A new schema: scattering.
"Mum! Come here! Iris is on the table and she's throwing food!" Iris was frisbee-ing bits of pizza to the edges of the room. I got her down, sorted things out and said I couldn't have that, but that if she really wanted to throw we could, and if it was food she desparately wanted to throw we could go and feed the ducks, and if she needed to be on a table we could find one that was okay to be on, or maybe she'd prefer to be up on something else, like a climbing frame, or that if she was really into scattering we could arrange that.
"Scattering!" said Iris, slowly letting the desire drip off her tone, and then she zoned out, her eyes glazed and her face relaxed into estatic contemplation.
I diagnose a schema. Other people say schemas are repeated patterns of behaviour that have a common thread of thinking at an abstract level; and, now I think about it, it is true she has been scattering folded washing, rice, cat food, and urine lately. But I find the absorbed passion that leads the child into unusual trouble is the most obvious marker of a new schema.
When Martha's car arrived to pick up the kids for Playcentre this morning Iris immediately said
"Marfa! Today at Playcentre I want to do some scattering because I so love scattering."