Do You Speak Lily?

"Halp"

It’s one of Lily’s favorite words.

It sounds like help, and technically it is help, but if you live in our house, you know “halp” can mean a whole lot of things.

It might mean her shoe or sock needs fixing. It might mean one of her well-loved books needs to be taped back together. She might be pointing at your phone because she wants to look through your pictures. It might just mean she wants to hear you list familiar names and places, or the titles of Barney and Bluey episodes she knows by heart.

Or it might mean her iPad has reached 10% battery and therefore, in Lily’s mind, is dangerously close to death and must immediately be exchanged for the fully charged backup.

Lily does not let iPads die.

Ever.

She’s just as particular about batteries. If one of her musical toys or sound books starts sounding even slightly off, Lily notices immediately.

Most of us probably wouldn’t hear the difference.

Lily does.

“New batteries” is less of a request and more of an announcement that maintenance is required. 

Over the years, Lily has developed her own little vocabulary. Some words have been shortened. Some have evolved from phrases she used to say. Others seem to have meanings that only make complete sense if you know the story behind them.

And somewhere along the way, the rest of us started speaking Lily too.

For apple juice, she says “cold.”

That one actually has a story behind it. Years ago, when we had a horrible strep infection running through our family, Lily’s throat hurt so badly that she would only drink ice-cold apple juice. She started asking for “apple juice cold,” and eventually that was whittled down to simply “cold.”

“Oats” is another one. That’s Cheerios.

“Oats. Cold.”

That’s Lily telling us her bowl and her drink both need a refill.

Then there’s “noop.”

And just so we’re clear, “noop” rhymes with poop. It is not “nope.”

“Noop” is Lily’s version of no, usually delivered with a smile when we suggest something she'd prefer not to do.

“Hey Lily, do you want to go to lunch?”

“Noop.”

But if the answer is yes, she wants to know the plan. And preferably the whole plan.

If Matt tells her they’re going to Culver’s, she’ll often respond:

“Culver’s. Car wash. Lake. HOME.”

That’s their routine. Matt takes them to Culver’s, sometimes runs through the car wash, then drives around Lake Morton so Lily can see the swans and ducks before heading home.

But “home” isn’t just part of the Culver’s routine.

“Hey Lily, we’re going to Danny’s house.”

“Home.”

“Yes, after Danny’s house we’ll come home.”

Doctor’s appointment. Going out to eat. Riding along to one of Leo’s appointments. It doesn’t really matter where we’re going. Lily wants to know that home is at the end of it.

Home is very important to Lily.

I think it gives her an endpoint. It’s a little like counting while we brush her teeth. She knows when we reach the last number, we’re done. When we leave the house, she needs to know where the outing ends too.

Home.

She needs to hear it. And we’ve learned to say it.

“DIED.”

This one is probably the family favorite.

Over the years, I’ve had a lot of T-shirts made for Lily with pictures of family members and favorite animals on them.

My mom and dad’s donkey, Pancho, is on a few. Lily loved visiting him, feeding him carrots and apples, and paying what we jokingly called the “donkey toll.”

“Pancho. Pet. Carrots.”

Henry, my mom’s Goldendoodle, was another favorite. He was calm and sweet, which is exactly how Lily likes dogs.

So naturally, when Lily wears one of these shirts, someone will ask, “Who’s that?”

Her answer?

“DIED.”

Apparently, once someone or something dies—or even just isn't part of her everyday life anymore—their name sometimes becomes harder for her to say.

Of course, my oldest three sons, siblings, and other family members think this is hilarious, so “DIED!” has now become part of our family vocabulary too.

Something breaks?

“DIED!”

A plant gives up?

“DIED!”

An electronic device stops working?

“DIED!”

Basically, if anything reaches the end of its useful life, someone in this family is probably going to announce it dramatically.

The funniest part is that Lily knows I don’t particularly love this answer.

So if she’s wearing a shirt with Pancho or Henry and tells someone else, “DIED,” I’ll say, “What, Lily?”

And she’ll immediately correct herself.

“Pancho.”

Or, “Henry.”

Which, of course, makes everyone laugh even harder.

The part that isn’t quite as funny is that she rarely says Moogie and Grumpa anymore either.

Those were my parents’ grandparent names, and hearing Lily use them now is rare enough that I notice when she does.

That part makes me a little sad.

Because sometimes “DIED” is funny.

And sometimes it reminds me that Lily processes people being gone in ways I don't completely understand.

Names are their own interesting category in Lily’s language.

At some point, she stopped saying her brothers’ names normally.

When the twins went off to college and Riley moved to Florida for work, their names seemed to fade from her everyday vocabulary. If I press her, I can usually get her to whisper them. Most of the time, though, she’ll make a silly sound that I’m not going to attempt to spell, or she'll say “Meek” instead.

Her brothers think the sounds and "Meek" are funny, and they'll often mimic her with a smile. It's become part of the way they interact with her. At the same time, I know they miss hearing her say their names normally.

What makes it even more confusing is that she’ll say Riley’s wife’s name just fine.

She does something similar with me.

I’ve always said, “Hi Lil,” or “Hi Lily Lu” when I see her. For a while she started calling me “Mama Lu,” and somehow that eventually evolved into “Hi Lil.”

So now I can walk into the room and Lily will greet me with:

“Hi Lil.”

I can usually get “Mama” out of her if I ask, but it comes out quietly and is almost immediately followed by another cheerful, “Hi Lil.”

Matt is still “Dada.”

Dasha and Leo’s names tend to come out quietly too.

Why some names stay, some disappear, some get whispered and some get replaced with completely different words is one of those things I’m not sure I’ll ever fully understand.

But we understand Lily.

Most of the time, anyway.