Look mom, I'm hanging out!

Maria uttered this phrase several months ago. She was hanging by her arms off the back of the couch, and said, Look Mom! I'm hanging out! I laughed, which of course has made her repeat this phrase every time she does it! But more than just being amusing, it points to how some children learn words first and concepts later. It gets back to the age-old question: Which comes first, the idea or the word? Maria seems to do it both ways.

Most of the time, it seems that concepts and words are acquired closely together. Certainly that's been true for my kids. But Maria also sometimes clearly learns the word and then the concept. That's the case for the phrase 'hanging out'. But also for other words. She recently told me "My birthday is going to come once a month. No, once a week." I'm pretty sure she understands neither the concept of "once a" nor the time phrases "month" or "week". She was just trying out the words.

Time words in general seem to be an area where words seem to come before concepts. Like many children, Maria is having a hard time with time words because their reference changes depending on the day. Last week we were talking about an upcoming birthday party, and I said, "We're going to the party tomorrow." The next day, we got into the car to go to the party, and I said, "We're going to the party." Maria responded "No, that's TOMORROW!" After starting off with mind bending phrases such as: "Today is tomorrow" I realized it was much simpler to say "Well, the party is on Saturday, and today is Saturday. The party is today now." It made me realize how useful the names of the days of the week are. But, the concept is still fuzzy for Maria. Every once in a while at dinner, she will ask "Is today tomorrow?"

Numbers and the alphabet are another area where production seems to precede comprehension. I'll confess to not being terribly impressed by parents who tell me that their 2 year olds can recite their ABCs or count to 10 (or 20). Oh, sure, it's a nice thing to do, and it's a good start. But, that doesn't mean that the child understands what these represent. That understanding takes a lot longer.

Maria is just getting that understanding for numbers, known as one-to-one correspondence. Three months ago, she'd just put her finger on the objects and rattle off "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10" when we asked her how many things there were. She didn't "get" the idea that the numbers represented a set of things. They were just a list of what you said when people asked you to count. Staring in the last month or so, she will place her finger on whatever she's counting and say "1", then move her finger, and say "2", etc. And, as long as the items to be counted are reasonably aligned (and not more than 14) so she doesn't get confused, she'll be able to accurately count them. She's learned that each number represents one thing, and that you 'add' by going up in numbers. That's a huge leap forward in mental development and understanding of symbols.

We've yet to achieve that leap for letters. She can sing her ABCs quite nicely, and has been doing so since she was about 2. But she still doesn't get the link between the letter and the sound. She has the language down, just not the concept. Oh, she'll say things like "M" is for "Maria", but it's clear from other contexts that she doesn't understand what the means. For example, we have a placemat with the alphabet on it - each letter has an animal next to it that starts with that letter. So, A has an alligator, C a camel, etc. Last night, Maria cheerfully pointed to the M and said "M is for Gorilla!" and then to the H and said "H is for Donkey!" Her perception of the animals is more accurate than her perception of the sounds. That monkey does look like a gorilla. And the old nag of a horse does look a lot like a donkey.





So, which comes first, the concept or the word? It all depends on the concept and the word!

Come Lord Jesus be our guest...

Every evening before dinner we say our dinner prayer. Or more accurately, the parents say it, Tommy sits silently and Maria says the first half and the last 2 words. "Come Lord Jesus, be our guest.. blessed. Amen." Recently, I began trying to teach her the second half of the prayer: "and let these gifts to us be blessed." But, no matter how many times I said it, no matter how slowly I did each word, it still came out "Come Lord Jesus be our guest, mm mmm blessed. Amen!"

It took me several days to realize that this was a futile task right now. Apparently, I had forgotten all my early graduate training! The reason she couldn't repeat the 2nd part of the prayer was because of the structure of the sentence. The second part of the prayer is a quite complex: it has a causative (let...) and a passive (be blessed). She might be able to do the causative, but Id' forgotten that she's far too young for the passive "these gifts be blessed".

One of the very useful discoveries about child language is that children are generally not able to imitate sentences or structures that are not yet part of their grammar. They make mistakes. They avoid the structure. While they can learn them by rote drilling, it's much more difficult than waiting until the child has the structure in their grammar. In 2 or 3 years, I have every faith that Maria will be rattling off the dinner prayer without a hitch.

Passive voice is acquired late in English, somewhere between 4 and 6 for most children. Perhaps even more importantly, it's rarely used, especially in conversation with children. It's the kind of construction that shows up mostly in academic or scientific writing, legal testimony and the like. We don't go around asking our children "Was the toast eaten?" "How was the lamp broken?" We prefer the active voice in English, "Did you eat your toast?" "How did you break the lamp?" We like to identify the actor.

But that doesn't hold true for other languages. Children acquiring some languages (Sesotho or Indonesian for example) appear to acquire passive early. Which goes to show that there's nothing cognitively difficult about the passive voice. Indeed, there is something useful about the passive. Saying: "The milk was spilled" would allow a child to get out of specifying who spilled the milk. Unfortunately for the young English speaking child, their best option is to deny being the actor. Not stating the actor just isn't part of their language. In other languages, the passive is acquired early, most likely is linguistically less complex (a single verb form, not this weird be + past participle), and it is used in every day conversation much more often.

All of this goes to show that language acquisition is a complex dance between what a child hears, what a child can do and the language around them. For Maria, our dinner prayer is probably the only place she hears the passive voice on a daily basis. So, for a while yet, it will be "Come Lord Jesus be our guest, blessed. Amen!" Amen indeed.

Line 9 Powell!

"Line 9 Powell!"
"Line 6 Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard!"

We were standing at a bus stop, waiting for a bus, and as each bus passed by, Tommy would shout the number and the destination. This not what I had envisioned hearing as I thought about my son learning to read. The sentences I had envisioned were things like "The sun did not shine, it was too wet to play."or "I am a bunny." Nope, not for our son.

And yet, given that Tommy has never been terribly motivated to read story books, perhaps this is not surprising. He is, however, very motivated to glean information from things like the weather page or bus schedules. If it's information you want, he's the boy to know. We drove to a birthday party in another part of town this weekend. We exited on NE 122nd Ave. When Tommy saw the sign for the exit, he announced: "The 71 bus goes here." He was right, of course.

Tommy has long been interested in information. Nearly every morning since he was about 3, Tommy has read the weather page with breakfast. We started this tradition when we were trying to convince him to switch from long to short sleeves one spring. "It's supposed to be hot today, you might want to wear short sleeves." "Why?" "That's what it said on the weather page." "Let me see!" So we showed him. And with this, a whole new world opened up for Tommy. He'd always been a bit disturbed by the fact that the sun would mysteriously disappear behind the clouds. "When is it coming back?" he'd ask when he was 2. "I don't know," never really satisfied him. He has always liked to know what's coming next. The weather page helped him be able to predict where the sun was and what was coming next.

In addition, the weather page has been a great source of functional literacy skills for Tommy. He's learned the days of the week and to recognize them in print. He's learned to read the symbols on the page (sunny, rainy, cloudy). He's learned to read the city names. He's learned to locate Portland on the map. He's learned to locate other cities on the map as well. He can point to where Aunt Mary lives, or where Grandma & Grandpa S. live or where Grandma N. lives. He's learning to read bar graphs indicating the high and low temperatures or how much rainfall we've gotten compared to average. He's got a sense that 80 degrees Fahrenheit is warm and requires short sleeves and maybe even shorts!

And now he's entering a new phase of literacy, one step closer to reading. And that step has been brought about not by basal readers or phonics instruction but by bus schedules. Tommy's best friend at school rides the bus to school every day, and often brings bus schedules in for the other kids to see. That has created a collecting craze among the kindergarteners.

Bus schedules are all the rage – we have a collection of well over 50. Tommy and his friend bring them in to school. They carefully color the white letters with marker. Tommy traces the route on the inside - highlighting the major stops in yellow and the route in red. And through this all, he's somehow learned to read all of the names of the streets and routes that the buses go on. Last night we were talking about the Number 12 bus. He announced "It's the boulevard bus. It goes down Sandy Boulevard and Barbur Boulevard." He's even progressed to making jokes about the names - saying "Marthin Luter King Jr. Boulevard". He's proud of the fact that he knows the difference between "t" and "th" and highly amused by the reversal.

As with everything, it's good to remember that there's more than one route into literacy. Some kids go the traditional route through story books. Others take the bus.

Which station is not the busiest...not the...the not...busiest

One of the oldest questions in language learning is the question of whether the idea or the word comes first. It's a bit of a chicken-egg problem – can you express an idea if you don't have a word? Can you use a word if you don't understand the idea?

Sometimes in language learning, however, it's clear that the concept comes first. I distinctly remember when I was about 3, learning word 'tomorrow'. I was standing in our living room, and I said something about "the day after the day after today" to my mother. "Oh, the day after tomorrow?" she said. Aha! That was the word I was looking for, but didn't know existed. It's a very clear memory in my mind - the feeling of satisfaction that there was a word to express my idea. While I didn't shout "Eureka!" I do remember thinking "Oh, that's how you say that."

Something similar happened to Tommy about 2 weeks ago. He had concept, but needed the word to go with it.

About once a week, we drive by Fire Station 16 to see the fire trucks on our way home from school. It's a bit of a detour, but not a major one. When we go by, the trucks are almost always in the station. This is in contrast to Station 4 downtown. Tommy often sees those trucks go by school, and they are often out. One day, as we were driving by Station 16, Tommy asked why the trucks were always there. "Well, it's not a very busy station," I replied. (From our perusal of the Portland Fire Bureau's website , we've learned not only what equipment is located at each station (Station 4: One tiller (hook & ladder) and 2 pumpers; Station 16: one pumper and one rescue truck), but also how many calls they have a year. Station 4 had well over 4,000 calls in the last fiscal year, Station 16 under 1,000.)

"Which station is the busiest?" Tommy asked.
"Probably one of the ones downtown, I think."
"Why?"
"Well, Station 4 has over 4,000 calls a year, and I think Station 1 has over 6,000 - that's over 15 calls a day!
"How many does Station 16 have?"
"About 900 in a year, I think. That's about 3 a day."

"Which station isn't the busiest?" Tommy then asked.
"Any station other than Station 1, I suppose."
"No, which station is not the busiest?" "
"Any other station," I replied, wondering briefly about his language comprehension.
"No, which station is not the busiest?" he insisted.
"Ah," having a sudden burst of understanding, "which station is the least busy, do you mean?"
"Yes, which station is not the... is the not busiest?"
"I don't know, but I bet Station 16 is one of the least busy."
(For the record it's Station 15 with just 475 calls for the fiscal year.)

Ah, the struggle of trying to express the concept least without having the word! In this example, at least, it's clear that the concept ("not busiest") came before the word. Many words seem to follow a similar path. Often, the word and the concept are learned together, or at least very closely in time. Does the concept ever come before the word? Stay tuned....

Honey-Roo or Driving the Driver

Maria and I were reading a Winnie the Pooh book one day when she was about 22 months, and were talking about the characters. I pointed to Pooh and said

"Who's this?"
"Pooh!"
"And who's this?"
"Piglet!"
"And this?"
"Honey!"
"Honey? Umm.. No dear that's Roo."

For several weeks, she adamantly insisted on called Roo "Honey". I guessed that Kanga had called Roo "honey" in one of our stories, and so that's what Maria heard.

I thought no more about the mystery until we were reading one of her favorite books – a collection of songs that had the words changed to be "Pooh" songs. This book was her favorite to 'read' as she fell asleep. It came complete with a "press the button" electronic keyboard that played that song, and she insisted that we sing along with it. (Surely there must be a hell somewhere where the manufacturers of these tinny, off-key singing books will be chained up and made to listen to their inane songs over and over and over again. But I digress.)

There, on the last page of the book was the answer to the Honey-Roo mystery. The song was "Where Oh Where Can My Honey Pot Be?" and there was a picture of Pooh, sitting disconsolately in a chair, missing his honey pot. "I've looked in the cupboard and under the stairs, oh where oh where can it be?" And behind Pooh is a picture of Roo, holding up a table cloth, and on the floor, under the table, is Pooh's honey pot!

I can just imagine a scene where we were reading this book and said "So, where is it?" and pointed in the direction of Roo and the honey pot. Maria, not knowing what a honey pot was, or maybe not knowing what we meant by "it", linked "honey" with the most interesting thing we were pointing toward: Roo. This is a common thing that children do - they will link a word with the most interesting plausible object (see "Nice Finger Mom") that someone is indicating.



So what was going on? A very simple and yet reportedly rare error in child word learning: a mismatch. Children, when they learn words, generally get within the ballpark for the meaning, even if they don't get the exact meaning. So, they may label a 'tomato' and 'apple' but they rarely call it a garden hose! But, every once in a while, a child simply gets the wrong word linked to the wrong object, and labels "Roo" "honey". Maria eventually learned Roo's name, but even now, close to a year later, she will sometimes slip and call him "Honey" again.

These errors can be mystifying. I suspect many go undetected, chalked up to a parent's or child's inability to make sense out of an interaction. Indeed, such was nearly the case for the only mismatch that I detected in Tommy's word learning. When Tommy was 2, his favorite 'game' to play was 'garbage truck'. He would pretend to drive the garbage truck, make brake sounds, stop the truck, climb out, pretend to dump the garbage into the truck, climb back in, and drive on to the next 'house'. This game could be played anywhere (beds, church pews, couches)- but one of his favorite things to do was to climb into our laps and pretend we were the seat and he was driving. One day, when Tommy climbed into my lap, he announced "I'm driving the driver!" "Where?" I asked. "Right here!" "No, where are you driving the driver?" "Here. I'm driving the driver." After several more go rounds, I gave up, figuring he couldn't understand 'where' questions yet.

Then, a week or so later, we were reading his favorite book: Garbage Trucks. On one page, it asks, "Would you like to see where the driver sits?" and I read this and asked Tommy - "where is the driver?" Tommy pointed to the steering wheel. Eureka! Mystery solved. When Tommy said "I'm driving the driver," he wasn't talking about a person or a location - he was saying that he was operating the steering wheel. Apparently, when we were pointing to the picture of the driver, the most interesting thing for Tommy was not the person but the steering wheel. Thus, another mismatch mystery solved.

As with malaprops, perhaps the most interesting thing is how rare this kind of error is. Tommy had one clear mismatch, and Maria has had one or two. One or two real mismatches out of the 500+ words they'd each learned by the time they were 2. Surely there were many more opportunities to get a meaning wrong, and they didn't. However children are going about the task of linking words to meaning, they are, in the end, remarkably good at it.

"Nice finger, Mom!"

When Maria was 5 or 6 months old, we were reading a book on my lap. I tried to direct her attention to a dog on a page by pointing at it. I didn't touch the page, but just held out my finger in front of it, pointing toward the dog. Maria looked at my finger, grabbed it with her hand and started chewing on it. "Nice finger, mom!" seemed to be her reaction to my pointing. Fast forward a year. Again, we were reading a book with a picture of a dog. This time the dog was hard to see (James Herriot's The Market Square Dog). I pointed toward the dog and said "Look! What's there?" Maria looked at the page and then announced gleefully "A doggie!"

So what changed in that year? Why did she notice only my finger at 6 months but the picture at 18 months? Joint attention. Joint attention is often discussed in the developmental literature, but rarely included in parenting books or magazines. This is a shame, because joint attention turns out to be a crucial, pivotal skill for both language and social development. It's what keeps you on the same page as everyone else when you are interacting with them.

Joint attention is just what it sounds like: two people paying attention to the same thing. It sounds remarkably simple. And yet, it turns out to be more complex than just paying attention. Joint attention requires the child to figure out what the adults (or other children) are paying attention to. It requires them to recognize that other people might be attending to something different than they are. It requires the child to realize that they too can get and direct someone's attention. These are concepts that develop slowly over the first year and half or two of life.

As with most things, joint attention begins with 'baby steps', or in this case baby looks. At 6 months Maria was just beginning to get the skills necessary for joint attention. By 18 months, she had become an old pro in that area.

Even children under 3 months will look into the eyes of someone who is looking at them, albeit if it's briefly in the beginning. As they get closer to 3 or 4 months, they will spend time looking in your eyes and gazing at you. And during this time, they also engage in what look like 'conversations' with you. If you talk to them, the baby will listen intently. When you pause, the baby will respond. Sometimes verbally, sometimes by smiling, sometimes by looking you in the eye, sometimes by waving a hand. This turn-taking is a baby-step in how to have a conversation and some aruge that it forms the the foundations for real conversations later.

Between 6 and 12 months is when the skills for joint attention really take off. At 6 months, infants are much better at looking you in the eye and interacting than they were even 3 months earlier. This is the age where they begin to really delight in peek-a-boo, patty cake and other games. And at 6 months, infants can sometimes figure out which direction an adult is looking toward by following how the adult turns their head. But, they aren't very good at figuring out what the adults are looking at. They will generally stop at the first interesting object they see. Hence Maria's grabbing my finger. She was orienting in the same direction that I was, but she stopped at the first cool thing she saw: my finger! At 9 months, infants are better at identifying where an adult is looking. They can follow not only the head, but another person's eye gaze to figure out where they are looking. But again, they tend to stop with the first interesting object, and aren't very reliable in figuring out what an adult is attending too. But by 12 months, infants are not only looking in the same direction, they're usually pretty good at figuring out what an adult is looking at. By 18 months, they've go it mastered. Instead of noticing just the finger, they follow the direction of the finger.

To be truly social communicators, infants also need to be able to do more than figure out what another person is interested in. They also need to be able to attract and direct someone else's attention. Thus, there's a second set of joint attention skills that a child needs to acquire. And, this set has two important functions, requesting something and commenting on something. Both are important for social development.

If an infant wants a toy, but cannot reach it, at 6 months, they will most likely just reach for it, and complain loudly if they can't get it. By 9 months or so, they will reach for it, but also look at the parent for help. By 12 months, they've often become masters at this - reaching for or pointing to something, looking at the parent, looking back at the object, and then checking in with the parent to make sure they're following their gaze. And they'll keep doing it until they get what they want or their parents move them! This is the level that indicates the child is truly trying to communicate an intention to the adult.

Just as important, though less recognized, are the gestures and vocalizations that are simply meant to draw a parents' attention to an object or event. This type of joint attention is more conversational. It has the same steps as the requests, but without the demand for the item. So, at 6 months, a child may reach toward an object and babble, but not really connect it with the parent. By 12 months however, a child may well point to something, like a picture in a book, a cool truck on the street or Mommy walking in the door, look at the other person, wait for the response and look back. They'll also keep 'commenting' until the adult responds. This kind of joint attention is the beginning step in a real conversation.

But why is joint attention so important?

If joint attention doesn't develop, a child often doesn't develop the language or social skills needed to interact with others. Language is a social act. It involves learning and understanding social interactions, and having social motivations. Joint attention cues a child into these social interactions and makes language learning possible. Without these, a child's language and social cognition cannot develop.

Indeed, one of the major symptoms of Autism is a lack of joint attention. Children with Autism are very often delayed in joint attention. They're delayed in following other people's gazes or pointing, and they're delayed in their own pointing and commenting. They often learn to request things, but they have difficulty just 'commenting' on things. Their communication is functional, but not conversational.

And it turns out that the ability to initiate or respond to this conversational kind of attention is what matters most for learning social interactions and language. The better children are able to use these behaviors, the more social and language skills they develop. Thus, joint attention is a milestone that all parents should know about and watch for. It's as important as those first steps and that first smile!

Why, why, oh why

Tommy first asked the question "why" 6 weeks before his 3rd birthday. He'd acquired "what?" and "where?" and "when?" –, and I knew "why" was "due", as it's a "3 year old" kind of question. When he first uttered "why?" I looked at the calendar and thought "Yep, coming up on three, there it is." The first few whys were a thrill. He's got the idea! He's asking why!

But, once why arrived, it never stopped. The summer he was 3, Tommy asked why after nearly every statement of mine. Driving home from school became an exercise in not just 20 questions, but 1000 questions, most of them "why?"

T: What they building?
M: It looks like they're building new houses.
T: Why?
M: Well, because people need a place to live.
T: Why people need a place to live?
M: They need a place to get out of the rain, or the sun or the cold, and to keep their stuff.
T: Why?
M: Because it's not very fun to get wet or cold.
T: Why?
M: Because it's not.
T: Why?

Many children ask why, and Tommy certainly wasn't the first. But, the sheer volume of whys was astounding. Family commented on it, neighbors commented on it, store clerks commented on it. Even his preschool teachers commented on how often he asked why. If preschool teachers are commenting, you know he's asking why a lot! Literally every statement was responded to with why? often to the puzzlement of the adult.

T: What's that?
M: That's the river.
T: Why?
M: Why what?
T: What that's the river?
M: Umm... it's not the land, it's water.

Particularly disturbing to me where why queries to locations (Portland is in Oregon. Why?), labels for things (that's a giraffe. Why?). How can you answer why something is located somewhere or why something is called something?

M: That's called a giraffe.
T: Why?
M: Why what?
T: Why that's a giraffe?
M: _____________________ (Because that's the name/because it's got a long neck/arbitrary convention.)

Sometimes why was simply a device to keep the conversation rolling. But often, he really did want to know. If I responded "Why do you think?" He would shoot back "I don't know. Why?"
"You tell me." was met with "No, you tell me!" Apparently, he needed to hear the answers over and over and over again in order to internalize it.

And why has continued well beyond age 3. It's still going strong to this day - age 5 ½ and counting. We get dozens of whys every day. So many that sometimes I answer why without it being asked, which leads to a conversation of the absurd:

T: Why are we going to the store?
M: To pick up a prescription for Maria.
T: Oh.
M; Because she's got a rash and the lotion will help it.
T: I didn't ask why! (very indignant!)
M: Oh, sorry, I thought you did because you ask why so often.
T: Why?
M: Why do you ask why so often?

Why is such a constant presence in our house that Maria picked up why a full year earlier than Tommy. So, now I'm getting it from both sides - double doses of why every day.

So, why why? What's so important about why that a child will repeat it over and over and over again. It keeps the conversation going - in fact, it may be a child's earliest device to send the conversation back at the parent. Early conversations with children (at least in US American households) often look like mini-interrogations, with the parent asking, the child responding and the conversation lurching to a halt any time the child quits answering or the parent quits asking. Why changes that dynamic. It elicits a response from the parent - a long and complicated response.

It's also been argued (Snow, 2001) that why questions can often be built from the utterances the parent has just given: Why that's called a giraffe? Can be uttered after a parent says "That's a giraffe" – just tack why on to the front and you've got new utterance, one that's guaranteed to get a response from the parent. So, it's possible that why is a good step into complex syntax – it builds off what the parent says and it keeps the conversation going and leads to more complex answers.

But why does more than this too. Why opens up a new world of information to a curious child. It allows them to promote their conversational agenda, rather than simply responding to the parents. Through why questions, parents get a glimpse of what their children are interested in. What intrigues my child? What fascinates him?

For me as a parent, it's also a chance to reflect on how much of the knowledge that I use every day is knowledge that I take for granted. My children's questions have made me think about many things that I don't usually question. Why do busses stop at bus stops? Why do people live in houses? Why do we need our seatbelts on? Why is my tea hot? Do fire trucks turn their lights on first or their sirens on first when they leave the station, and why? Why is red the signal for stop? Why not purple or orange or even green? Why does it rain?

And even more, when my answer to "Why does it rain?" is "Because the clouds have water in them." the responding "Why do clouds have rain in them?" makes me think more deeply about my knowledge and how to explain whole cycles of things. "Because the clouds have water in them" isn't really very explanatory, and yet that's the type of answer we're likely to give. What my children really want is to know how the water got there, how it stays up there, what makes it come down and why it's coming down in this place at this moment. It's enough to make a scientist out of everyone!