If you were to see Lily today and greet her with “Hi, Lily,” chances are that she would respond with a serious face and the expression, “I’m not Lily. I’m [something else].”
This has been going on for about a month now, and she’s very insistent about it. For example, this Tuesday, she took her first 3-year-old class at the Little Gym, meaning that Mama didn’t go into the gym with her; it was just the toddlers and the teachers. They start by going around in a circle and saying their names, and as I sat watching through the windows, I could see the teacher get to Lily and do a little double take and mouth “Cinderella?”. Apparently, she told him that her name was Cinderella and would not answer to anything else for the whole class- even after he learned her real name from one of the teachers who knew her. Then, several hours later on the playground, another little girl heard me call her Lily (silly me), and she shared that her name was Lily too, to which my Lily responded, “I’m not Lily. I’m Cinderella. Can you say ‘Hi, Cinderella’?” (Her new habit if dictating conversation like dialogue in a play with the use of “Can you say” could be a blog post unto itself.)
So most of the time, we don’t have Lily anymore. We just have Cinderella, Marabelle’s Mom, a baby pup, a tiny baby, Sleeping Beauty, or, lately, a baby dragon. This is a natural extension, I think, of her old game of “Hello, Mama....” but now, she sustains the identity for much longer stretches. She’s also starting to demand that I refer to her by that identity even when I’m talking about her, not to her. So when I’m on the phone with my mom, saying “Lily did this today,” I’ll hear her voice from the other room: “It’s not Lily! It’s Marabelle’s Mom!”
But she still chooses between these identities every day or a couple of times a day, and she has little outfits and routine things to do for some of them, making me think that she really is pretending and that I don’t have a little C. S. Lewis on my hands. (Surely she’s not going to insist on being Cinderella for the rest of her life...) So most of this phase can be chalked up to her growing imagination, and that is a good thing, but it does lead to some frustration. Whatever we tell her, if we direct it to her real name, we must repeat.
“Lily, go potty.”
“I’m not Lily. I’m just a baby pup.”
“Baby pup, go potty.”
It can be maddening having to repeat myself so often, and it’s a little sad not being able to call her by her own name without a stubborn response, but, on the upside, this habit has opened a fascinating window on her language development. I don’t have my academic library access on maternity leave, so I can’t really research this, but it seems that:
(1) Lily first classifies new or less familiar words as either nouns or verbs;
(2) She conceives of most if not all nouns as concrete nouns and verbs as observable actions;
(3) It takes repeated use of a word as an adjective before she’ll start using it as such, and
(4) Her primary evaluation of an adjective is positive vs negative.
Why do I think this?
Lily gives the “I’m not Lily” response not only to being addressed by her own name but also to any other noun.
“I love you, my girl.”
“I’m not a girl. I’m Cinderella”
(That could be a sub-point of observation 2; thinking of nouns as concrete things, she does not grasp a person being able to be two nouns at once. She used to tell me, “I’m not a big sister. I’m just Lily.”)
She does not, however, give the “I’m not Lily” to verbs. She has never said, “I’m not eating. I’m Marabelle’s Mom,” or “I’m not running. I’m a tiny baby.” So she distinguishes noun from verb.
But if you tell her, “You’re so silly,” guess what she says. That’s right. “I’m not silly. I’m Cinderella.” The same with difficult, particular, crazy, imaginative, and a host of other adjectives. If she’s not very familiar with the word, she assumes that it’s a noun, and she dismisses it in favor of whatever identity she has at the time. And this makes sense. Adjectives are necessarily abstractions, and abstractions are hard to grasp. I don’t think she really gets most abstract nouns. But she gets the gist of an adjective with continued use. There are many adjectives that she knows: cold, hot, hungry, tired, happy, sad... She understands these often-used words that correspond with physical states or basic feelings. She’d never say “I’m not hungry. I’m Sleeping Beauty.” She also understands many positive adjectives and terms of praise. She won’t object, for example, to being lovely or beautiful. She’s heard them enough to know that these words aren’t physical things and that it’s good when you hear them.
So when she gets called by a word, she first assumes that it’s a noun, and if continued use suggests otherwise, she’ll then figure out if it’s a positive or negative thing. I can tell that she’s getting a feel for a word as an adjective when she either accepts the term or drops the “I’m Cinderella” part from her argument. If she says, “I’m not difficult” by itself rather than “I’m not difficult. I’m Cinderella,” I know that she’s not confusing “difficult” for a noun; she’s objecting to being called something negative.
If you’re still reading this far, you’re probably either bored stiff or as fascinated as I am. Maybe I’m geeking out a little bit or doing armchair observation that makes my linguist friends cringe, but what a wondrous thing language is! And what a treat to watch your child learn her way not just through the particulars of the English language but also language itself- words as a way to understand the world around her. Though it is frustrating hearing “I’m not Lily” dozens of times a day, it is a joy to watch Lily learn the ways of words. It is a pleasure to guide one I love through something I love.
I might say to her: “Surely, Lily, this is a great time of life.”
I might hear back: “Yes it is. But don’t call me Lily. Or Shirley.”
This has been going on for about a month now, and she’s very insistent about it. For example, this Tuesday, she took her first 3-year-old class at the Little Gym, meaning that Mama didn’t go into the gym with her; it was just the toddlers and the teachers. They start by going around in a circle and saying their names, and as I sat watching through the windows, I could see the teacher get to Lily and do a little double take and mouth “Cinderella?”. Apparently, she told him that her name was Cinderella and would not answer to anything else for the whole class- even after he learned her real name from one of the teachers who knew her. Then, several hours later on the playground, another little girl heard me call her Lily (silly me), and she shared that her name was Lily too, to which my Lily responded, “I’m not Lily. I’m Cinderella. Can you say ‘Hi, Cinderella’?” (Her new habit if dictating conversation like dialogue in a play with the use of “Can you say” could be a blog post unto itself.)
So most of the time, we don’t have Lily anymore. We just have Cinderella, Marabelle’s Mom, a baby pup, a tiny baby, Sleeping Beauty, or, lately, a baby dragon. This is a natural extension, I think, of her old game of “Hello, Mama....” but now, she sustains the identity for much longer stretches. She’s also starting to demand that I refer to her by that identity even when I’m talking about her, not to her. So when I’m on the phone with my mom, saying “Lily did this today,” I’ll hear her voice from the other room: “It’s not Lily! It’s Marabelle’s Mom!”
But she still chooses between these identities every day or a couple of times a day, and she has little outfits and routine things to do for some of them, making me think that she really is pretending and that I don’t have a little C. S. Lewis on my hands. (Surely she’s not going to insist on being Cinderella for the rest of her life...) So most of this phase can be chalked up to her growing imagination, and that is a good thing, but it does lead to some frustration. Whatever we tell her, if we direct it to her real name, we must repeat.
“Lily, go potty.”
“I’m not Lily. I’m just a baby pup.”
“Baby pup, go potty.”
It can be maddening having to repeat myself so often, and it’s a little sad not being able to call her by her own name without a stubborn response, but, on the upside, this habit has opened a fascinating window on her language development. I don’t have my academic library access on maternity leave, so I can’t really research this, but it seems that:
(1) Lily first classifies new or less familiar words as either nouns or verbs;
(2) She conceives of most if not all nouns as concrete nouns and verbs as observable actions;
(3) It takes repeated use of a word as an adjective before she’ll start using it as such, and
(4) Her primary evaluation of an adjective is positive vs negative.
Why do I think this?
Lily gives the “I’m not Lily” response not only to being addressed by her own name but also to any other noun.
“I love you, my girl.”
“I’m not a girl. I’m Cinderella”
(That could be a sub-point of observation 2; thinking of nouns as concrete things, she does not grasp a person being able to be two nouns at once. She used to tell me, “I’m not a big sister. I’m just Lily.”)
She does not, however, give the “I’m not Lily” to verbs. She has never said, “I’m not eating. I’m Marabelle’s Mom,” or “I’m not running. I’m a tiny baby.” So she distinguishes noun from verb.
But if you tell her, “You’re so silly,” guess what she says. That’s right. “I’m not silly. I’m Cinderella.” The same with difficult, particular, crazy, imaginative, and a host of other adjectives. If she’s not very familiar with the word, she assumes that it’s a noun, and she dismisses it in favor of whatever identity she has at the time. And this makes sense. Adjectives are necessarily abstractions, and abstractions are hard to grasp. I don’t think she really gets most abstract nouns. But she gets the gist of an adjective with continued use. There are many adjectives that she knows: cold, hot, hungry, tired, happy, sad... She understands these often-used words that correspond with physical states or basic feelings. She’d never say “I’m not hungry. I’m Sleeping Beauty.” She also understands many positive adjectives and terms of praise. She won’t object, for example, to being lovely or beautiful. She’s heard them enough to know that these words aren’t physical things and that it’s good when you hear them.
So when she gets called by a word, she first assumes that it’s a noun, and if continued use suggests otherwise, she’ll then figure out if it’s a positive or negative thing. I can tell that she’s getting a feel for a word as an adjective when she either accepts the term or drops the “I’m Cinderella” part from her argument. If she says, “I’m not difficult” by itself rather than “I’m not difficult. I’m Cinderella,” I know that she’s not confusing “difficult” for a noun; she’s objecting to being called something negative.
If you’re still reading this far, you’re probably either bored stiff or as fascinated as I am. Maybe I’m geeking out a little bit or doing armchair observation that makes my linguist friends cringe, but what a wondrous thing language is! And what a treat to watch your child learn her way not just through the particulars of the English language but also language itself- words as a way to understand the world around her. Though it is frustrating hearing “I’m not Lily” dozens of times a day, it is a joy to watch Lily learn the ways of words. It is a pleasure to guide one I love through something I love.
I might say to her: “Surely, Lily, this is a great time of life.”
I might hear back: “Yes it is. But don’t call me Lily. Or Shirley.”
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