Thick Envelope, Thin Envelope: Results Come In

Well the application envelopes for MCPS special programs hit mailboxes yesterday afternoon.

And the news? C. was admitted to the highly competitive, has-a-national-reputation, countywide IB program. She was not, however, admitted to a program at nearby big high school. (Which made us go “hmmm. ” More competitive than the IB? I think not. I wonder, did they talk to the middle school magnet that shall remain unnamedl? Did they think there’s no way this kid is going to come here if she gets into the IB, so we might as well cut to the chase? Or did her application show that her heart really wasn’t in it whereas the magnet kids were no doubt submitting their 10 page research papers? Who knows?) Now all along C. has said that she didn’t really want to go, but still, it’s always nicer to do the rejecting than be rejected.

As soon as the envelopes were open, C. was on her laptop, IM-ing. She was very excited and relieved to be accepted to the IB program, but I could see a flicker of self doubt run through her, as she wondered why she didn’t get in, and what it might portend for getting into her “dream” (but crazy expensive so probably a no-go unless we get major dough) private school of choice. That news drops on March 15.  An hour later, at her troop’s Girl Scout Cookie booth sale she got the school news from that circle of friends. Right now it looks like everyone is choosing nearby big high school.

And then there was M. Thursday night we had major trauma, when one of her two dwarf Russian hamsters died. M. has had a rather bad run with small pets over the past few years. First two birds died, then a hamster (Trust me, as a parent there is no worse sentence to hear at 9 p.m. on a Saturday night than “Mom, I think there’s something wrong with Chippy”), then another…and now Squeak. She was devastated on Thursday night. Just sobbing. How would Bubble do alone? Why now? Having “hamsters that never die” was the top wish she shared with that school psychologist as part of her EMT assessment.

The death came hard on the heels of a dinner where she was just inexplicably in the foulest, angriest mood. Turns out she had a large writing assignment due the next morning about The Secret Garden, and she really didn’t understand a part and it was overwhelming. Didn’t help matters that she had gone to a friend’s directly after school to play rather than stay home and do the assignment. So, Thursday evening was not a good one at our house.

On Friday my husband called to say that a letter had come and that she hadn’t gotten into the middle school magnet. After a few questions I determined that no, it was a letter informing us she had been denied a place in one of the lottery middle school choice programs. Different, but still a bummer. There was a process to reapply for the second round, but I had been optimistic she would get in as she only marked one school as her choice.

And then yesterday. Thankfully M. was in the other room when the mail came, so we could be happy for C. and digest that news before opening the envelope for M.

Rejected. “The screening and selection committee did not recommend your child for admission.” It would have been awful if they had both been present. M. came with me to drop C. at the Girl Scout Cookie sale, and then she and I went to downtown Silver Spring and got something to eat. My husband and I were going to put our heads together about how to break the news to M. in light of the hamster trauma and homework outburst, but in the course of conversation she casually mentioned that we should be hearing about schools soon and at that point I had to say, we had heard. Her face fell when I told her. Well, I might still get into the choice arts school, she said in an effort to recover. No, you didn’t get in there either, I said gently. We got the letter yesterday.

It’s times like this that it really sucks to be a parent.

She was reeling. She asked if C.’s reputation had somehow sunk her magnet application. She could maybe accept that she didn’t get in to the magnet, but had always assumed that she would have the arts choice school as a fall back. M. came with me to bring C. to a sleepover birthday party in Olney, swinging by Michaels to buy plaster of Paris for a grave for Squeak. Along the way I checked in with my husband, who relayed the news that her best friend R. got in. I had expected it. I also knew that her other school friend E., who attended the same school as M. would go to the magnet school regardless of whether she got into the program, because her brother was already there and she would get a sibling preference, and that her best guy friend would get in somewhere as well. All her smart friends would. In the car she kept talking about school, circling back to where her friends would go. When I told her the news about R., she broke down in sobs in the car. Why now? she asked. It was just too much. She had always imagined herself going there, with her friends. In the evening we watched a movie together to take her mind off it. She’s fine…until she thinks about it…and then gets sad all over again.

I’ll appeal. The rejection letter helpfully provides information on how your child did on an advanced Raven, the reading comprehension test, and the writing test. On the first two measures she was smack at the median for students who were admitted. It was the writing that did her in…ten points below. Writing of course is what has been zapping her all year long report card-wise. That and the dratted spelling. And naturally that translated into what I would guess was a lukewarm recommendation. Which might have been offset by a stellar recommendation from Mrs. M, but the school wouldn’t let her write it (See my post Right Hand, Meet Left Hand). So on that basis alone I feel like I have to do it. I dread it. It’s just one more thing to add to my already overflowing plate.

But allow me a rant (my husband thinks I’m obsessing). I come back to the first day of school. Why oh why wasn’t she placed in a class with her 4th grade posse, who all–except her–got to stay together for 5th? (And two of whom, I might add, got into the magnet.) Would it have killed the principal to listen to me and consider a class switch? To make a kid happy in the last year that she would be together with friends before they all scattered to different middle schools? (I could smack myself now for not speaking up when the principal said, “It’s good preparation for middle school, when they’ll be split up. What ever happened to, you know, dealing with stuff when you have to deal with it?! When it’s age appropriate?)

I could see it coming. Much of her school performance–or lack of it this year–follows from that decision. So yes, stuff like that–friendship, social fit, happiness–matters. Your MSA data be damned. And now I have to deal with the fallout. I’m so tired of fighting school, being put in the position of my kid telling me she won’t go to school, that she’d rather homeschool. Which isn’t a possibility, as you’ll see from an upcoming post.