Monthly Archives: March 2012

Sick Kids Suck

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“Mom! My froat hurts!”

Ugh. Either Kathleen Turner is hiding in Piper’s bedroom or we’re headed down the sick path again. The raspy voice. The sweaty forehead. The cuddles from my normally bouncy girl.

“Can you make me my tea?”

One cup of orange spice with 1/4 cup apple juice, a tincture of echinacea, 2 tbsp honey, and 2 ice cubes coming up. With a straw.

Piper assesses how sore her throat is. “It feels like there’s a pretzel stuck in there.” As bad as that sounds it’s not as bad a the time she said she thought she’d swallowed glass. That was the dreaded strep throat. Double ugh.

I check her temperature. Again. I dole out ibuprofen. I wish for the hundredth time I had magic pills to give my kids when they’re sick. I wish I could go through it for them. Piper’s glassy eyes get glassier.

“Will you nap with me?”

Of course, baby. I could use the reserves, too. Who knows how long this will last? I already miss the Piper a.k.a. my squirrel on crack.

Her dad takes her upstairs for a quick bath and brings her back down weepy and wrapped in a towel. “She says you do it better. She just wants you,” he reports.

I warm a bowl of noodle soup. I blow dry her hair while she slurps.

“I know what we need,” I say. “Cherry Garcia. STAT!” Piper nods and takes her medicine.

Games. Games. And More Games.

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We’re gamers. When we don’t have a new game to play, Piper and Sissy invent their own. Piper’s latest dinner time game is called “tell your story.” Here’s how it goes:

Pipe throws out a question like “Who has seen a giraffe?”

We all raise our hands like eager school children. Piper selects one of us.

“Okay. Tell your story.”

She’s a complete dictator of the game. If your giraffe story isn’t interesting, she cuts you off mid-sentence and starts another round. “Enough. Who has been to New York City?”

This afternoon we found a new game. Sissy invented it for us.

The game came complete with a folder and accessories for play.

There were rules, of course. Sissy likes rules.

Piper spent the day nursing a nasty cold, so the game was a welcome distraction.  She immediately dug into the notebook so I could dictate her first message.

Dear Sissy,

You’re a good sissy. I’m glad you’re my sissy. I like how you draw houses. I love the bracelet you made me. When I get older, will you take care of me?

Love, Piper

Then we tucked the note into the supplied plastic tube and hid it in Sissy’s room. Piper really couldn’t wait for the whole finding the message thing, though, so she dragged Sissy upstairs and pointed at the tube and then ran off giggling (and coughing).

Sissy wrote back immediately.

The game was a hit with much sneaking between rooms.  It was sort of like a message in the bottle, but you didn’t have to wait years for the ocean to bring it to you. I was even rewarded with this:

Awww. Piper confirmed that Sissy’s new game was awesome.

“This is so much better than 60 questions, Mom.”

“Do you mean 20 questions?”

“Whatever,” the dictator said. “Hand me that tube and start writing.”

Moving at a Cupcake’s Pace

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It can take a Piper upwards of 45 minutes to put on her shoes before school. The stalling is excrutiating. Eating broccoli can be an hour long affair. Writing her name requires multiple bathroom breaks. As frustrating as it can be to get a Piper to do anything she doesn’t want to do, you have to admire her commitment to non-violent resistance. She’s a master. It’s sheer will.  But this afternoon when I asked, “Piper, do you want to go with Sissy and her friends for cupcakes?” all I saw was a blur of light I assume was my child speeding out the door.  Her shoes were on. Her coat was on. And zipped. She was halfway to the car. Clearly, it’s the cupcakes.

Our local cupcakery won Food Network’s Cupcake Wars shortly after we moved to town. We don’t flatter ourselves to think the two events we’re related, but we’re happy to share in the benefits.  It’s become our pilgrimage. When we celebrate, we go to Cake Dreams. When we’ve had bad days, we go to Cake Dreams. When the Dancing Queens perform in their school’s talent show, we go to Cake Dreams.

It never takes Piper long to make her cupcake selection. It’s always the one with the sprinkles. She knows exactly what she wants.

A Piper might fall asleep in a bowl of pasta a vegetables before she finishes it. Yet, this…

…was gone in ten seconds flat.

Cupcake time must have its own clock.

Book Club for Beginners

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There are a lot of things I can tolerate in a Piper. Trash collecting, hoarding, potty words, Lady Gaga. Just to name a few. But I don’t know how to parent a kid who doesn’t appreciate books. We’re a house of readers. We have no athletic ability. Most of us can’t see our hands in front of our faces without glasses. We’re nerds. We read. So when Piper was invited to her first book club for kids, I checked an emphatic “yes!” on the evite. I had no idea what you do at a book club for four-year-olds but they had me at the word “book.” I’m that easy.

I did notice a few differences between my usual grownup book club and this kid’s version. Here are the top 5:

1. Seats are assigned.

Piper’s friend, Rylie, and her mom were hosting the book club.  This was waiting at Piper’s chair when we arrived:

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Nothing makes a girl feel more welcome than a friend to your right and a name tag.

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2. You get cool stuff.

There was also the cutest little mailbox you’ve ever seen:

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And there was chocolate inside that mailbox.  That’s my kind of book club!  Now I know what you’re wondering. How about the “book” in “book club,” right? That came next.

3. You don’t have to read the book beforehand.

Rylie’s mom read the book while Piper mostly listened. I only had to dig the melted chocolates out of her grubby hands twice.

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4. There’s more than just talk.

There were activities that corresponded to the book’s theme, which I suppose is similar to activities at my book club with grownups. Drinking mimosas is an activity, right?

Piper’s activities were response sheets that related to the theme of the book. I helped her write them…

5. You get to bring your mom.

The best part of a four-year-old book club was doing it together. I was basking in our mutual love of words when Piper and I were walking to the car.  I buckled her in, leaned over for a hug, and said, “Wasn’t that fun? Your first book club!”

Piper played with the lid on her new mailbox, counted her chocolates again, and asked, “What book?”

Dancing Queens Redux

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I don’t know which is cuter.  Sissy and her friends having the guts to perform Abba’s “Dancing Queen” in their school’s talent show or Piper offering to join the group because one of the Dancing Queens fell ill at the last moment. Piper knows all the moves. She’s been the mascot at each rehearsal. She slaughters the lyrics, of course, but it’s lip syncing anyway. Surely no one will notice: Friday night and the lights are slow…looking out for a place for my toes…you can dance…you can drive…having the time with your wife…

Sissy’s been wearing striped hot pink gloves, the central feature of the costume, around the house for weeks. She even lets Piper try them on. It’s intoxicating.

Piper declared herself ready for the stage. “I can do it, Sissy. I can.  I know how.”  And Sissy would have let her.

“But you don’t go to my school, Piper. Only kids at my school can be in the talent show.”

Alas, the fallen Dancing Queen rallied in the final hour and joined her friends. The show was a success. The Queens were a hit with their neon gloves and matching belts. Piper was a stage mom from the audience, mouthing the words and performing the choreography from my lap.

As we were walking home Sissy floated the idea that next year could be Piper’s year.  They’ll be in school together for the first time. “We could do an act together!  Should we sing? Dance? Piper is quite the comedian.  Maybe we should do a skit.”

Who knows? They’ll be together. That’s what matters. With or without neon gloves.