Semantic Satiation

Semantic Satiation is an interesting phenomenon that I learned about way back in college in a linguistics class I took.

The premise is simple, even if the words used to name it aren't. If you say a word enough times, generally in quick succession, they will start to lose their meaning for the person saying it and (and usually for the person hearing it, too) until, eventually, it is nothing more than a repeated sound (and, before too long, it will become difficult to even say that sound coherently). We used to do it with the word "cup"--and, every once in awhile, just to remind myself what it's like, I will sit in one place and say that word over and over again for a few minutes. It might SEEM crazy . . . . Well, probably it is. We also used the word "fish" once to the same effect, but I imagine just about any word would work. Longer words work more quickly as the added syllables quickly becoming confused and nonsense ensues.

This all is relevant to something besides me being able to whip out an esoteric terminology that I learned over a decade ago.

I think my children are suffering from semantic satiation. It started off simple enough. I was saying the word "no" so often that it began to lose meaning to them. When a soft tone no longer elicited the response I wanted, volume increased. Eventually, that didn't make any difference either (actually, Norah seems to do things BECAUSE I tell her "no" now). That's not TOO surprising as I have to tell them both "no" about an infinity number of times a day. It practically is a constant, repeated stream of the word.

But, lately, it seems as though ALL words I say have been repeated so many times that they are losing their meaning to my children. "Eat your dinner." "Don't throw food on the floor." "Don't color on the windows." "Stop pushing each other." "Don't wipe your hands on the furniture." You name it, and I've chastised for it. It's a never ending stream of redirecting and admonishing comments coming from me.

Before, they would occasionally try to appease me by moving to another part of the room and doing something else they weren't supposed to be doing, but, now, it seems as though they just sit there quietly long enough for me to shift my attention and then they go right back to doing what they were doing.

Well, not Norah. As I said before, she seems to derive great pleasure out of being contrary and doing exactly what I just told her not to. She'll smile at me and slowly move her hand back to whatever she was doing. If she's coloring on the window (which, I swear to god, I've stopped her doing AT LEAST a hundred times now) and tell her "no," she just smiles at me and lets her hand make a few reactive streaks with the crayon across the window. So I take the crayon away and she bawls and shrieks and throws herself onto the ground for ten minutes.

It's all very frustrating, but it has led to some interesting moments with Gabe, who has heard me say the same things over and over enough that they are ingrained into his brain. Just last night he said, "Oh my god," when he saw the candy that he got from the Christmas parade. His context was confused, as it usually comes out something like "Oh my god, Gabe, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" when I say it, but there's no denying where he got the phrase from.

But there is something good that's come from it. My mom used to say "I should just make a recording and play it back for you boys." And now I understand what she meant. I SHOULD make a recording and just play it back for them. Maybe then I wouldn't run as much risk of the words losing meaning to me as well.