You know that sweet Big Kid that I enjoy torturing?
I just found out he has an IQ of 154. Literally off the chart that the school printed up for me. Einstein had a 160 IQ.
As they presented this information, they sat across the conference table from me in a line beaming with joy as if they were about to give me a free car. A few people were late to the meeting and came in asking for updates, "Who are we here for again?"
"Ms. Ashley's Big Kid."
"Oh. What was the score?"
Grins all around.
The county's head school psychologist told me that they were advised never to use the words "Highly Gifted" when talking to a parent but said he felt it was imperative in this case that I knew he was "Highly Gifted"--not just intelligent, not just gifted but extremely unique in his giftedness. I hate that word, by the way, makes me roll my eyes so hard, but it was hard not to jump up and down like a winner on the Price is Right. I maintained my composure because I'm pretty sure moms of geniuses don't jump up and down like maniacs.
But even though NOTHING has changed from this morning, when I was dancing in the kitchen just to irritate him, I feel enormous pressure suddenly. I feel like I am failing him. I feel like I don't know what to do with him. He's probably smarter than every person in that meeting this morning but WE'RE the ones coming up with a life plan for him?
I don't know.
I'm pretty sure I need a shirt that says "MY KID HAS AN IQ OF 154" but that's as far as I've gotten in terms of a life plan.