Monthly Archives: January 2012

Touching Base

Posted on by
4

Piper is a big fan of her daddy.  He walks on water.  She waits by the door like a puppy when he’s gone and rushes to his open arms with a “Daddy!” even if he’s just taken out the trash.

I have to remind her regularly that I did in fact bake her in my body for 10 months and nurse her for a year and a half.  And that doesn’t even account for that whole labor and delivery thing. You’d think that might earn me some loyalty. To Piper, I’m base. She simply wants me there, omnipresent and available.  Base is safe, but it’s kind of boring.

On a recent drive to pick up her daddy at the Metro, Piper offered sage advice and a strenuous warning.  We were waiting in the car and Piper asked, “Do you think Daddy kissed any other moms at work today?” Because apparently only other moms are my competition.

“I doubt it,” I answered.  “Your daddy wouldn’t do that.”

Then Piper delivered the gut punch that only a four-year-old can.

“You know there are a lot of moms prettier than you.”

I took a nice, long breath, which is the only thing I’ve really learned in almost 10 years of parenting.  Take one breath before you speak.  A sacred pause.

“True,” I acknowledged.  Because it is true.  There are prettier moms than me. “But Daddy is committed to us.  He wouldn’t kiss anyone else.”

Piper was quiet in the back seat for a minute.  Then she saw her daddy walking across the platform toward our car. She put her foot on base and dug her toe in for good measure and whispered, “You never know.”

Homemade Magic

Posted on by
4

Once upon a time there was a ballet shoe.  There was only one ballet shoe, but it wasn’t lonely.  The shoe had been passed to Piper from her older sister, who had lost the mate along the way.  But the lack of partner didn’t matter to Piper.  She loved the ballet shoe just as it was.

She wore the ballet shoe to bed every night.  She put it on when she came home from school.  She carried it in her backpack during the day.  The ballet shoe was in good company.  There was also a hot pink ruffled tutu that Piper wore every day.  Every single day.  One hundred and twenty-seven days in a row and counting. It went well with all of her outfits.  Her mother had to wash the tutu while Piper slept with her one ballet shoe to make sure the tutu was ready for morning wear.  The tutu was the first thing Piper put on every morning and the last thing she took off at night.  Sometimes the tutu liked to sleep in her bed so that it could stay close.

Piper said she felt like a superhero in her hot pink tutu and one ballet shoe, and so her mother let the magic take its own course.  The end.

Darth Piper

Posted on by
4

Piper loves the dark side.  She roots for Vader, and she cries when he dies. We knew that raising Star Wars girls could have consequences, but we never imagined it might go this far. She’s even perfected her Darth Piper impersonation.

She’s also a big fan of the Emperor.  Shooting lightening out of your hands is cool and apparently not the least bit scary. Her sister is hiding under the couch and Piper wants more blood on the screen. And that’s the thing.  What should scare Piper actually fascinates her and what is not the least bit scary sends her into a frenzy. When we took her to see “A Christmas Carol” at Ford’s Theatre we worried that the pyrotechnics and ghosts might be too much.  We prepped her with the Dickens story, the Kelsey Grammar movie version, and an introduction to spirits of every sort. When the ghost of Christmas future, who looked a lot like the Grim Reaper, floated above our heads Piper laughed out loud.  I had to cover her mouth to hide the giggles. But guess what does terrify her? Mannequins in department stores.

Regardless of the information we provide, Piper can’t decide if they’re real or fake.  She likes to get really close to them, daring herself even closer, then sprint away and clutch one of our legs.  Every time we go shopping, it’s the same set of questions: “Is that one real?  How about that guy? Is he real?  And that one over there? Fake or real?  How about the bald one?  It looks real.  Is she fake?  She looks real.”

And so our search for a Darth Vader mannequin from the dark side continues.

Mulgated Dinner

Posted on by
6

Having a meal with Piper is like inviting a squirrel and a talking parrot to the same table.  She wiggles.  She leaps about.  She busts out Lady Gaga lyrics in the middle of your sentence. She either hoards all the food or refuses everything on the table. She intentionally drops things under the table so she climb off her chair and explore.  She brings back the dropped piece of pasta and some black beans from last night’s dinner. She eats both. She interrupts.  We ask her to wait her turn to speak.  She waves her hand obnoxiously in the air waiting to be called on.  Normal stuff, right? Entirely mulgated. Her dinner manners seem appropriate for the ripe age of four.  After twenty seconds of an excruciatingly long wait Piper puts her glass down and smooths the napkin in her lap.  Dramatic pause.  Then she declares something profound like “I’ve decided not to be human anymore.  I’m keeping my options open.” Which logically explains the squirrel and parrot behavior.

Have Kids, Will Travel

Posted on by
4

We’ve moved 14 times in 15 years. All voluntarily.  We aren’t running from the law.  Jobs, graduate school, adventure, more jobs, more graduate school, overseas opportunities, etc. Even when we’re planted for a few years, we travel for every holiday. My kids are accustomed to moving and to embracing the unknown. My nine-year-old has the skills to navigate mass transit; I haven’t yet let her travel alone, but she could. They’ve learned how to make friends upon landing.  Most sadness can be overcome with the promise of bubble wrap dancing.  It’s a noisy outcome but it does cure the blues.

Over the holidays we took them on the road for 2 weeks to live out of 4 suitcases and see how we faired. My partner and I dream of travelling overseas for a semester, so we thought this would be a safe trial run. The trip was an absolute success.  Here the girls are exploring Tom Sawyer’s island at Disney, plotting their next adventure:

When we returned home, Piper put down her suitcase, unpacked her beloved Pinky, and just to be sure she was ready for our next move asked, “So, we’re home, right?  When do we have to check out of this place?”  Poor nomadic children or well-adjusted little explorers?  You decide.

Toes in the Water

Posted on by
4

In our house potty words are not necessarily curse words, but sometimes the worlds do collide.  Potty words refer to parts of our body and their functions that need to be discussed for obvious reasons in the bathroom but not at the dinner table.  This is an important distinction for Piper.  She loves potty words and receives loads of inappropriate positive reinforcement in the form of laughs and giggles from her parental units when she uses them. We know we should grow up one of these days.  We’re working on it.  Until then we’re just trying to teach Piper how to compartmentalize her language.  This distinction works well until she begins singing lyrics that contain potty words.  Her current favorite is Zac Brown Band’s “Toes” as in got my toes in the water, ass in the sand.

Piper’s dad, who is famous for his own use of potty words, suggested the alternative toes in the water, toes in the sand.  It seems a reasonable compromise and may save us yet another disparaging phone call from her preschool. It’s a ridiculous idea to Piper, though, because it violates the artistic integrity of a great song. So she has solved the potty word problem her own way.  It requires quick action.  Piper stands in the hallway and sings got my toes in the water.  Then she sprints into the bathroom and belts out ass in the sand.

Using potty words has now become her main form of exercise.

Who Are You People, Anyway?

Posted on by
1

Piper is shocked that her parents might actually be interesting people to anyone outside the four-year-old world.  On our last road trip she asked if I always carry snacks in my bag.  I told her I did.  As she happily munched away on gold fish she hypothesized, “That’s probably why Daddy liked you when you met.  He’s always hungry!”  Because, really, what other possible explanation would there be for our courtship?  Piper is equally amazed that anyone wants to hear what we have to say in our professional lives. A few weeks ago my partner announced at the dinner table that he’d been invited to give a talk at a policy institute downtown.  Piper asked immediately if he’d be telling the truth or making stuff up.  He said they’d probably want the truth. Then she suggested, “Daddy, you shouldn’t use potty words like you do at home.” True. True.  When Piper visited her father’s office on campus she declared it “lame” until she saw that she could do this on his big screens:

If you can play Disney games in high definition, you must have some worth, right?

Guest Blogger: Big Sister, Age 9

Posted on by
9

My little sister, Piper, loves to do puzzles. She inherited a lot of them from me. Normally, she does puzzles in a nice fashion, mostly listens (as much as a Piper listens anyway), cooperates, and basically has fun. But not when friends show up. One of her new friends from preschool came over for a playdate, and I suggested they put together a puzzle. Sounds like a good idea, right? Not if Piper’s involved. At the beginning, she refused to do the puzzle and just sat in the box lid. She said, “Well, it’s cozy in there!” Here she is in the cozy spot:

So her friend and I started working on the puzzle. In no time at all, we were almost done. But the little box-sitter decided it was only fair the she gets to put in the last piece. I handed the piece to her friend and told her it was not fair because she didn’t help. Piper gave me a full-on stink eye. Her solution? Piper put the last piece on her head and said, “Look! Now I’m a part of the puzzle.”

-Isabelle, aka “Sissy”

Piper Ruins Your Lunch

Posted on by
2

Dear Parent of Terrified Child at Piper’s Lunch Table,

I’m writing to apologize if Piper scared your kid today when she told them that they’d probably DIE from those colorful fruit twist things filled with DYE. We’re working with her on homophones. Oh, and I’m sincerely sorry for Piper’s criticism of your kid’s lunch selection. If you consider a balanced meal to be “fruit snacks,” and I do intend those as air quotes, potato chips, soda, and a lollipop, you have that right. I don’t know where she gets her judgmental tone. Sorry, again.

Sincerely,

The Mother Who Says No to Rainbow Treats Not Found in Nature

http://www.cspinet.org/fooddyes/

A Piper By Any Other Name

Posted on by
8

Piper mostly hates preschool.  Not the playground and the crayon thing but the academic thing.  If you have a preschooler, you may already know that they are doing long division by the end of the first week.  It’s insane.  Most of Piper’s classmates have been skilled and drilled since birth.  Half of them can already read. Piper can barely write her name.  It’s not that she doesn’t have the ability or that she isn’t bright, it’s that we haven’t really put our energy into her four-year-old academics.  She’s been busy making mud pies and memorizing Lady Gaga lyrics. Her father has taught her an array of armpit noise pitches.  We’re very proud. Every day her teacher sends home a note asking me to work with Piper on her name.  I haven’t paid much attention, but I’m pretty sure the note goes like this “Dear Lazy Mom Who Doesn’t Pay Enough Attention to Piper, Please take a few precious moments out of your busy day and work with this poor child on writing her name so that the other kids stop making fun of her on the playground. Thank you.”  I know that tone.  I’m a teacher, too. So, we work on the name thing.  We sit at the kitchen table with brightly colored paper and markers that smell of various fruit flavors.  And she does write a name.  It’s just not her name.  It goes like this:

So, I’m thinking of saving us all the headache and just changing her name.  “What do you think of going by Pirppirr?”  I ask.  Her face is hopeful. “Can I stop doing this then?”  “Yep.  Back to eating Playdoh and practicing armpit noises.” She happily runs from the table and I begin writing a note to her teacher informing her effective immediately of Piper’s new name. Problem solved.