So, here's what happened. I guess it was Monday, just as I was preparing to get some work done on ye olde dissertation, when I got an e-mail from the school psychologist saying that the Vice Principal for Student Services was not in favor of letting Robyn study independently for Reading and Social Studies. I also got a very condescending note from the Vice Principal about how busy she is and how they don't allow students to do independent study at West Valley. The psychologist said we should just go ahead and get the evaluation done and then see what kind of services Robyn was eligible for.

I'm not sure why it upset me so much. Part of it is that I'm so anxious to get Robyn out of a situation with the kids in those classes that's sure to end up with her getting in trouble for responding to their teasing. Part of it was because I had promised Robyn things would get better. Part of it was my pride. I got the distinct sense that I was being shamed by these administrators -- who was I, they seemed to be saying, to think that I was qualified to guide and direct Robyn's education. I'm only her mom, the only person who understands her, a Cornell-trained writing instructor with two master's degrees in history and almost a Ph.D. as well, plus years of teaching experience. For some crazy reason, I expected a little more respect.

I guess they don't realize how close I am to pulling her out and homeschooling her.

So I cried for about an hour, during which Dean came home. Bless his heart, he didn't have the slightest idea why I was blubbering, but he held me for a while and told me we'd do whatever we had to do to set things right for Robyn.

When I picked Robyn up from Tech Club, though, it turned out she'd had her best day yet at school. She was chatting with two girls from Tech Club and you'd never have known she was anything but a normal 11-year-old girl. She even said "goodbye" to them - while looking at them -- using their names -- in a loud enough voice they could actually hear her! My jaw dropped. I don't think I've ever see Robyn say a normal, unprompted, audible, eye-contact "goodbye". Not only that, but she'd been invited to sit with the same two girls at lunch. And she was happy and in a good mood.

So it seems my promise that things would get better came true after all, except Robyn did it herself somehow. I felt better.

Yesterday, we went to the hair salon and cut off ten inches of Robyn's long, brown hair. She chose a short haircut that can go wild and messy or conservative and tidy. She looks just like a pixie now! So cute! Here, I'll show you: