A Sam by any other name...

If I ever availed myself of all those child development books we (read: Vicki) purchased before Samson was born, I'm sure I'd learn that 3 is just about the age where experimentation with identity begins. Further, I'm sure I'd discover that this development is particularly associated with a growing appreciation of play and a burst of growth in the imagination department.

What this means in real life, to me, is that for the past five days, I have come home to a small boy who proclaims: "I'm Diego." Except he says it more like Dee-AYE-goh. I have only seen the Diego show once or twice, but apparently it involves being naked except for a fleece vest and jumping on the couch. At least, that's Sam's version of Diego-dom.

He's also been assigning us roles. Vicki is various teachers from his school, assorted swim instructors, Alicia (Diego's sister?), and/or a firefighter.

Somewhat more prosaically, I am usually Jordan, a boy from his class. Or a sea turtle.