It’s all coming back to me. The cold sweats, the catastrophising (Have I done enough? Have I done too much? Will I remember all this? What should I have for breakfast?), the blind panic and the overwhelming feeling of impending doom.
Fortunately for me, I’ll be at work tomorrow but my 14 year old (aka #1 son – ranking relates solely to birth order) will be sitting an exam. He’s staying cool and has just trotted off to bed after today’s seventh bowl of cereal. He’s been revising steadily after some ‘motivational chats’ from his father and me; I’m fairly sure there’s not much else the boy can do.
I remember only too well the days when, in between my Jean-Claude Van Damme and Christian Slater (circa ‘Heathers’) posters, I had spidergrams stuck up and was in possession of enough index cards to create a very comprehensive index, scrawled on in every coloured gel pen I could get my hands on (thank you – WHSmith Leamington Spa). My boy’s doing it his own way and I have to respect that.
All I can do is continue to provide a miniature version of Sainsbug’s cereal aisle (evidently zinc and iron are very good for concentration) and keep up payment of my water rates (hydration, hydration, hydration). For now, I’ll just have to stand back and watch from the sidelines, with my mum pom-poms, of course.
Wish us luck,