Oh, pick me, pick me!

Today I mailed off my son’s application, and I am breathless with the hope that he’ll be accepted.  It’s like I just mailed off his application to Harvard and I’ve got my fingers crossed that he’s done enough extracurricular activities to actually catch someone’s eye.

Please pick me, please pick me, please pick me. Please please please please.

I filled out the form completely, and in my best penmanship.  (Not that the nuns at Catholic school ever thought it was ever any good. I got C’s every time.  It’s not my fault I have poor fine motor skills you know.) 

I looked up the expert’s contact information and jotted them down.  I included four videos showing him in various activities that are sure to catch the admissions director’s eye.  I even, get this, wrote an essay (totally not required, but you know I go the extra mile to beat out the competition.  Plus I’m a writer so it took me, like, 15 minutes.). I wrote the essay so that they could see that Conor was the perfect candidate. I hope I answered all the questions correctly, you never know what they’re looking for.

I’m breathless with anticipation.

Unfortunately for us, the application was to Kennedy Krieger Institute’s NeuroBehavioral Unit and, if they watch the video I sent with it, Conor’s participated in plenty of the required extracurricular activity.  Some days, it seems tantrumming is the major activity he does.

The NeuroBehavioral Unit or NBU (we love acronyms, don’t we?) is “dedicated to the assessment and treatment of severe problem behavior displayed by individuals with autism and intellectual disabilities.”  You can be admitted to inpatient or apply for outpatient.  We’re hoping for outpatient services.  Although Conor going somewhere else under strict supervision for eight weeks…. no, no, good moms wouldn’t think that way.  Bad mommy.

And so, I sent it the 5.28 miles down the road via Priority Mail.  Hey, I’m serious about this! (And it was only $0.05 more than regular parcel post anyway.)  I almost thought about getting that signature-required certificate thingy from the post office but who’s kidding whom here.  I’m going to stalk that Intake Specialist II Mr. Tony Ake until he processes that stellar application and at least gets me that interview.

At which point, I will impress them with my commitment to my son’s treatment and the way in which Conor has overachieved in every area they look for when considering admissions. Hell, at the rate he’s going, he could even be valedictorian. 

I’m so proud.