Coming of Age, or "My Life is So Hard Because I'm Thirteen"

I knew this day would come.

Or, should I say, "these days." Suddenly they're all turning thirteen. It's an epidemic. "My birthday was Sunday." "Mine is in ten days." "Mine is in May."

Hold up. Slow down. Why do all the hormones and the boy woes and the eyeliner and the stomping-off-to-get-water have to happen to all of you simultaneously?

So it's not really "all." Just a few girls. But I've seen it approaching. They are getting taller, some a little heavier. They sigh more when you give them a correction, get frustrated easily. Tears. Tears. Tears. Moaning and groaning. Repeat.

I know which girls I can push and which I can't. You can be harsher with some, in both tone and assignment. Make them start over (again, again) and they'll be frustrated, but it won't end their day. Raise my voice. They might get a little cranky, but they'll make visible attempts to improve. Others don't need a harshness with their push. They'll keep working.

The sensitive ones (so far, two of the freshly-minted teenagers) are another story. When I push, there are tears. Outbursts and red faces. In the end, inactivity. The sensitive ones are freakin' stubborn. They won't budge. You know they'll be writing sad poetry in their journals, just like their coach at that age.

When I say nothing as they miss cartwheel after cartwheel on high beam or squat-on after squat-on on bars, skills they know how to make easily, there are still tears. But my blood pressure is lower. I'd call that a victory.

Seriously, though, I'm not sure how to handle these super-sensitive souls, besides pawning them off to Greg (which I do sometimes), giving them corrections that upset them for God-knows-why, yelling, speaking quietly, positively reinforcing, making deals ("do[insert number] of these and you can move on"), resisting the urge to send them home (though the threat rises on occassion).

Thoughts/sad poems/etc.?