Monthly Archives: August 2012

Post Piperism? What’s Next?

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I’m not really a blogger. A year ago I didn’t even know what a blogger was. I’m a writer and this blog belongs to the Piper. She’s the star. And she gives me plenty of material. That you choose to read it flatters me beyond words. That you’ve embraced the joy that is Piper and laughed a long with me fuels this blog every day. That I’ve learned so much about the process of writing and captured so many of the details of our family’s year is just icing on the cake. I’m grateful, and I’m starting to wonder what’s next.

We’ve reached more than 40,000 hits. Sissy and I have written 250 posts. That means we have about 100 left to complete our 365 days of piperism. Here are a few of the things Piper’s taught me a long the way:

Piper Dharma

I’ll Stop the World and Melt With You

When I Look Up I Just Trip Over Things

Courage Comes in Small Packages

So, what do I do once I reach my goal? What happens to piperism? Do we start a new blog? A new project? Do we hit print and put this project on a shelf to pull down one day when Piper says ‘tell me what I was like as a kid’? Thoughts?

I’d love to hear from you. So would Piper.

Painted Piggies

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I locked myself out of my office at work today. Twice. My mind has been preoccupied worrying about Piper’s kindergarten trauma drama. I’ve also just met my fifty-two new freshman who seem to be going through their own new school adjustments.

Piper locked herself in the bathroom at school. Twice. She said it was nice and quiet in there. She wanted a little peace, a moment away from the substitute madness. One of her classmates banged on the door while Piper was taking a break from it all. “What did you do?” I asked.

“I ignored him,” she said. “I wasn’t done yet. Besides, there’s another bathroom. Geez.”

We spent the afternoon recovering in the only way we know how. We ordered pizza,  curled up with Sissy on the couch to catch up on Cupcake Wars, and painted our toenails.

Now at least we’re ready to face tomorrow’s challenges with rainbow piggies. Oink.

Help Wanted

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Piper’s kindergarten teacher quit today. She didn’t come back for the second day of school. It doesn’t really matter why. I’ve been told on good authority, though, that it wasn’t something Piper did. Whew.

So Piper had a substitute teacher in kindergarten today. It’s not ideal. In fact, it’s a mess. And there’s not a darn thing I can do about it. I’ve already tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. Piper seemed to be holding her own adjusting to the new school, new friends, new classroom, new rules, but this new teacher thing was too much.

“I hate the substitute! She’s boring. All she knows how to do is boring school! I want my teacher back!” Piper cried in my lap, curled up in a ball. “It’s not fair,” she said. I had to agree. Then I had to tell her that her teacher, the one she’d known for exactly one day, wouldn’t be coming back. New Kindergarten Teacher couldn’t hack it. I’m not that surprised, but none of that matters to Piper. She just wants what she expected, the teacher I told her she’d have. Her five-year-old self can’t understand the adult world and how a new teacher could quit after one day. “Who’s going to be my teacher then?” Piper asked.

“Well, the substitute you had today will be here for the rest of the week,” I explained.

“How long is that?”

“Three more days. Your principal promised me today that you’d have a new teacher by next week. So, three more days with the substitute and then you get a brand new teacher.”

“Why three days?”

“Your principal wants to find the best one. He wants to make sure he gets it right. He’s going to find a special new teacher for your class.”

“But I hate the substitute. She should go back to substitute school and become less boring!” I went to school today to meet the substitute after I met with the principal. She was perfectly nice and competent. Sissy had this particular substitute several times in her own class and raved about her. In fact Piper’s class seemed much better managed the second day under the substitute’s direction.

“I understand, P. I’m sorry,” I said. I listened to her complain some more. I told her I was proud of how she’d adjusted so far and I knew that she’d do okay with this change, too. I told her that sometimes change is hard and uncertainty is harder. I told her that whatever teacher gets Piper in her class is the luckiest teacher in the school.

“I’m not going back,” Piper said. I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t tell her she didn’t have to because she does. I have to make her. I have to agree that this sucks and let the school do its job. I have to hand her her lunchbox and her backpack and send her back in, even if I don’t want to because I have enough faith in this school and even more in Piper.

1st Day of Kindergarten: Sissy’s View

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Since Sissy’s in charge of walking the Piper to and from school, she’s going to report on the big first day. From the desk of kindergarten, here’s another blog from Sissy:

Today was Piper’s first day of kindergarten. She started the day with her usual grumpiness but when she remembered that it was the first day, fits of screaming joy followed. Kindergarten is the next big thing. Her life goals, she once told me, are to say hi to her kindergarten teacher and buy all the My Little Ponies at Toys R Us.

We departed for school after struggling horribly not to take school pictures.  Her are the fruits of my parents’ labor:

When we got to school we had to stand with my dad waiting for the school doors to open. My friends fawned over Piper and she agreed. “I guess I am pretty cute,” Piper said. I always tell her that if she doesn’t make friends in kindergarten, at least she’ll have friends in fifth grade.

Then we found our classrooms. I might of shed a tear. Just a little one.

I saw her later in the day during the first day fire drill. She said she got separated from her class, but she was waving at me and smiling like crazy in her class line, so you can’t really tell. Then, after struggling to get out of the building because of all the parents and confusion, we got to the bottom of the first day. She has a nice teacher, she met some few friends, they didn’t get enough recess (yeah, right), and she had her first music class. At first I wasn’t sure she had had music class. “We went to see the music teacher,” Piper said. “She was super cool and sang us a song about bees. Then we went and danced to a funny song.”

“Umm. Piper. Did you have music class or just visit the music teacher?” I asked.

“Well… if you mean did I get to play my drums, then no. But I did have fun!”

Piper did a dance that looked like the funky chicken to demonstrate.

“I love school? Do we have it tomorrow?” Piper asked.

“Tomorrow is Tuesday. We have school on Tuesdays,” I told her. “Do you want me to teach you the days of the week?”

“No. But when is my Halloween party?”

Opposites Attract

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I’ve always believed that Sissy and Piper hold secret meetings to determine who likes what to ensure that they never agree. This is especially true when it comes to food. Sissy love pears. Piper hates them. Piper loves cucumbers. Sissy prefers salad. Piper won’t eat lettuce. She’ll eat her weight in grapes, though. Grapes make Sissy gag. It goes on and on. They’re both pretty good eaters, but they just won’t eat the same things. Ever.

Tonight at dinner Piper asked for some plain bread. Sissy wanted hers, of course, with butter. Piper couldn’t think of anything else to complain about so she said, “I hate the crust.”

“Crust?” Sissy asked, “The crust is the best part!”

“I like the insides.”

“I only like the outside, really.”

“Fine,” I said, peeling apart the bread and dividing up the pieces. “Satisfied?”

They seemed to be. I was more than annoyed, but at least there wouldn’t be wasted bread.

“Mmm,” Piper said, yumming up the sourdough center, “this bread is warm. Just like Mommy.”

If You Have to Ask

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I spent a good part of yesterday afternoon getting the Sissy ready for her first day of school. She needed just the right outfit, just the right shoes, just the right earrings, and just the right unmentionables. Piper stayed home with her Daddy so that she could participate in what we are now dubbing “Battery Fest ’12,” in which every toy/remote/flashlight that wasn’t working because we’ve stolen batteries from it finally received replacement batteries. Piper with a screwdriver is a frightening thing. I was happy to be stuck in multiple dressing rooms instead.

When we arrived home, there was a fashion show, of course. And there were speeding remote control race cars transporting Lalaloopsies throughout the fashion show, of course. Sissy is feeling great about her first day. She happily pranced through the room showing us her new outfit, which looks exactly like something I wore in 1983, dodging the cars that Piper aimed directly at her feet.

“I feel so special!” Sissy said, spinning around so that we could see her skinny jeans and neon accessories. “You’re the best mom,” she gushed. “When I grow up, I want to be just like you.”

Sniff. Sniff. There were tears. Hugs. Gratitude.

It might have been the best moment of my life.

Piper stopped zooming the cars around the room, turned to Sissy with an incredulous look, and said “Why?”

Dear New Kindergarten Teacher

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Dear Ms. New Kindergarten Teacher,

It was a pleasure to meet you yesterday at orientation. My daughter, Piper, is very excited to have you for her teacher, especially since you wore that blue shirt. Piper thought you needed a little bling to your outfit, but I explained that you were probably going for professional and something that made you look older than twelve. Good choice.

I understand this is your first year teaching. Who knew you’d be so lucky to get your very own kindergarten class when you just graduated from university last week? Big score. I’m rooting for you. And don’t worry too much about being stuck in the old art room rather than one of those awesome real kindergarten classrooms. Who needs their own bathroom with twenty squirmy five-year-olds? I’m sure it will be a fun class field trip down the hall to the restroom several times a day. At least you got a smaller class due to the cramped space! Gotta look on the bright side, right?

I’m sure you’ll remember our little Piper from orientation. She was the one who crawled inside her locker and shut the door? Wan’t that hilarious? You might want to consider drilling some air holes in there. I promise it won’t be the last time. In fact, if you lose Piper throughout the school day, you might check her locker first.

Piper is a little trickster. She has big plans for that locker.

As I mentioned at least a dozen times yesterday, I’m happy to help you in whatever way I can. I’ve taught in the trenches before, and I know the first year can be a wonderful roller coaster ride. And you’ve got a Piper on top of it. At least she’ll make you laugh along the way. Please let me know how I can spy  volunteer my time in the classroom. I’m looking forward to keeping my eye on you helping.

Good luck!

Sincerely,

Piper’s mom

 

Trick or Trick

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Piper’s been playing tricks on us. It’s her new thing. She inherited a bag of discarded pranks from Sissy’s bygone trickster days. Round two is just as funny.

“Here, Mom! Can you open this can of potato chips for me?” Piper asks, handing me one of these:

Nibbles Potato Chips Snake Can

“Oh no!” I exaggerate. “I had no idea these weren’t real!”

That sends Piper into a fit of giggles on the floor…right next to the fake dog poop, which she’s strategically placed right next to the fake vomit and the fake rat she’s blaming it all on.

“Mom! There’s a rat in our house! And it pooped and threw up on the floor!”

“A what?” I play along.

“A rat! It’s right there next to the snake. And the poop and stuff. We better run!” Piper sprints out of the room. She comes back seconds later. “Whew! I need some water. Here, Mom, drink out of this cup. I poured you a nice glass of water.”

I take the miniature plastic cup filled with lukewarm tap water. “Thanks, Piper. That sounds refreshing.” Dribble, dribble. The water seeps out from two holes near the lip. “What? I guess I forgot how to drink water!”

“Oh, Mom. You’re so funny!”

“No, Piper. You are!”

“Mom, did you just fart? I heard a fart!”

And she’s only halfway through the prank stash.

A Modern Mary Poppins

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I’ve seen Piper’s future and her name is B. She’s our new babysitter. We met her at our church’s Peace Camp. I should have known then. Piper and Sissy dragged B over to me and announced that this was the young women they’d chosen for their new cargiver. I just do what I’m told, so B has spent the last few days at our house while I’ve been reacclimating to life in a suit.

B is a modern day Mary Poppins. She arrives with arts and crafts ideas. She takes the girls to the pool and organizes all the children into a rousing game of Marco Polo. She spends hours at the park where babies flock to her and she swings on the monkey bars like one of the gang. Piper said, “B does all the voices right when we’re playing Laloopseys!” B and Sissy talk fashion and food. And Sissy said the best part, which is vital for a ten-year-old that doesn’t feel like she needs a babysitter, is that “B just plays. She’s not really in charge. She’s like one of us.”

“What does she do if you and P are arguing?” I asked.

“Oh,” Sissy answered, “she makes us wrestle and she declares the winner.”

Okay. The kids are happy. They’re safe. They’re running around the neighborhood enjoying the last moments of summer as kids should. The tv is off. B sounds dreamy, doesn’t she? She is. But that’s not even the best part.

B has blue hair with streaks of hot pink. At the park and the pool the other kids call her “the girl with rainbow hair” as in “let’s go hang out with the girl with rainbow hair!” B has put some modern flare into her Mary Poppins drag.

Yesterday B showed up wearing a rainbow tutu. It matched Piper’s exactly. By the look on Piper’s face, I thought Santa Claus himself was standing at our front door, but it was just B, in her rainbow tutu towering over P in her rainbow tutu. They’d planned the whole thing.

In fact, B has a collection of tutus. She also has a Pinkilicious backpack. Apparently, all the high school backpacks weren’t stylish enough. How could they be?

I’ve seen the woman Piper may grow up to be, and she’s just as awesome as I imagined. Better than that, she’s entirely herself.

This Will Hurt Me More Than It Hurts You

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Some punishments I dole out end up punishing me more than them.

We’ve had a rash of vitamins making their way to the carpet rather than people’s mouths. I picked up seven from the kitchen floor last night while vacuuming. I’m not sure if I’m more worried about the missed nutrition or if I’m pissed about the expensive dye-free, sugar-free, vegetarian, whole foods waste. Probably the latter.

I ranted before I’d had time to process.

“The next time I find a vitamin on this floor, there will be no tv for a week!” I shouted. If I was a superhero, I’d be Vacuuming with Venom. You should never vacuum angry.

I said it out loud. Now I have to do it, right? I hate that part of parenting. There’s no space for my emotional rants and retractions. Geez. As if I have any clue what I’m about to say before I say it.

The threat is working, though. Piper has appointed herself the keeper of the vitamins. She’s supervising Sissy for once. “I have an idea,” Piper told me this morning crawling in bed next to me. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the vitamin problem. I can’t go a week without tv. Why don’t we eat the vitamins as soon as they’re put on our plates? That way we don’t wait and accidentally drop them on the floor.”

Brilliant. Clearly, the punishment fits the crime.