What Color is Your Parachute?

Piper’s parachute is rainbow. Of course. So yesterday morning when we walked into church and saw an enormous rainbow parachute lying on the ground outside through the glass windows, it tried Piper’s patience. What was the parachute for? When can we play with it? How long until we go outside?

On the fifth Sunday in our church, it’s an intergenerational service. On the other Sundays, the kids stay with us for “first fifteen” and then meet up with their peer groups.  Since we were all together today, the parachute had to be for all of us, right? It was. At the end of service we threw open the glass doors that lead from the main sanctuary to the gardens out back. Then, we did what everyone does when they find a rainbow parachute on the ground.

We made a circle, picked up the rainbow parachute, and started bouncing it around. It was like elementary PE class again.  Kids and adults alike were shaking the parachute and laughing. We needed a beach ball for the center. Someone shouted, “What do we do now?” With that, Piper dove underneath and ran to the middle of the mushrooming parachute. We couldn’t stop her. We wouldn’t have wanted to. Three seconds later, the other kids followed Piper. Sissy, too. It turned into a kid mosh pit.

There was more parachute shaking, more squeals of delight, more fun for everyone. Really, shouldn’t every day have a dose of pure joy?

Ours do now that we have a Piper.

Sleeping With the Enemy

Morality seems a funny thing to a preschooler. Piper has been sorting, testing, and trying to understand this whole right and wrong thing. The practice comes with a lot of questions and challenges.  You may recall in my post Careless Whispers she wondered if no one hears her say mean things whether they still count. They do. Just so you know.

Piper was having a similar dilemma last night about following rules. It was bedtime and she was knee deep in Barbie drama. She didn’t want to stop playing but she knows the bedtime rule. It’s non negotiable in our house. Kids need sleep. Parents need a break. It’s best for everyone. Thus, the testing began.

“Question! Can I just bring my Barbies to bed with me?” Piper asked.

“You can sleep with them. You can’t play with them, though. It’s time for bed,” I answered.

“But how will you know if I’m playing?”

“Piper, you’ll know you’re breaking a rule. You’ll know it’s not the right thing to do.”

“Question! What happens if I get caught?”

“I will take the Barbies away and I’ll be disappointed that you didn’t follow a rule.”

Piper collected the Barbies and tucked them into bed beside her. She spent a minute rearranging their accessories. Then she rolled away from them.

“Question! Do you check on my at night?”

“Yes, I do. I like to make sure you’re okay.”

“Question! How often do you check on me? And when?”

“Well, I peek in a few minutes after I say good night. Then I look again before I go to bed. And when I wake up early to write, I usually glance in then, too.”

At this point I could see the wheels turning in the Piper mind. She really wanted to play with those Barbies but she really didn’t want to get caught. Would the joy of playing with them outweigh the risk of losing them?

“Ah!” Piper said. “I’ve got it! Can I play with the Barbies in my bed when I wake up?”

“You know the rule. If it’s dark outside, you’re sleeping. Your body needs the rest to be healthy. You can’t wake up in the middle of the night and play. If it’s morning, you can stay in your bed and play with the Barbies.”

That seemed to satisfy the Piper. She said good night to me and to the Barbies. As I was walking out the door, she made her final push toward moral certainty.

“Okay, Mom. But don’t forget to check on me. I’m going to need you to do that.”

Sleeping Beauty (Barbie Golden Book)

When in Rome, Eat Chocolate and Data

Have you ever wondered what children of academics do for fun? I have your answer. It’s a bit alarming. You’ll want to sit down for this.

A few weeks ago I was invited to be a part of a panel at our university (my partner and I both teach there) for the Delta Phi Epsilon Professional Foreign Service Pi Chapter Sorority. Clearly, it was fancy. They wanted me to talk about “intercultural communication” since I spent some time living and teaching in Brazil. The other professors on the panel were fancy, too.  It turned out to be a lively conversation which concluded in me making a public rant against our family policies in this country versus other societies in which I’ve lived. They gave me a brief soapbox, so I took it. The room was full of smart, earnest young women who raised the roof when I lectured on what it really means to be a working mom in a country that is often offended by public breast feeding.  They were shocked to learn that as a high school teacher in a public school I didn’t have maternity leave. And if my kids got sick, I went without pay. And that my salary exactly equaled the monthly cost of health insurance and childcare. I was unleashed. In my defense they’d asked why more women didn’t seek public office in our country. I suggested it may have to do with our policies toward families i.e. birth control, childcare, etc. I suggested that my struggles were minimal compared to a woman without an education, a job, healthcare, and an equal partner. Whew.

As a thank you for not actually baring my chest and nursing a child in front of them, the sorority gave me a beautiful pen set and a coffee mug from AU filled with chocolate. Like a good working woman, I was hiding my children outside the door to the lecture hall. My talk concluded at 7:30 p.m. and my partner had to teach at 8:00 so we were doing the childcare shuffle. You’d think Piper and Sissy would be proud of their mom, right? Raising awareness and fighting for their feminist futures, right? Nope. They saw the chocolate and clobbered me.

When we got home, they did what normal kids do: they ate the chocolate.

But then, they began sorting and collecting data.

Piper did the sorting and the eating. Sissy took notes. The children of academics know good data when they see it. So, of course, the next logical step was to prepare a presentation.  You have to share your results with other academics, you see. A power point presentation is a must.

Once the research was concluded and the data was collected, they moved on to making meaning out of all of this chocolate. Piper continued to eat the data.

And now you know what the children of academics do for fun and why you don’t ask their mommy a question unless you really want to know the answer.

Life Illustrated Part 7

A Piper knows how to get what she wants. Her usual weapon is relentless coercion. Repeating a request fourteen times tends to be persuasive. Her collection of Lalaloopsies is evidence.

Or, she’ll just threaten to cage you until you fork over the cash at the toy store:

Either way, to Piper it’s a win win.

When I asked Piper about those walls in her toy store which seem to be closing in on me, she said, “Hey. I least I gave you soft carpet to stand on.”

If you enjoyed Piper’s illustration of life, check out these, too:

Life Illustrated Part 6

Life Illustrated Part 5

Life Illustrated Part 4

Life Illustrated Part 3

Life Illustrated Part 2

Life Illustrated Part 1

All You Need is Love

I thought Sissy was the slowest eater on the history of the planet until I had Piper. Breakfast can be a two hour ordeal.  They linger. They chat. They solve the world’s problems. As long as we never have any other plans in our life beyond two hour meals, the long eat isn’t a huge a problem.  It’s annoying, for sure. They aren’t unhappy at meal time. They love meal time. But, alas, the school day beckons.  Work won’t wait. There are things beyond our breakfast table.

Over the years I’ve tried a variety of strategies to hurry the process.  Charts. Stickers. Mean looks. Threats. A timer. My remedies shorten the meal length to a reasonable amount…for awhile…but then the minutes start creeping up again.  We joke that one day their breakfast will run into their lunch which will run into their dinner.  The girls think this is hilarious.  It doesn’t dissuade them at all.

You can imagine that after the first hour my patience can run thin.  Like it did tonight.  I pulled out my least effective parenting trick: the bribe.

“I’m setting the timer for five minutes. When it goes off, your plates will be inspected. If you’re not done, there’s no dessert.”

I’d made blondies last night, so they knew what was on the line.

Sissy watched the timer and threw down her salad. At ten seconds she triumphantly stood, cleared her plate, and loaded it into the dishwasher.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Piper glanced up at the clock, picked up another red pepper, and said,

“I don’t care about dessert anyway. I only care about love. Love doesn’t have a timer.”

When in Doubt, Tutu

You know what we need around this house?

More rainbow tutus.  That’s what. Papa was visiting last week and he brought another round of frilly accessories.  It’s the Papa prerogative.

A rainbow tutu makes the Piper feel like a superhero.

In a tutu, the Piper can fly.

That’s a good thing, right? I want her to do things like this:

Even I can spot the the brave girl in a pink tutu. Piper is the third one up from the bottom. Climb, baby, climb.

Worm Watching

On a walk this morning Piper and I saw a worm.  Water puddled on the sidewalk from the rain and the worm was slowly making its way across. We watched.

“Where’s it going, Mom?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. Maybe to the other side?” I said.

“Why? What’s on the other side?” Piper asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe the worm doesn’t either.”

We both stared as the worm inched its front forward and dragged its back to catch up. Repeat. Then it wiggled its front out until it dipped back to the pavement and began inching again. Repeat.

“What happens when it gets to the other side?” Piper asked.

“It probably goes into the dirt then. It’s dangerous to be out on the sidewalk.”

“Because of the birds? And us?”

“Yep,” I said. “In the dirt it’s safer.”

Piper sat down on the concrete and inched her way closer to the worm. She  held her hand above the worm, almost touching it. She put her face to the pavement and squinted at the worm, assessing its progress.

“I’m glad I’m a Piper instead.”

Star of the Flipping Week: Dripping Sarcasm Alert

Last Friday when I picked up Piper from preschool I learned that she was slated for Star of the Week status.  I happened to notice that the classroom was tackling the “O” as their next letter and remembered a conversation a few months back in which Piper threw herself on the ground complaining about how very much she detested the letter “O.” I don’t know what “O” ever did to her, but somewhere in the back of my brain, I remembered Star of the Week.  So, I did the unthinkable.  I asked Piper’s teacher.

“Um. Is Piper’s Star of the Week thingy coming up soon?”

I regretted the words as they slipped from my mouth.  Who doesn’t know when their child is scheduled for the illustrious Star of the Week? Sorry. I’m a little bitter over here.

“You don’t know?” Preschool teacher asked. “I sent home a notice in January.  It had all of the instructions. You’ll need to dig that out.”

Right. January. Let me think back through four months, six trips, nine house guests, and two full-time jobs. You’re right. I’m a loser mom.

“Do you think you could just give me the instructions again? My husband probably lost them.” Oh, snap.  Threw Piper’s dad under the bus. Sorry, honey.

Preschool teacher made me wait in the hall ten minutes.  It felt like detention.

“I can see you now,” she called from inside the room.

Piper and I came in, our heads hanging low.

“So, there’s the poster, the snack, and the book.  You’ll need to make a poster about Piper’s family–”

“I will? Can’t Piper do it? I mean. It’s about her, right?” Strike two.

“Sure. You can take a look at the wall to see some examples.”

The wall was covered with professionally printed Star of the Week posters. Laminated. With Glamour Shots. They were perfect.

“Okay. The poster,” I said. “Got it. And?”

“Well, Piper’s letter is “O” so you’ll need to provide a snack that begins with the letter “O,” like Oreos.”

I winced. We don’t eat Oreos.  Unless Grandma and Grandpa are in town and sneak them under the table. Preschool teacher all but rolled her eyes.

“Well, I’m sure you can think of a healthy snack that begins with the letter “O.” You can look it up online.”

I have such trouble brainstorming the beginning letters of words these days.  Thank goodness for Google. Whew.

“And Piper will need to bring in her favorite book.  Usually the kids read the books to the class, but we’ll make an exception for Piper.”

I know. What kind of a four-year-old isn’t reading yet, right? Strike three.

I had some catching up to do with my slack parenting. We headed immediately to the store for supplies. Piper was jumping up and down in the aisle when she saw this:

A poster board in Rainbow! Who knew? Then, she and Sissy spent a couple of hours Saturday afternoon printing off pictures from the blog.  As a total slacker mom I don’t have loads of spare pictures of my kids waiting for arts and crafts projects. Thus, the need for this blog. Piper cut and pasted the pictures herself and did the labeling.  Lalaloopsies made it on to the poster board somehow. They’re a big part of our family. It was way out of my hands.

Piper is pretty proud of her board. It’s hers. Really, really hers.

We also negotiated the snack from Oreos to healthy oatmeal raisin treats. Piper vetoed okra chips and oranges.

I wasn’t as successful in the book selection.  I teach in the Literature Department at a university, so I pushed the classics, but Piper chose this instead:

I’ll be biting my tongue. Why? Because Piper is Star of the Week and she’s doing it her way.

A Light Dusting of Pixie

Go ahead.  Just try to look at little Piper with her pixie cut and not smile.  I dare you. Double dog dare you. Can’t, can you?

Me, neither. This was taken the summer she turned two. She’s still dressing in fancy skirts. She still likes high heels. She still makes us laugh. And Piper still spreads magical pixie dust through our days.

Piper’s Notes from a Sort of Sick Bed

1. Isn’t it great, Mom, that I got sick on a Saturday? You don’t have to cancel anything. You’re welcome.

2. Why doesn’t my body have enough skills to fight a little ole fever? Geez.

3. Uh oh. Time for a zebra pack. (Z-pak antibiotic)

4. More orange spice tea, please. Wait. Did you put in extra honey? Mmm. You’re such a good mom. Wait. Are you trying to cover up some medicine with that yummy honey?

5. What if I wake up a cheetah? Wouldn’t that be cool? I’d be a nice cheetah, though. I wouldn’t hurt you, Mom. Question! Do cheetahs get sick?

6. Pharmacies shouldn’t have candy. Candy doesn’t make you feel better. Toys make you feel better. Pharmacies should give away toys with medicine.  Just like Old McDonalds.

7. Can you stick that thing that beeps in my armpit again? I’ve got an itch in there.

8. I can’t brush my teeth.  Can’t you see I’m sick? Teeth brushing will make me even sicker. It will.

9. Good night, Mommy.  I’m not going to wake you up as much tonight. Probably.

10. If I’m sick again tomorrow can we finish reading “The Secret Garden”? And If I’m not sick tomorrow can we finish reading “The Secret Garden”?