Who could have predicted how torturous it would be to get Cupcake aptitude tested?
It wasn't convenience, because our school district offers all kinds of testing and I was willing to take her out of school any time the testers were available, offering substantial bribage if it would get her on the schedule before the school year ended.
Besides, if I had to I could have used one of those test your IQ web sites simply by providing my email address and selling my cybersoul to companies flogging penny stocks and V!@6R@.
And it wasn't cost, because the tests are "free", where free means I'd pay nothing to have her tested because I've been grudgingly valiantly paying property taxes since I first owned property, possibly even including the vegetable garden I labored over when I was 12.
No, the friction originated with the little lady herself. Just as Miss Puppy can sense when I'm calling her inside so I can lock her up and leave the house, Cupcake could tell that this, ahem -- special attention -- wasn't just for entertainment purposes.
Image borrowed from here.
The tantruming was unrelenting. I heard:
- These tests give me a headache
- My head hurts
- I'm not taking any more tests
- None of my friends have to take tests
- I'm missing something fun at school (I never heard this one if she was missing gym class)
- Have I told you my head hurts?
- You're not taking me out of school
- I'm not changing schools
- I'm not taking special classes
- I have a HEADACHE
Couldn't she understand that I was doing this for her own good? Didn't she know that this was hurting me more than it hurt her? Didn't she appreciate that I'd walked to and from school every day in blazing heat, dragging my school supplies behind me through the snow on a rusty shovel while toting a five gallon water jug on my head? Or something like that?
I used to love taking standardized tests when I was Cupcake's age. I could have sat there with that number 2 pencil all day every day, filling in bubble after bubble. I did really well on them too. There was no studying, no preparation. I just filled in those little bubbles hour after hour.
Cupcake hated it. Despised it. Feared it. She tiraded when the questions got too hard for her to answer -- the hard questions made her feel dumb.
I ignored the complaints, dragged her to the tests, and treated her to copious amounts of ice cream afterwards.
