It's entertaining, sometimes, being the parent of a kid who manages to be both a staunch realist and loves to imagine. For example, she likes to pretend to be a cat. For which she insists on stripping off her clothes, because cats don't wear clothes. She doesn't walk on all fours, and she still speaks English, but really, she needs to be naked for true verisimilitude.
And if you ask her, during this pretending session, are you being a cat? She will look at you like you're a dunce and inform you that she's not REALLY a cat, she's pretending.
It's a little tricky for me to figure out because only some of the details are vital, and you can never tell until you're informed for transgressing the pretend realist rules. I'm sure Maeve just thinks these poor grownups around her are just not too bright.
I'm just grateful that I managed to talk her out of scripted pretend play. I told her firmly, starting about a year ago, that if I am playing pretend, that I get to decide what I say and when, otherwise pretending is no fun. So she can tell me what character she wants me to be, she can even dress me up how she likes, but my words belong to me, and if she wants someone to say what she wants them to say, that's what dolls and stuffed animals are for.
|Superheroes often don't wear shirts, either, possibly because the cape material is tantalizingly silky.|