇô his desk, his piano bench, the floor, the couch at the Student Union, and of course, his bed.

“Multi-Variable Calculus? Physics II? Computer Science? Geeze, Hayden, are you worried about studying for all those exams?” we anxiously asked him over the phone last week. “Yea … [elongated yawn] … I’ll study once I get off the phone … but maybe … I’ll take a little nap first.”

The Procrastinator and The Pragmatist

As for my husband and I, we suffered through many tests ourselves back in the day. I was a productive yet chronic procrastinator, doing everything BUT study. During exam week, my dorm room was thoughtfully decorated, my nails meticulously manicured, laundry folded, and muffins baked. My career military husband, however, was the consummate pragmatist when he took exams, doing what needed to be done without needless emotion. After 27 years in the Navy, he’s still a pragmatist, although much of his “studying” is now done in the bathroom.

It really doesn’t matter whether our children laugh, cry, or snore their way through Exam Week, as long as they make the grade. And besides, their most important lessons in life are definitely yet to come.