Someone wants me.
That was the response when my daughter received an offer letter from one of the secondary schools she’d applied to.
Her relief, and ours, was palpable after a bumpy road. She’d decided she wanted to apply after visiting some schools with her brother the year before. That meant tutoring and lots of homework. And quite a few tears as she compared herself to others and didn’t understand why she wasn’t getting it.
But each time she picked herself up, dusted herself off, and went again.
That, more than anything, led to an assessment which confirmed she had dyslexia. And with that, a piece of the puzzle seemed to fall into place.
This experience culminated in three exams (three weekend days!) in a row in December and the realisation, as a parent watching your child walk through the (actual and metaphorical) door, that there’s nothing you can do to help them in that moment.
And the relief, when she came out other side with a smile.
Unfortunately, the first school came back pretty quickly to say she hadn’t made it to the next round. Fortunately, they had already been judged due to the orange Kit Kat offered during the break. A poor showing compared to the sausage rolls at the other two (phew).
The next stage for the remaining schools was an interview (both us and her) and an activity afternoon (just her). Definitely more complicated than my experience (admittedly some time ago) in rural New Zealand, where it was either the Catholic school or the other one, and no choice at all as I followed in my brothers’ footsteps to the Catholic one.
While it was the same for her brother, it was also very different. And running the gauntlet two years in a row was harder than I expected.
Now though the positive vibes have moved from “don’t worry, be happy” to “hard work pays off”.
Both receiving the same eye roll response from the 10 year old!
Tough Mother 