Kate is getting ready for seventh grade. Ugh. On the up note, she is applying at our local Liberal Arts College for an Art Immersion Program to attend next school year.
As we were preparing the application, I found, once again, that my daughter is Jessica Simpson, reincarnate. Wait, not reincarnate, that would mean Jessica was dead, but you know what I mean. I reviewed the questions for her essay and as she sat there sweaty from soccer practice, in her tank and shorts gulping water in a grotesque manner, I knew the evening could be long.
First question was why she was interested in the program. We chose some flowery words and put them in an order which was acceptable but didn't sound like her mother had wrote it. (That was a hard task for me.) She pissed around with her father adding his words of wisdom, my OCD flairing as I had already taken her to the library to get five books to be read in two days. It was now 9:30. It had to be typed, and that would be up to me.
Second question was asking what she could add to the program. She looked at me with great puzzle and asked what that meant. I told her that it was asking what she could bring to help those in the program. She looked blank for a long time and then gleamed, "Drinks!"
Shit. Jessica traits were screaming.
"No, Kate. What can you bring that would help people and enhance the program?"
"Oh, my cheery smile," to which she added, "can you make sure that you put a smiley face in there?"
"No, Kate. This goes to a college and a board of professors. No smiley face."
"Okay, well, at least make sure that you include cokes somewhere."
I sent her to bed and finished her essay for her. Thank goodnes for her killer soccer skills. That may be all I have to work with here.
AND, the boy was crying after this. Yessss!
