This morning Sophie and I toured a charter school in downtown Phoenix, our first visit out into “the field” as we look for a junior high for her.

“That was fun!” she announced when we got in the car.

“Really?” I thought to myself. “Because I feel like I’ve been through a meat grinder.”

The school is wonderful in so many ways — K-12, with a warm, family feeling and nice facilities. The staff are clearly devoted.

And it was obvious that none of them had ever encountered a kid with Down syndrome. (Or if they had, not much.)

We’d been to the auditorium (where Sophie begged to get up on the stage; I said no); to the dance studio (where I’d given in and let Sophie perform her role from the Snow Queen for the education director and special ed teacher); to the gym, cafeteria, and math/social studies classrooms when I pulled the education director aside and said, “So, I hear Sophie would be the first student with Down syndrome at your school.”

“Oh yes,” she said, laughing nervously.

“So what do you think?” I asked. Sophie had made it up the long staircase, but barely. She kept sneaking her thumb into her mouth. She identified equipment in the science lab, shook hands politely with teachers, stared back (not impolitely) at the kids who stared (not impolitely) at her. In all, a mixed bag of behavior.

But still, I figured this woman would talk about how smart Sophie was, how witty, how well she’d fit in. She didn’t.

“Oh boy! Well, um, yeah,” she fumbled. More nervous laughter.

I interrupted. “It’s okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

And I was sorry. The tour continued; I stayed behind for a moment to compose myself and snapped a photograph of a quote on the wall outside an English classroom:

“It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” — J.K. Rowling.

I have not read or seen Harry Potter (I know, I know) so I’m not sure of the reference, but the words rang in my head. This junior high thing is all about choices, and I’m the one who has to make the choice. I am the steward. If I screw up, Sophie suffers. (And other people, too, potentially.) Yes, Ray is part of this, but really, it’s me.

And I don’t do well with choices. As we walked down the stairs I thought about the last time I had limitless choices — just after graduate school. I had no boyfriend, no job, just a few boxes of books and cassette tapes. I could move anywhere, do anything. I sent out resumes, interviewed for jobs, trained as a bartender (that didn’t go well), even got a few offers. In the end, I froze. I came home.

And in the end, it was the right decision.

I want to make the right decision for Sophie. But there are too many choices — and none are right. I’m beginning to feel like Goldilocks.

Walking down those stairs, I knew this school was not the right choice. We were all quiet (except Sophie) as we walked back to the office. As we approached the door, the education director interrupted the silence.

“You know, when you were asking before about a student with Down syndrome going to this school….”

“Yes?”

“Well, I guess what I meant to say is that we’ve never had the experience before. For whatever reason, it hasn’t happened,” she said. “The thing is, we’d all be learning together.”

I looked up and smiled at her. I felt better. Better enough, at least, to fill out the lottery form before we left.

I pulled up to Sophie’s elementary school and jumped out to help her out of the car. She held her arms wide. “Hug!” she said.

I wrapped my arms around her, Olivia the Pig backpack and all, and held on tight. Then I sent her off to her sweet little school and tried to remember, as I pulled away, how hard it was to make the choice to send her there.

“How’d it go?” I texted toward the end of the day. “Was Sophie swinging from the chandeliers?”

No no, Sophie did really well, Ms. X insisted, and her classroom observation with the principal was great. So great she wanted to celebrate, so we met for frozen yogurt.

Sophie pretty much followed directions all morning, Ms. X reported; she only got distracted when her chair was too far from the table. Ms. X spotted that, cruised over, pushed her in and kept right on with her lesson — didn’t miss a beat.

This observation was about Ms. X, not Sophie, but I had worried Sophie would disrupt the whole thing and keep Ms. X from tending to her 20-plus students. She assured me that didn’t happen. She told me Sophie completed her assignment without help, which I thought was pretty cool. It’s part of the rodeo theme this week — the kids had to cut out pictures of a cookout and put those pictures in sequence:

Ms. X had been stuck in the classroom all day, so I filled her in on the other big news: The Arizona Supreme Court struck down the state’s voucher program for disabled kids.

I have real mixed feelings about that. (A caveat: You — or I, at least — can only scratch the surface in a quick blog post.) Kindergarten in the public school setting is going amazingly well for Sophie — and it appears we are in a good shape for first grade (knock wood). But beyond that? I reserve the right to explore other options.

I didn’t always feel that way. By conservative Arizona’s standards, I’m practically a socialist, and that includes my feelings toward the public school system.

As long as I’ve been paying attention (probably longer), the right wing in this state has been pecking away at public education — not just starving it, but also trying to legislate it out of existence. Or darn close.

In the mid-1990s, there was a wholesale push for vouchers, which would basically take the money spent on public school and give it to parents to use at private schools, including private religious schools.

Even in Arizona, that one didn’t end up flying. Some will tell you that’s simply due to the power of the teachers’ unions. But I like to think there are folks out there who agree with me that public education is sacrosanct (or should be) in our country.

I get it, I get it. Some private schools are much better. But a voucher program, in my opinion, is simply a way of giving up on public schools. Not acceptable.

I was happy to see vouchers go down and upset when a bill allowing for charter schools passed. Another way to starve the public schools!

“Just wait til you have kids!” my conservative friends said.

It’s understood that most of us start out pretty liberal and get more conservative as we get older. I get that, I guess, although I’m not so sure that’s because wisdom comes with age.

More like the world beats you down.

I’ve never thought there was anything wrong with having high standards — or at least high hopes. I come by my blueness (naive or not) honestly. My mother was a McGovern delegate. Her people were actually socialists. (Really!) And I came of age in the 1980s — with a strong desire to go against the Reagan-inspired flow.

Now it’s true that over the years my mom’s gone from volunteering for Common Cause to serving as secretary of the homeowner’s association (if you ask, she’ll insist that those speed bumps leading into my parents’ gated community are NOT necessary and in fact a safety hazaard!) but her heart still bleeds. Mine, too.

Maybe we both just like going against the flow.

But now the river’s risen up to meet us, or whatever the appropriate saying is. Because suddenly, all my friends (even my super crunchy, Obama loving, tree hugging friends) with fifth graders are desperate to get their kids into the arsty charter school downtown, instead of the public junior high.

Even my mom called to tell me the artsy charter school’s going to start accepting fifth graders. “Wouldn’t that be perfect for Annabelle?” she sighed.

It would. I have to agree that it would. There are a lot of lousy charter schools out there, but there are some damn good ones, too. I’ll admit it.

And this disabled kid voucher thing? Even stickier. Let’s face it: Our public schools are not equipped to deal with no-problem kids, let alone the likes of Sophie (particularly on a bad day). There will come a time when Sophie has a teacher I can’t text, who won’t invite me out for frozen yogurt, who might be a decent person trying hard, but not willing — maybe not even able — to work her ass off to accomodate my child.

I might want to send Sophie to (I can’t believe I’m about to write this) to private school.

And now one option’s gone. Although I can’t imagine these voucher folks won’t appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court. Who knows. Maybe they’ll win. That will piss me off, too, because whether she would have gained from the voucher program or not, I can’t help feeling resentful of the right wing for finding a wedge — in the form of my disabled kid — to use to get in as far as they’ve gotten in on this voucher thing.

I still think there’s got to be a way to get our public schools to work, so that all the Annabelles and the Sophies of the world can be well served there and we won’t all be desperate for other options.

Go ahead, laugh. But I’m going to hang onto my hope, even as I’m filling out those private school applications….