Wretched Numbers (I'm Looking at You, CPS)
Yesterday morning, I woke up early to make a really healthy, warm breakfast for EJ, as it is cold outside, and she had the reading portion of her NWEA test, and wanted to do her best.
Unlike in past years, when this has been "just another thing they do" at school, with little fanfare, this year we have gotten notices about when the tests are happening—math, then reading—with suggestions to make sure the kids get adequate sleep, relax the night before, etc.
We have also had to sign papers that the kids developed with their goals for improving their test scores, and what they were going to do to make this happen. I may be mistaken on this, but I think I saw these papers—or some version of this—posted on a bulletin board in her classroom when I went in for conferences. I didn't have time to take a close look; they looked familiar to me, though.
Sigh. I feel bad that she is being asked to focus on improving her test score, write goals to do so, etc.; her goal for reading is the same as it was for math: 2-point rise from last spring, which seems nuts, as it is likely within the margin of error, and her scores are already so high, well beyond grade level, the whole push seems pointless.
When I picked EJ up, I realized she wasn't talking about her test; earlier this month, she had been so thrilled to come running out to tell me she had exceeded her math goal by two points, so I knew her quiet wasn't a good sign. I asked her about it, and she got sullen. "It was fine. I don't want to talk about it. Math is more fun."
Okay.
By the time we reached the car, I had discovered that she didn't meet her goal; her score actually went down. By how much? Three points. "Now I'm five points away from my winter goal, and my spring goal is even higher," she said, with actual anguish in her voice.
At that point, I felt like punching out every single school reform specialist or administrator who thinks that my third-grade kid should be
