It was all idle chatter, til the phone rang a couple hours later. I love Ms. X. She promised she’d let me know any time anything happened, and she has, so far. The phone rings almost every afternoon. This time she sounded serious. Turns out, Sophie actually left the classroom, and headed, in her high-spirited way, right down the hall toward the main door (which isn’t so far from the street). Ms. X caught her and gave her a time out and was very, very stern with her.

Sophie knew. She immediately walked to the bulletin board, where the “green behavior slips” are posted (make it through the day without losing the slip, and a note goes home saying you were “super”) and silently handed it to Ms. X.

“She’s not dumb,” I said.

“Oh no,” Ms. X replied. “She’s not dumb.”

She’s not. Just this morning, Ray and Annabelle and I marveled at a dozen things Sophie did and said.

But her behavior is simply unacceptable. And exactly what I was worried about.

What am I supposed to do? Put Sophie in a contained, dumbed-down classroom she can’t escape from? (I’m not sure such a place even exists; she doesn’t qualify for it cognitively, in any case.) Or hold my breath for the unforseeable future?

Or get a micro-chip?

Today was the last day of pre-school. Actually, it wasn’t, because Sophie ditched. Annabelle’s camp was done so I had a sitter anyway, and when I asked, Annabelle said she’d prefer to have Sophie stay home with her.

(INSERT AUDIENCE TRACK: “AHHHHHHH”.)

So we didn’t really say goodbye. That’s okay. I hate goodbyes and I’ve had more than my share, this summer. Leaving this school is cutting the final cord, before kindergarten.

We leave with good memories of the place. Here’s the link to a piece I did about Sophie and her school, a little more than two years ago, for KJZZ, the local NPR affiliate:

http://kjzz.org/news/arizona/archives/200605/amysilverman

But while I do adore the staff and teachers and director (who accomodated Sophie when they didn’t have to — there’s no mandate at a private pre-school to take a special needs kid, and she was one of only a couple) there was something missing.

In three years, Sophie didn’t make a single friend. Not even an acquaintance, really.

There are lots of reasons for that — ways to justify it — but I think for now I’ll just move on, and hope for friends in kindergarten.

For now, I have a bigger concern: Should I order Safetytats?

I’m oddly fascinating with this product, in a train wreck sort of way. It’s horrifying, that you’d have to tattoo your kid (albeit temporarily) with their name and number. It’s reminiscent of those of kid leashes I hate, of computer chips for your pet, of — dare I say it? — the Holocaust.

Okay, I know that’s a little silly, but that’s what I thought of.

The Safetytat is made for places like amusement parks, but I immediately thought of kindergarten.

One thing I’ll say for the school we left today: Kids don’t get lost. The staff/student ratio is practically one to one. I’ve had interns there tell me they can’t find kids to play with, there are so many adults around. (Perhaps one reason Sophie hasn’t sought out her peers.)

Kindergarten won’t be like that. Kindergarten will be 22 kids to 1 teacher. One very good teacher, but one teacher.

Still, I don’t think I can bring myself to tattoo my child, to keep her safe between the cafeteria to the playground.

Or maybe I can. I’ll hold off on a final decision til after the first week of school.