Tomorrow is Sophie’s IQ test. Her third IQ test. Many people never take one in their lives. My 6-year-old is a veteran.

If her score goes down 14 points, she keeps her state services.

There have been suggestions of Benadryl and late night play sessions (and worse) but I’m playing this one straight.  (True, true, I found the psychologist with the most lenient reputation.)

But really, it is what it is. Sophie is who she is.

I know this much: IQ tests are ridiculous. I don’t need to tell you that, dear reader. You’ve heard me whine long enough about how little cognitive skill (or rote memory, which I suspect is working in Sophie’s favor) has to do with fine and gross motor challenges, or speech difficulties, the stuff of Sophie’s state services.

What I should really be doing is quitting my job and running for the Arizona Legislature, so I can try to change the law that says you only get state services for the developmentally disabled if you have a. epilepsy, b. cerebal palsy, c. autism or d. mental retardation.

Then again, maybe Sophie should run. No matter what her score tomorrow, she’ll outwit many members of the Arizona Legislature.

That was a cheap shot. Once, years ago, one of the guys I work for called our legislators “mouth breathers” and I thought that was hilarious, til recently I was thinking about it and realized that’s just a clever way of saying “retard”.

But really, when it comes to the folks making the laws for our state, it gets tempting. Not tempting enough, however, to try to join them. Not that I’d ever get elected, anyway. Talk about an exercise in futility.

Which is probably what tomorrow is. And if it isn’t, I’ll be devastated. I’m screwed either way.

I do know that either way, Sophie will be okay.

None of this changes my girl. I know that. It’s my job to fight and protect for her but it’s also my job to love and enjoy her. So instead of ending this post in anger, I’ll end it with a small tale.

The other day, appropos of not much, Annabelle remarked, “Sophie doesn’t have any collections.”

Annabelle collects many things — most recently rubber ducks. I stood for a moment and pondered the comment.

“Well,” I replied, “when you were 6, you didn’t have any collections.”

Annabelle and I both looked over at Sophie, who was busy watching Noggin.

“Hey Sophie,” I asked, “do you have collect anything?”

Looking rather bored, she answered matter-of-factly.

“Piglets.”

Um, okay, DUH. Of course Sophie collects Piglets. Her bed is covered. We talk about Piglet all the time. Annabelle and I both slapped our foreheads and we all laughed. 

Smart little girl.