The best thing I did during exam season

One evening, my 12-year-old shuffled out of his room, his face more deflated than a flat tyre.

He'd spent the afternoon following that day’s routine: Revision. Practice papers. Corrections. 

He came to me, arms outstretched...

"Mummy... bao bao (a hug)," he pouted.

"What’s wrong?" I asked. Did someone say something mean on his group chat? Did he forget to save his work?

He shrugged. "I'm just… tired."

That was all. No drama, just manja.

So, we just hugged and I didn’t want to rush through this moment. After all, snuggles don’t come often as kids grow older. At the same time, I wondered what I’d missed. Had I set him too much exam prep work? (Mum guilt.)

He piped up from deep within my arms, "What if I get AL21 instead of AL12 for PSLE?"

A simple question. But I heard: “Will I be okay? Will you still be proud of me?”

A part of me wanted to offer him practical solutions immediately: “Let me speak to your teacher about remedial lessons”; “I’ll get you more assessment books”.

I opened my mouth… and said instead, "We'll just choose a school based on whatever marks you get." 
He paused in disbelief and said, "Really? Are you sure?”

When I nodded, he relaxed and said, “Exams are coming soon, but you still take me out every weekend while my classmates are all studying at home. And you buy me my favourite things even when I don’t do well for tests. Is that…okay?

"Yes, you need to relax and recharge.

“As for getting you the stuff that you like, that’s just what I want to do. It’s not because of your results,” I added softly.

His eyes curved into happy little crescents. Mine turned a tad teary, so I just quickly hugged him again.

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Confession time: I wasn't always this chill. I may sound like an enlightened mother, who has transcended grades and assessment books, but I haven't, really. Especially around exam season, when I see parents going all-out, my inner tiger mum is all but ready to leap out.

But I've become less hung up over the years - and I suspect my older son's school journey had something to do with that.

When my elder one, now in secondary school entered kindergarten, the centre manager told us to think of our children as pencils: parents and teachers would sharpen them together, and when they made mistakes, give them erasers to learn and grow. I thought it was a quaint reference.

A few years later, I walked into his first parent-teacher conference ready for a serious discussion about his marks. But his teachers had other things to tell me.

"He's the sort who notices when someone is left out,” one of them said. “He'll go over and include them.” Another teacher said, “He isn't the loudest in class, but he leads with quiet confidence."

My expectations of parent-teacher meetings shifted.

There were things my child was learning, becoming and contributing that no number in his report book could fully capture.

At his Primary 6 graduation, the principal spoke about giving children wings to fly and roots to come home to. Later, at his secondary school open house, his principal compared parenting a teenager to flying a kite: let them soar but know when to rein them in when the weather turns stormy.

Those lines stayed with me.

Over time, I started to understand what they were trying to tell me.

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Our children's school years aren't one long race towards the next set of marks. They are also years in which they figure out who they are, what they can do, how they respond when things don't go their way, and how far they can venture knowing there is somewhere safe to return to.

This doesn't mean I stopped caring about results. I still give my younger son papers to do. I still wonder whether everyone else's child is studying while mine is out gallivanting, eating ice cream with me, and guilt-trip myself for being too slack.

Yes, sometimes they do need to do more; but sometimes, it is equally important to give them permission to take a break. Having a rest does not mean they are not trying hard enough.

So now, I try to give them a hard nudge and sometimes I pull back when I see that they need more space. I don’t have it down pat all the time. It’s still very much a work-in-progress.

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Back to my younger kid: I continue to set goals for him to work towards. I nag him off the screen to go to bed early (status update: still loading). I buy his favourite food. I bring him to the arcade that makes him feel that he’s a child, my child; not a student who needs to work for rewards.

Later that night, another thought struck me. I have a child who knew he could come to me before he had everything sorted out, and who didn't have to hold himself together all the time. And for this, I felt grateful.

In time, he will stop asking me for cuddles. I'm already bracing myself for the teenage hug - limp, cursory and injected with some cringe.

But half hugs or none, I want my children to know that they never have to earn their place at home. There is no pre-requisite for our love for them. Whatever number eventually appears on a results slip, they just need to come through the door - for food or whatever - and I'll be there for a bao bao.

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