s-p-e-l-l-i-n-g
So my s-o-n has been on this kick lately where he has to spell everything. Sometimes he'll spell just for the f-u-n of it. He's always liked patterns and silly voices and such, and I think that his spelling is a way of putting on a persona or creating a character.
He also likes to spell when he's m-a-d. The other night I heard him giving his father fits. Lately he's waiting until bedtime and then claiming "I can't go to bed; I'm dying of hunger!" (We've tried various tactics to prevent such a ploy, mostly trying to stuff him full of healthy dinner and then getting him a snack before pajama time.) When his father stood his ground and offered a glass of milk or water, the boy's reply was adamant. M-I-L-K is NOT food. It's a D-R-I-N-K!!! For some reason that made me giggle as I eavesdropped, which resulted in my reprimand by the boy. Mom, laughing is M-E-A-N. You're being mean.
The third reason for spelling seems to be to say words that his parents prefer he avoid. Apparently he's "normal" in his fascination with saying the word poop. Since we've been grumping at him every time he says it, he's taken to spelling it. He's actually starting to get creative, adding p-o-o-p-y and p-o-o-p-h-e-a-d to his repertoire. He seems to think that we won't know what he's saying when he calls his sister "super p-o-o-p-e-r." It reminds of when my middle daughter used to shut her eyes when she did something mischievous. (She worked under the assumption that if she couldn't see us, we couldn't see her.)
My husband the special ed teacher tries to freak me out by commenting that constant spelling is a symptom of various conditions, including Tourettes and obsessive compulsive disorder. I think that I prefer spelling to the constant battle simulations that occur in my living room. My own theory is that my hyper verbal, mega-loquacious son likes to spell because it allows him to draw out his constant t-a-l-k-i-n-g. In fact, it's involving into a form of beat boxing, where his w-o-r-d-s have a rhythm and a beat.
Maybe some day this will all pay off - he'll make a great voice over artist or professional hockey announcer. Until then, we'll just all be p-a-t-i-e-n-t.
He also likes to spell when he's m-a-d. The other night I heard him giving his father fits. Lately he's waiting until bedtime and then claiming "I can't go to bed; I'm dying of hunger!" (We've tried various tactics to prevent such a ploy, mostly trying to stuff him full of healthy dinner and then getting him a snack before pajama time.) When his father stood his ground and offered a glass of milk or water, the boy's reply was adamant. M-I-L-K is NOT food. It's a D-R-I-N-K!!! For some reason that made me giggle as I eavesdropped, which resulted in my reprimand by the boy. Mom, laughing is M-E-A-N. You're being mean.
The third reason for spelling seems to be to say words that his parents prefer he avoid. Apparently he's "normal" in his fascination with saying the word poop. Since we've been grumping at him every time he says it, he's taken to spelling it. He's actually starting to get creative, adding p-o-o-p-y and p-o-o-p-h-e-a-d to his repertoire. He seems to think that we won't know what he's saying when he calls his sister "super p-o-o-p-e-r." It reminds of when my middle daughter used to shut her eyes when she did something mischievous. (She worked under the assumption that if she couldn't see us, we couldn't see her.)
My husband the special ed teacher tries to freak me out by commenting that constant spelling is a symptom of various conditions, including Tourettes and obsessive compulsive disorder. I think that I prefer spelling to the constant battle simulations that occur in my living room. My own theory is that my hyper verbal, mega-loquacious son likes to spell because it allows him to draw out his constant t-a-l-k-i-n-g. In fact, it's involving into a form of beat boxing, where his w-o-r-d-s have a rhythm and a beat.
Maybe some day this will all pay off - he'll make a great voice over artist or professional hockey announcer. Until then, we'll just all be p-a-t-i-e-n-t.
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