Through the Looking Glass
My daughter's been having a few problems settling down to school life, refusing to join her friends in the classroom every morning and only letting go of whoever's on drop-off duty when she's dynamited free.
Not so strange - it's still only her second week of full-time schooling. What makes it weird, though, is that once my wife or I are out of sight, she runs off to play with her mates like nothing's happened. Flick the switch and off she goes.
Her behaviour's been noticeable enough for us to be offered the chance to have her tested to see what's behind this faux separation anxiety - the idea being that there's a message in her behaviour that the teachers, my wife and I unable to interpret.
The test involved my wife and my daughter sitting in a room while a counsellor and I watched them through one of those windows that looks like a mirror on their side of the wall. There'd then be a sequence of someone coming in, my wife going out, my wife coming in (and they shake it all about).
The counsellor is still working out her conclusions from the videotape she shot from the half-hour session, but I've been able to draw one of my own conclusions while we're waiting: either my little girl is extremely savvy, or she's been watching episodes of 24 while we're all asleep.
Left alone in the room for a time, she suddenly stopped playing, sidled up to the 'mirror', looked right into the camera on the other side, and said something we couldn't make out. It'll have been picked up by the microphone in the room, so we'll know next week, but I've got a feeling it'll be something like 'Gotcha'. She'd tumbled us.
My daughter - nobody's mug.
Not so strange - it's still only her second week of full-time schooling. What makes it weird, though, is that once my wife or I are out of sight, she runs off to play with her mates like nothing's happened. Flick the switch and off she goes.
Her behaviour's been noticeable enough for us to be offered the chance to have her tested to see what's behind this faux separation anxiety - the idea being that there's a message in her behaviour that the teachers, my wife and I unable to interpret.
The test involved my wife and my daughter sitting in a room while a counsellor and I watched them through one of those windows that looks like a mirror on their side of the wall. There'd then be a sequence of someone coming in, my wife going out, my wife coming in (and they shake it all about).
The counsellor is still working out her conclusions from the videotape she shot from the half-hour session, but I've been able to draw one of my own conclusions while we're waiting: either my little girl is extremely savvy, or she's been watching episodes of 24 while we're all asleep.
Left alone in the room for a time, she suddenly stopped playing, sidled up to the 'mirror', looked right into the camera on the other side, and said something we couldn't make out. It'll have been picked up by the microphone in the room, so we'll know next week, but I've got a feeling it'll be something like 'Gotcha'. She'd tumbled us.
My daughter - nobody's mug.
posted by Pete Kempshall at 5:12 PM
1 Comments:
You had none of this when I was a kid.
It was a smack round teh back of the (bare) legs (because we wore shorts) with the slipper bag and I was plonked in a seat.
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