I'm the Mummy

This has been on my table since Sunday, I made it for the challenge over at Daring Cardmakers. You actually have to say the 'who who who' thing to make it work...and therefore, it probably doesn't work! Being the Mummy has become of relevance to me this week. Generally, I like to think that these days, at 15 and some months, Miss Dunnit appreciates that our relationship is as good as it gets for a mother and daughter. (Stay with me, I won't make you any more nauseous, promise!) I'm not naive enough to think she doesn't have secrets and blah, but I think that if she wants to share something with me, she can safely do so, knowing I won't break a trust if it was a secret. And I haven't. So yesterday, I picked her up from school after the first of this summer's GCSE exams - RE. She said it was good, she was happy and reasonably confident and that she'd remembered to pace herself etc. There I am, driving along, smugly thinking that she's the ideal candidate...all the years that I've refused to accept drama and whining (let's not talk about my double standards, please - this is about my maternal gifts!), she's not in a panic and not allowing nerves to get the better of her. I'm so proud. Then she tells me that the boy who was at the desk next to her spent the second hour (two hour paper) whispering her name and trying to get her to talk to him. I nearly crashed the car - interrupted concentration, see. So how does she cope with this massive interruption to her concentration? She recalled the story I once told her about a school chum who was disqualified from an exam for telling her tormentor to shut up; decided that she's not going to be disqualified, and so shifted around in her chair so he was no longer in her line of vision, and got on with it. At this point, let me say that I did suggest, nay recommend, that raising her hand to get the invigilator's attention would have had the boy 'silenced' .(I'm sorry, I know it's not a fascist state, I just can't think of a better word!). But no, Miss Dunnit has a better plan up her sleeve. For once, I have permission to telephone school, to speak to the exam co-ordinator - just in case there are people who can't ignore this foolish boy when he gets bored in the next exam. Because that disqualification story has really become embedded and Miss Dunnit is worried about the potential consequences for any of her year group who aren't strong enough to ignore such interruptions. Man, my child is so cool, she probably poops ice cubes.
I spoke to school this morning, the exam co-ordinator is, sadly, aware of the problem. I'm sad too; this boy obviously hasn't seen the possibilities out there yet. And then it might be too late. Shame. I'm also slightly freaked by the impact of the disqualification story...my my, how many more times will my daughter reveal that my experiences are actually her traumas?! But I've done my daughter's bidding, the little task she set me for the day. I continue to be smug and proud in equal measure, but I confess that my reaction was pretty much the opposite of hers. I was all for just dealing with the impact on her and was slow to consider the wider picture. So now, who who who the Mummy?