Reading

The Child brought home a book from school today.  Now it’s not a reading book as such in that she’s not expected to read it herself yet.  Instead I am supposed to read it to her and discuss it.  Not really homework for us, as that’s a normal bedtime, me reading her a story and talking about it.  Of course, now I feel obliged to try and help her read a bit.  Sort of.  She got a bookmark with the book with some guideline questions to ask.  One of the questions was about the number of words on certain pages.  The Child didn’t grasp this task so easily.  Ok, she didn’t grasp it at all.  I think I must have explained it very badly.  Or maybe she was just trying to wind me up.  She kept counting the letters rather than the words.  I did try, and I think she was genuinely trying too.  We’ll keep it up though.  The book’s ours until Tuesday I think.  And she understood the story fine.  She’s still obsessed with owls, so an owl book was a good thing for her to bring home.  Of course, she chose it herself.  Well, that’s what she told me anyway.  And just to let my pride show a little bit, The Child’s come home with a few stickers this week for good behaviour.  Wish she’d behave at home too, but I shouldn’t complain.  And there’s plenty of time for school behaviour to disintegrate.  Hmm.  Now I’m going to worry myself.

The Child’s really opened up about school though.  We’ve had some really lovely conversations since Monday, and I really can call them conversations too.  My baby’s growing up, and I’m not sure whether I like this fact or not.  I do really, but I feel a bit lost now.  And how much have I gone on about this recently?  I don’t know.