Monthly Archives: March 2012

Just a Little Off the Top, Please

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I took Piper to get a haircut today.  She’s been growing out her locks ever since she saw Tangled, but Piper isn’t as willing to sit still for Mother Gothel’s brushing.

Mother Gothel became young again when Rapunzel sang and she..

You might remember her adventures in self styling in Drunk Dialing or Something Like It where “childrens get mad at their daddies” who suggest the necessity of hair brushes. Crazy ideas, I know. I don’t make a big fuss about clothes or hair.  I’m more of the pick your battles variety.  If you want to wear a hot pink tutu over every outfit for a year, go for it.  But the morning routine has become a battle of hair brushing wills. Luckily, Cousin Olivia was visiting last week with her adorable new haircut.  Piper took one look and said, “I want to look like Livi!” It seemed too easy.  So, I took Piper and Sissy in today for trims.  Piper got a little stage fright once she was in the chair, but I reminded her of the “Livi look.”

“Okay, Mom.  But just a little cut, okay?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed. “Just a few inches.”  I held up my fingers behind Piper’s back to indicate about six inches to the stylist.

“Just a little. Just like Livi’s, right?” I nodded yes.

“Wait. Show me,” she said. The stylist showed Piper where she was going to cut. The hair would still be down the middle of her back.  Entirely pigtail worthy.

“Okay,” Piper said. “But let’s just cut one side.”

Oz and Hello Kitty Mash Up

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At breakfast we tell stories.  Piper told us a story this morning you might have heard of but might not recognize.

So first there was an earthquake and Dorothy ran to her prison cell.  She didn’t really feel the earthquake because she was asleep.  Her parents were blown away in the shaking.  Dorothy says, “Oh, Toto.  Isn’t this a wonderful place?” Then there were munchkins.  And there was a really nice lady who said, “Here are some magical glass slippers.  Just like Cinderella. The witch won’t like it but they’re yours, Dorothy.” Then the witch comes by and says, “Give me those.” Then this house falls on her.  Too bad.  Then they meet this Tin Man.  He’s frozen, but he sings anyway.  “We’re off to see the Wonderful Wizard of Oz.” Then they meet a lion and he growls a lot.  Dorothy isn’t scared, though.  She’s really brave because of her glass slippers.  She doesn’t even mind the blisters.  New shoes often give you blisters, you know? Oh, I forgot about the scarecrow.  He was there, too. So, there’s singing and dancing and skipping all the way to the witch’s house.  She has a crystal ball and says she’ll grant them three wishes. Dorothy and her friends took the wrong path, you see.  They probably should have used bread crumbs or something. This may be the Hello Kitty version. The witch said to her guards, “Get them!” Then Penelope, one of the bunnies, tried to turn them all into toads.  Dorothy and her friends ran and ran.  They found the right path and Dorothy got to go home, but before she did, she asked Oz what he wanted and he said, “No one’s ever asked me what I wanted!  I want to go home, too.” So he poofed them all and they went home.  There was a rainbow, of course. The end.

If you like Piper’s story mash up, you might also enjoy her musical mash up:  Lady Gaga is in the Kitchen.

Life Illustrated Part 5

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Piper loves going to the toy store, but it doesn’t always go like this.

She’d definitely wear a rainbow on her head if she could. Sometimes we let her do more than just look with her pretty eyes, though. And I’ve never smelled giraffe garbage at Toys R Us, but I’ll be sure to take a better sniff next time we’re there. Piper is probably right. As usual.

If you need her to explain more, Piper is happy to:

Life Illustrated Part 1

Life Illustrated Part 2

Life Illustrated Part 3

Life Illustrated Part 4

The Art of Doing Nothing

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I had a boss once who infuriated me with his inaction.  A problem would arise, a crisis by my measure, and he’d do nothing.  He would wait. He would listen. He’d go for a walk. But he wouldn’t act. I’d roll up my sleeves ready to put out the fire with my bare hands and watch him walk away.  It took me much too long to realize that most of the problems worked themselves out. All that was needed was time. It was an important lesson for my young hot-headed I-know-everything self.  It’s helped me a lot in my parenting, too, when I’m patient enough to remember the art of doing nothing.

You may remember that Piper isn’t a fan of school.  In fact, she hates it.  The play part works for her. Snack time is good stuff.  Books are okay.  It’s just that when her teachers ask her to do something, like write her name, there is grand resistance.  If you need a refresher on the name writing saga, read this post: A Piper By Any Other Name.  Just before the end of the year holidays, her teachers asked me to come in for a conference regarding Piper’s “lack of academic progress.” Do I need to remind you that we’re talking about a four-year-old? A Piper, nonetheless? I went. It was ugly. The teachers disagreed about what was developmentally appropriate.  Their message was incoherent.  Piper couldn’t write her name.  I got that, but I didn’t get what I was supposed to do about it. Drill and skill? It’s not us. They recommended private tutoring and early intervention. I didn’t see what we were intervening on. I teach college.  I truly know very little about how to teach preschoolers anything.  I did the one thing I’m really good at: worry.  I worried a lot, but other than that, I did very little.  I didn’t work with Piper on her name.  I didn’t shame her.  I said some encouraging words, hugged her really tight, and sent her out to play.  My gut just didn’t indicate crisis yet.  I did nothing.

Guess what Piper brought home today?

Her first certificate!  It’s official. Piper can write her name.  And she did it all by herself.  It’s her victory not mine. My worrying didn’t seem to contribute at all. I still do it, of course, but maybe I should do nothing a lot more, too.

Everything’s Better at Grandma’s House

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Piper’s chore after dinner is to clear the table.  Sissy cleans the plates and loads the dishwasher.  I have either cooked the dinner or I’m on pots and pans duty.  My partner does the same. This chore distribution is under constant negotiation at Saturday family meetings, but it seems whatever chore Piper is assigned, she spends much of her time trying to wiggle out of it.  She’s actually quite proud of herself once her chore is completed, but the actual task brings much protest.  The working conditions are just unacceptable.

“I wish we lived at a hotel,” Piper said tonight dragging her feet as she moved the dishes the entire ten feet from table to counter. “Then we wouldn’t have to clean up.”

This was followed by loud, exaggerated sighs.  We all ignored her. Piper escaped to the living room.

“Come back, Piper.  The table isn’t clear.”

More sighs.

“My arms are tired,” she whined, flailing her exhausted arms.

We all ignored her.

“I wish I was at Grandma’s house,” Piper said. “You don’t have to do chores at Grandma’s house.”

“We aren’t at Grandma’s house. Piper, finish clearing the table, please.”

She’d now stretched her two minute job into almost half an hour.  She cleared the last plate and mumbled, “Everything is better at Grandma’s.”

Who do you think taught me to make my kids do their chores? Piper probably doesn’t want to know the answer to that.

Flaco Taco Shows Us His Moves

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My childhood Sundays included Catholic Mass, glazed donuts, and the WWF.  My father considered the World Wrestling Federation to be an important part of my education.  My brothers and I spent hours watching the WWF and debating the merits of Jimmy Superfly Snuka, my personal favorite, versus Rowdy Roddy Piper.

Wrestling was a religion in our house. I assumed Piper and Sissy would share a similar love of wrestling, but we’ve so far failed as parents in this regard.  Their wrestling education usually goes like this:

My partner, known by his wrestling name Flaco Taco, announces the upcoming wrestling match.  Imagine Jack Black as Nacho Libre if Jack Black were a tall, slender academic wearing glasses.

Flaco Taco yells “Show me your moves!” to Piper and Sissy. He then tries to tackle them and they run out of the room screaming.  “Come back!” Flaco Taco pleads, “Let’s wrestle!” The girls huddle together whispering and finally decide watching their father beg may just be worth it. After all, this wrestling thing involves fake names and dance moves, too. First, Squirrel Two Toes (aka Piper) twirls about waving a wand and takes a bow. Then she does a somersault. Flaco isn’t happy. “Um. Those aren’t wrestling moves. Those are flourishes,” he complains. Sissy, who in her younger wrestling days was known as The New York Crusher, dances into the room karate chopping the air.  Contact still hasn’t been made.  Flaco Taco yells “I’ll show you wrestling moves!” and grabs at their feet, trying to knock them over for a take down. There is more screaming. “Ow!  Why are you hurting us?” “Yeah, stop hitting! Mom, Dad is hitting!” Flaco defends his moves by again explaining the concept of fake wrestling. The girls stare as he speaks his foreign language.

“Dad,” Sissy asks, “did you want boys instead?”

Squirrel Two Toes sashays out of the room.

Oh, Superfly, where are you when I need you the most?

The Sound of Silence

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Remember when I said we were big gamers? I failed to mention our favorite, the quiet game.  I think you know how this goes. Everyone is supposed to be quiet and the first one to make a noise, loses the quiet game.  Your job as a sibling is to poke, prod, and tease until you can get a giggle or squeak to escape from your sister’s mouth. Then you win.

It’s probably not shocking that Piper isn’t very good at the quiet game.  She spent the first two years of her life mostly silent, but she’s been making up for it ever since.  I’m so used to the constant Piper banter, that it’s become the background soundtrack of my day.  Strangers stop me at the grocery store, “Wow.  She sure talks a lot, doesn’t she?”  I hadn’t noticed.  Silence would be more alarming than a chattering Piper.

When I Look Up, I Trip Over Things

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It took Piper and I an hour and a half to walk three blocks.  It was a great three blocks, though.  I had the time to move at her pace, which requires the following pauses:

1. Counting all public benches.

2. Sitting on all public benches to assess their comfiness (note: cement benches all feel the same).

3. Sitting on all public benches and letting the sun shine on your face at different angles (note: city buildings block the sunlight from some benches).

4. Choosing your favorite cherry blossom tree (note: cherry blossoms next to public benches with ample sunlight win).

5. Smelling all cherry blossoms  (note: cherry blossoms don’t actually smell much, but you still need to smell every single one).

6. Touching, leaning against, exploring anything shiny.

7. Forgetting that you actually have a destination.

8. Realizing that Piper is ready for the poetry of Ani.

When I look around
I think this, this is good enough
and I try to laugh
at whatever life brings
cuz when I look down
I miss all the good stuff
and when I look up
I just trip over things

A Cow Says Moo

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Aunt Angela is visiting this week.  Last night she was putting Piper to bed and learned the following about my awesome cooking skills.

Piper: I really like my mommy’s cooking best.

AA: You do? She must be a good cook.

Piper: She is.

AA: What’s your favorite thing mommy makes?

Piper: Chocolate milk.

Naked Isn’t Funny

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We were driving downtown last weekend, and Piper saw a statue of George Washington off in the distance.  George’s lack of modesty caused Piper to launch into the following lecture.

“Naked isn’t funny. You can see other people’s private parts. Other people’s private parts aren’t funny. When I get out of the bath, I don’t laugh. George Washington needs to put some clothes on.”

Naked isn’t funny. Or is it?