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Disponível em:<http://climanalise.cptec.inpe.br/~rclimanl/boletim /edicoes/2007/abr/fig24.shtm> . Acesso em: 10 ago. 2018.
A imagem de satélite destaca o sistema meteorológico identificado como Zona de Convergência Intertropical (ZCIT).
Assinale a alternativa incorreta sobre a atuação desse sistema no Atlântico Equatorial.
Nesse aspecto, analise a atividade a seguir.
BATISTA et al Avaliação Diagnóstica da Alfabetização. Belo Horizonte: Ceale / FAB / UFMG, 2005, p.49.
Em relação a essa atividade, é correto afirmar que se tem o objetivo de avaliar a capacidade de
Segundo Paulo Freire, nessa obra, ensinar exige
Analise os seguintes comportamentos relacionados ao processo de aquisição de escrita da criança.
I. Produção de rabisco indicando não reconhecer os sinais próprios da escrita alfabética.
II. Escrita de letras indicando que a escrita é produzida por sinais convencionais.
III. Escrita de muitas letras para palavras que representam objetos grandes e poucas letras para os pequenos.
IV. Escrita utilizando critérios ligados à quantidade e à variedade de letras (não usa, por exemplo, apenas uma letra para representar uma palavra e não representa uma palavra sem variar o tipo de letra, por exemplo, AAAA).
V. Escrita de uma letra para cada sílaba, estabelecendo ou não correspondências entre sons da fala e letras convencionais (por exemplo, a palavra CAVALO é grafada com três letras, porque tem três sílabas: CVL, quando a criança estabelece correspondências entre grafemas e fonemas presentes na sílaba, ou BTA, quando não estabelece).
VI. Escrita de uma letra para cada fonema, demonstrando conhecer o princípio alfabético do sistema de escrita.
São elementos que devem ser considerados segundo Batista,
Sobre os métodos de alfabetização, é incorreto afirmar:
Sobre essa organização, relacione a COLUNA I com a COLUNA II associando o tipo de agrupamento às suas respectivas características.
COLUNA I 1. Grande grupo 2. Pequenos grupos 3. Duplas 4. Individualmente
COLUNA II
( ) O professor realiza uma única atividade, tendo por objetivo desenvolver determinados conhecimentos. ( ) Cada grupo pode trabalhar de forma independente, realizando a mesma tarefa, ou propor atividades diversificadas, em que cada grupo tem uma tarefa a ser cumprida. ( ) Têm a possibilidade de levantar hipóteses e de discutir e argumentar suas ideias de forma mais intensa, sem precisar disputar a fala com o grande grupo. ( ) O aluno tem a possibilidade de refletir e sistematizar os seus próprios saberes e coordenar as suas ações.
Assinale a sequência correta.
Assinale a alternativa que apresenta o conteúdo que não pertence à classificação tipológica desse autor.
Com base no texto, analise as seguintes afirmativas sobre a criança no ciclo de alfabetização, assinalando com V as verdadeiras e com F as falsas.
( ) Infância é um fato social, uma construção coletiva que tem assumido uma forma, um sentido e um conteúdo a partir das formas de agir, pensar e / ou sentir de uma coletividade. ( ) Teóricos da Educação vêm defendendo as atividades lúdicas como recursos para o desenvolvimento de ações pedagógicas significativas e para aquisição da leitura, da escrita e de conceitos matemáticos. ( ) Constrói-se um espaço lúdico apenas com uma sala de jogos e brinquedos, por isso é bom lembrar que são os sujeitos envolvidos que atribuem novo significado ao espaço. ( ) A didatização deve ser vista como característica importante e necessária à atividade lúdica, pois é por meio desse processo de sistematização do conteúdo que as crianças aprendem.
Assinale a sequência correta.
TEXT TWO:
After so long a pause that Marcia felt sure whoever it was must have gone away, the front doorbell rang again, a courteously brief ‘still waiting.’
It would be a neighbor child on the way home from school with a handful of basketball tickets. Or an agent tardily taking orders for cheap and gaudy Christmas cards.
The trip down to the door would be laborious. Doctor Bowen had wanted her to avoid the stairs as much as possible from now on. But the diffident summons sounded very plaintive in its competition with the savage swish of sleet against the windows.
Raising herself heavily on her elbows, Marcia tried to squeeze a prompt decision out of her tousled blonde head with the tips of slim fingers. The mirror of the vanity table ventured a comforting comment on the girlish cornflower fringe that Paul always said brought out the blue in her eyes. She pressed her palms hard on the yellow curls, debating whether to make the effort. In any event she would have to go down soon, for the luncheon table was standing exactly as they had left it, and Paul would be returning in half an hour.
Edging clumsily to the side of the bed, she sat up, momentarily swept with vertigo, and fumbled with her stockinged toes for the shapeless slippers in which she had awkwardly paddled about through two previous campaigns in behalf of humanity’s perpetuity. When done with them, this time, Marcia expected to throw the slippers away.
Roberta eagerly reached up both chubby arms and bounced ecstatically at the approach of the outstretched hands. Wellie scrambled up out of his blocks and detonated an ominously sloppy sneeze.
Marcia said “Please don’t tell me you’ve been taking cold again.”
Wellie denied the accusation with a vigorous shake of his head, whooped hoarsely, and began slowly pacing the intermittent clatter of their procession down he dingy stairway, the flat of his small hand squeaking on the cold rail of the ugly yellow banister.
The bulky figure of a woman was silhouetted on the frosted glass panels of the street door. Wellie, with a wobbly index finger in his nose, halted to reconnoiter as they neared the bottom of the stairs, and his mother gave him a gentle push forward. They were in the front hall now, Marcia irresolutely considering whether to brave the blizzard. Wallie decided this matter by inquiring who it was in a penetrating treble, reinforcing his desire to know by twisting the knob with ineffective hands. Marcia shifted Roberta into the crook of her other arm and opened the door to a breath-taking swirl of stinging snow, the first real storm of the season.
DOUGLAS, Lloyd C. White Banners. New York: P. F. Collier &
Son Corporation, 1936.
TEXT TWO:
After so long a pause that Marcia felt sure whoever it was must have gone away, the front doorbell rang again, a courteously brief ‘still waiting.’
It would be a neighbor child on the way home from school with a handful of basketball tickets. Or an agent tardily taking orders for cheap and gaudy Christmas cards.
The trip down to the door would be laborious. Doctor Bowen had wanted her to avoid the stairs as much as possible from now on. But the diffident summons sounded very plaintive in its competition with the savage swish of sleet against the windows.
Raising herself heavily on her elbows, Marcia tried to squeeze a prompt decision out of her tousled blonde head with the tips of slim fingers. The mirror of the vanity table ventured a comforting comment on the girlish cornflower fringe that Paul always said brought out the blue in her eyes. She pressed her palms hard on the yellow curls, debating whether to make the effort. In any event she would have to go down soon, for the luncheon table was standing exactly as they had left it, and Paul would be returning in half an hour.
Edging clumsily to the side of the bed, she sat up, momentarily swept with vertigo, and fumbled with her stockinged toes for the shapeless slippers in which she had awkwardly paddled about through two previous campaigns in behalf of humanity’s perpetuity. When done with them, this time, Marcia expected to throw the slippers away.
Roberta eagerly reached up both chubby arms and bounced ecstatically at the approach of the outstretched hands. Wellie scrambled up out of his blocks and detonated an ominously sloppy sneeze.
Marcia said “Please don’t tell me you’ve been taking cold again.”
Wellie denied the accusation with a vigorous shake of his head, whooped hoarsely, and began slowly pacing the intermittent clatter of their procession down he dingy stairway, the flat of his small hand squeaking on the cold rail of the ugly yellow banister.
The bulky figure of a woman was silhouetted on the frosted glass panels of the street door. Wellie, with a wobbly index finger in his nose, halted to reconnoiter as they neared the bottom of the stairs, and his mother gave him a gentle push forward. They were in the front hall now, Marcia irresolutely considering whether to brave the blizzard. Wallie decided this matter by inquiring who it was in a penetrating treble, reinforcing his desire to know by twisting the knob with ineffective hands. Marcia shifted Roberta into the crook of her other arm and opened the door to a breath-taking swirl of stinging snow, the first real storm of the season.
DOUGLAS, Lloyd C. White Banners. New York: P. F. Collier &
Son Corporation, 1936.
TEXT TWO:
After so long a pause that Marcia felt sure whoever it was must have gone away, the front doorbell rang again, a courteously brief ‘still waiting.’
It would be a neighbor child on the way home from school with a handful of basketball tickets. Or an agent tardily taking orders for cheap and gaudy Christmas cards.
The trip down to the door would be laborious. Doctor Bowen had wanted her to avoid the stairs as much as possible from now on. But the diffident summons sounded very plaintive in its competition with the savage swish of sleet against the windows.
Raising herself heavily on her elbows, Marcia tried to squeeze a prompt decision out of her tousled blonde head with the tips of slim fingers. The mirror of the vanity table ventured a comforting comment on the girlish cornflower fringe that Paul always said brought out the blue in her eyes. She pressed her palms hard on the yellow curls, debating whether to make the effort. In any event she would have to go down soon, for the luncheon table was standing exactly as they had left it, and Paul would be returning in half an hour.
Edging clumsily to the side of the bed, she sat up, momentarily swept with vertigo, and fumbled with her stockinged toes for the shapeless slippers in which she had awkwardly paddled about through two previous campaigns in behalf of humanity’s perpetuity. When done with them, this time, Marcia expected to throw the slippers away.
Roberta eagerly reached up both chubby arms and bounced ecstatically at the approach of the outstretched hands. Wellie scrambled up out of his blocks and detonated an ominously sloppy sneeze.
Marcia said “Please don’t tell me you’ve been taking cold again.”
Wellie denied the accusation with a vigorous shake of his head, whooped hoarsely, and began slowly pacing the intermittent clatter of their procession down he dingy stairway, the flat of his small hand squeaking on the cold rail of the ugly yellow banister.
The bulky figure of a woman was silhouetted on the frosted glass panels of the street door. Wellie, with a wobbly index finger in his nose, halted to reconnoiter as they neared the bottom of the stairs, and his mother gave him a gentle push forward. They were in the front hall now, Marcia irresolutely considering whether to brave the blizzard. Wallie decided this matter by inquiring who it was in a penetrating treble, reinforcing his desire to know by twisting the knob with ineffective hands. Marcia shifted Roberta into the crook of her other arm and opened the door to a breath-taking swirl of stinging snow, the first real storm of the season.
DOUGLAS, Lloyd C. White Banners. New York: P. F. Collier &
Son Corporation, 1936.
TEXT TWO:
After so long a pause that Marcia felt sure whoever it was must have gone away, the front doorbell rang again, a courteously brief ‘still waiting.’
It would be a neighbor child on the way home from school with a handful of basketball tickets. Or an agent tardily taking orders for cheap and gaudy Christmas cards.
The trip down to the door would be laborious. Doctor Bowen had wanted her to avoid the stairs as much as possible from now on. But the diffident summons sounded very plaintive in its competition with the savage swish of sleet against the windows.
Raising herself heavily on her elbows, Marcia tried to squeeze a prompt decision out of her tousled blonde head with the tips of slim fingers. The mirror of the vanity table ventured a comforting comment on the girlish cornflower fringe that Paul always said brought out the blue in her eyes. She pressed her palms hard on the yellow curls, debating whether to make the effort. In any event she would have to go down soon, for the luncheon table was standing exactly as they had left it, and Paul would be returning in half an hour.
Edging clumsily to the side of the bed, she sat up, momentarily swept with vertigo, and fumbled with her stockinged toes for the shapeless slippers in which she had awkwardly paddled about through two previous campaigns in behalf of humanity’s perpetuity. When done with them, this time, Marcia expected to throw the slippers away.
Roberta eagerly reached up both chubby arms and bounced ecstatically at the approach of the outstretched hands. Wellie scrambled up out of his blocks and detonated an ominously sloppy sneeze.
Marcia said “Please don’t tell me you’ve been taking cold again.”
Wellie denied the accusation with a vigorous shake of his head, whooped hoarsely, and began slowly pacing the intermittent clatter of their procession down he dingy stairway, the flat of his small hand squeaking on the cold rail of the ugly yellow banister.
The bulky figure of a woman was silhouetted on the frosted glass panels of the street door. Wellie, with a wobbly index finger in his nose, halted to reconnoiter as they neared the bottom of the stairs, and his mother gave him a gentle push forward. They were in the front hall now, Marcia irresolutely considering whether to brave the blizzard. Wallie decided this matter by inquiring who it was in a penetrating treble, reinforcing his desire to know by twisting the knob with ineffective hands. Marcia shifted Roberta into the crook of her other arm and opened the door to a breath-taking swirl of stinging snow, the first real storm of the season.
DOUGLAS, Lloyd C. White Banners. New York: P. F. Collier &
Son Corporation, 1936.
TEXT TWO:
After so long a pause that Marcia felt sure whoever it was must have gone away, the front doorbell rang again, a courteously brief ‘still waiting.’
It would be a neighbor child on the way home from school with a handful of basketball tickets. Or an agent tardily taking orders for cheap and gaudy Christmas cards.
The trip down to the door would be laborious. Doctor Bowen had wanted her to avoid the stairs as much as possible from now on. But the diffident summons sounded very plaintive in its competition with the savage swish of sleet against the windows.
Raising herself heavily on her elbows, Marcia tried to squeeze a prompt decision out of her tousled blonde head with the tips of slim fingers. The mirror of the vanity table ventured a comforting comment on the girlish cornflower fringe that Paul always said brought out the blue in her eyes. She pressed her palms hard on the yellow curls, debating whether to make the effort. In any event she would have to go down soon, for the luncheon table was standing exactly as they had left it, and Paul would be returning in half an hour.
Edging clumsily to the side of the bed, she sat up, momentarily swept with vertigo, and fumbled with her stockinged toes for the shapeless slippers in which she had awkwardly paddled about through two previous campaigns in behalf of humanity’s perpetuity. When done with them, this time, Marcia expected to throw the slippers away.
Roberta eagerly reached up both chubby arms and bounced ecstatically at the approach of the outstretched hands. Wellie scrambled up out of his blocks and detonated an ominously sloppy sneeze.
Marcia said “Please don’t tell me you’ve been taking cold again.”
Wellie denied the accusation with a vigorous shake of his head, whooped hoarsely, and began slowly pacing the intermittent clatter of their procession down he dingy stairway, the flat of his small hand squeaking on the cold rail of the ugly yellow banister.
The bulky figure of a woman was silhouetted on the frosted glass panels of the street door. Wellie, with a wobbly index finger in his nose, halted to reconnoiter as they neared the bottom of the stairs, and his mother gave him a gentle push forward. They were in the front hall now, Marcia irresolutely considering whether to brave the blizzard. Wallie decided this matter by inquiring who it was in a penetrating treble, reinforcing his desire to know by twisting the knob with ineffective hands. Marcia shifted Roberta into the crook of her other arm and opened the door to a breath-taking swirl of stinging snow, the first real storm of the season.
DOUGLAS, Lloyd C. White Banners. New York: P. F. Collier &
Son Corporation, 1936.
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