Lauren revealed to us last night that Hannah is a “neckophobe” – that is, someone who has an irrational fear of having their neck pinched.
Sounds like she’s inherited that from me.
Archive for the 'Education' Category
Since September the girls have been at junior school (I think that’s 3rd grade to US readers). The change in them has been amazing: they’re just drinking up facts and information like… well, like things that drink up facts and information, I suppose.
This morning, as they were getting dressed, they wanted to know about mammals. No, actually, that’s a lie: Hannah wanted to shave her arms because they’re “all hairy” and we sort of managed to divert the issue by talking about mammals. I told them all mammals have hair all over their bodies.
“What, even pigs?”
Yes, I said, even pigs.
“Even whales?”
Even whales. (Please don’t correct me if I’m wrong: I’m a parent, not a zoologist. Remember the primary aim here was not to educate, it was to prevent shaving.)
“Even monkeys?” And so on.
I asked them if they knew the two other things that all mammals have in common. They ummed and ahhed for a bit. Nicola hinted it had something to do with babies.
“They all like babies?” said Lauren.
No, we said. Think about what they give birth to…
“Kittens?” said Hannah.
I think at this point we gave them the live young vs. eggs thing as a freebie. (It was getting close to school time.) This just left the milk thing.
“Think about the little piglets we saw at the farm,” I suggested.
“It’s got something to do with boobies…” hinted Nicola.
“And babies…” I added.
“Oh, I know,” said Hannah with a confident nod, “babies don’t have boobies!”
“And neither do piglets!” chimed Lauren.
Genius.
I came down for breakfast this morning to find the girls practising writing their names backwards.
Lauren: Daddy, from now on my name is Nerual! [pronounced to rhyme with Beryl]
Me: OK Nerual.
Lauren: And your name is Kram!
Me: OK.
[Perfectly timed pause]
Hannah: You can just call me Hannah.
This, as you can undoubtedly tell, is Hannah’s sound picture:
Click on it for the full story!
The girls got recorders for Christmas. They’re both downstairs abusing them now.
So far they have only learnt one note: that piercing one you get when you blow too hard with all holes uncovered.
Shriek! Shriek! Shriek-shriek-shriek!
Mike Oldfield this ain’t. I am approaching the point of despair.
A word from the wise: if your children ever come into posession of recorders, buy ear muffs or leave home.
Hannah and Lauren went on a school trip last week (a day out at Lyme Park). Here is the list of things to take that Hannah brought home from school. (Click it for a bigger version.)
List for the trip
- Lunch
- bag
- thining caps (thinking caps)
- listening ears
- good manners
- treyners (trainers)
- coat (i.e. rain mac – it was baking hot)
- Bottle (i.e. of water)
- hat (it means sun-hat, although one of the girls tried to take a woolly bobble hat)
- Biran (brain)
- sunglasses
- books
- suncrim (sun cream)
“The best in the whole wide wierd” by bitrot
Hannah wrote this questionnaire this morning and got me and Nicola to write in our answers. I suspect we were biased.
The answers to the obvious questions were:
1. “Oh yeah, it’s meant to say ‘world’.”
2. (Regarding the cactus-shaped object) “Er… it’s a bogey!”
Hannah and Lauren’s reading is really coming on these days, and they’re bringing more and more advanced reading books home from school. Yesterday Lauren was doing a lovely job of reading Sleeping Beauty. I wonder if you can spot the one word she stumbled on?
“Can I try it?” said the princess.
“Of course,” replied the old woman. The princess reached over, but the moment her finger touched the spinach she fell into a deep sleep.
The girls are cock-a-hoop today because the dinner ladies’ strike means they can take lunch boxes to school… with eggy sandwiches. We’ve been resisting the pressure to switch from hot dinners to packed lunches for over a year now. Our argument is that making packed lunches takes time and will make us (even) late(r) for school in the mornings. Countering this is Hannah and Lauren’s considered position that but… but… but X takes packed lunches, and so does Y, and even Z doesn’t have hot dinners any more, and we’ve got pink lunch boxes with pictures of princesses on them, and awhh, it’s not fair!
You can see how finely balanced this thing is.
We’re expecting a full-on assault at home time tonight, with stories of how much fun they had, and how healthy they feel, and how honesly, the eggy sandwiches haven’t made them parp any more that usual. It’s going to be tough. Any suggestions for a counter-attack will be welcome, but please make it quick.
At the end of dinner tonight, Hannah (age 5, let’s not forget) proudly announced, “16 add 16 is 32!”
What slightly took the edge off this little moment of mathematical genius was the fact that moments earlier she had asked, “Is salmon made out of crabs?”
We were leaving the house for school one day recently when Lauren suddenly piped up: “Daddy, if Zosha’s house was the other way round it would be the same old as Mummy.”
It took me a while to figure it out. Zosha is a school friend who lives on our road. I finally realised that her house number was Nicola’s current age in reverse. (For sake of argument, and chivalry, let’s say she lives at No 12.) Hannah and Lauren had just started to get the hang of big numbers and Lauren had just been struck by this little coincidence.
It’s a great insight into what occupies those busy little minds at idle moments – and a canny piece of reckoning to boot, I thought.
Getting dressed this morning, the girls decided to put me on the spot with some rapid-fire arithmetic.
Lauren: Daddy, what makes three and three?
Me (blearily): What…?
Hannah: Six!
[Much chuckling and cackling ensues because they beat me to it and I am a dunce.]
Hannah: Daddy, what makes… four… and four?
Lauren: Eight!
[Shrieks of laughter at expense of village idiot.]
Lauren: What makes… nine and nine?!
[Pause.]
Hannah: Daddy, what makes nine and nine?
Me: Eighteen.
Hannah: Oh.
[They chuckle for reasons best know to themselves.]
Hannah: What makes… ten and ten?
Lauren: Infinity?
Me: No, twenty.
Lauren: So, what makes a hundred and a hundred?
Hannah: Infinity?
Me: No, two hundred.
Lauren: Is two hundred and two hundred inifinity?
And so on. I can see this taking some time.
We were on holiday in Spain recently. We stayed in a static caravan that had a round badge on one side with the holiday company’s logo on it. Anyone who’s ever met a four-year-old will know that every sentence they utter begins with “Why…”, and the sad fact is that the vast majority cannot easily be followed with a sentence beginning “Because…”. (Two examples that spring to mind are “Why is Spain blue?” and “Why has Mummy gone for a wee-wee?”)
Anyway, back to the caravan. Hannah sat outside one day, looking thoughtfully at the holiday company logo, and then asked: “Why has that circle on our caravan got three ‘wuhs’ on it?” – “wuhs”, of course, in the four-year-old phonetic alphabet, being Ws.
Oh happy day. Oh happy father.
Perhaps as recently as six months ago I would have glossed over this question like so many others, judging that the girls were not yet old enough to fathom the complex logistics of a global information network reaching into all of our homes. But now, blinded perhaps by some kind of mad holiday euphoria, I decided to have a stab at it. We started with a tour of the caravan, discovering the mysterious mark of “three wuhs” on items as diverse as Mummy’s book, Daddy’s hat, and the mayonnaise.
“Now then,” I said, sitting them both down. I imagined they must have felt a bit like the bloke in The Matrix when he starts to realise the whole world is not as he had thought. “Do you know what the three wuhs mean?”
Two heads slowly shook, slack-jawed with bewilderment. I savoured the moment then spoke again.
“Well… er… you know when we get CBeebies on the computer?”
Nod. Nod.
“Well… it’s bit like that really. You can get the caravan on the computer. Or Mummy’s book.”
Blankness.
“Well, pictures of them really…”
Outside, a tumbleweed drifted past. It was beginning to dawn on me just what I’d embarked on.
“Can we do CBeebies on the ‘puter now?” asked Lauren.
“No, sweetheart. We haven’t got a computer here, have we?”
Another tense pause.
“But when we get home then?”
“Yes, when we get home, of course we can.”
“And can we see the caravan? And Mummy’s book?”
“Er… well, yes… listen, who wants an ice-cream?”
“ME!!!”
Phew.
The rest of the holiday was spent spotting “three wuhs” on just about everything. I tell you, you just don’t notice how prevalent the bloody things are until you’ve got two small girls spotting each and every one for you, as if they’re rare jewels. And as a result of my excellent tuition, Hannah and Lauren now know two new things: (1) three wuhs are everywhere, and (2) that means everything is a bit like CBeebies, but only when it’s on the computer, not on the telly.
I should hire myself out for private tuition, I really should.