It’s Piper’s daddy’s birthday. Some people call it New Year’s Eve. They’re wrong, according to Piper. It’s all about Dad. Today at lunch Piper professed her true feelings in chalk.
Happy Birthday to my favorite Dad. Hearts.
We’re breaking in the New Year on an island this year. It’s the same island we’ve been coming to for more than a decade. This year our family and friends crew has grown to 18. Some years we have more. Some years we have less. It’s always a grand party with cards, sand castles, and potlucks. Each day begins and ends with sun and sand.
Piper is not much for long walks on the beach. She’s not a fan of the sand and all the places that sand seems to creep. In between bursts of chasing seagulls, Piper needs to rest. She’s always looking for a place to sit, but this secluded paradise doesn’t offer enough actual seating for her taste. “Why doesn’t this beach have more benches and places to sit?” Piper complained.
“Probably because it’s a beach,” Dad offered.
“It needs some chairs!”
Piper had a similar complaint at the zoo. And at the theme parks. And the airport. The girl likes to sit. She seems to tire easily.
“Are you feeling okay, P? You seem worn out a lot,” Dad asked. “Maybe we should take you to the doctor. Or put you to bed earlier.”
“Nah,” Piper said, “there’s nothing really wrong. It’s just my attitude. I have a very bad beach attitude.”
One of Piper’s favorite holiday gifts was this thing:
It’s a unicorn. It’s a night light. It’s a pillow. What more could a Piper want?
If you’ve watched any kid’s shows lately on t.v., you’ve probably seen the unicorn pillow pet night light advertised. Piper fell for the propaganda.
“I wanted one of these SOOO bad!” Piper exclaimed as she ripped open the wrapping paper. Grandma and Grandpa watched in adoration.
“See?” Grandma whispered to Grandpa. “Told ya so!”
“I watched all those commercials and wanted this unicorn pillow pet dream light SOOO bad,” Piper said. “But you had to be 16 years old to order it and I’m only 5. The commercial said you had to be 16 or have your parent’s permission. I knew they’d never approve.”
“You could have just pretended to be 16, you know. They’d never know,” Cousin Jillian said. Piper’s eyes grew wide.
“Really?” Piper asked. “I should have done that. Darn. I didn’t know you could do that! That changes EVERYTHING.”
A few holiday piperisms from the road…
“I heard sleigh bells in the middle of the night. I closed my eyes real tight. Santa doesn’t know when you’re faking it.”
“Ah! I fell down! Now I’m damaged! And my limbs do not work properly.”
“Papa, you smell just like my Daddy. He smells like pizza, too.”
“Alright, Santa. I’m ready for next year. Let the list begin.”
“I really like the beach. Except for the sand part.”
And here’s Piper’s vintage holiday dress from Germany:
Every Christmas Eve Piper, Sissy, and their cousins put on a holiday program. The planning takes the entire week leading up the event. There are negotiations and rehearsals. There is a band, interpretive dances, sing-a-longs, poetry readings, mini-dramas, etc. The Bible is read. The 12 Days of Christmas is performed. We try to limit the holiday program to under an hour. Sometimes we need an intermission.
This year, charades were added. When it was Piper’s turn she obediently sat in a chair in the middle of the circle and asked questions.
“Am I a girl or a boy?”
“Boy!” the crowd roared back.
“Am I an animal?”
There was a pause. “Technically, yes,” someone called out.
“Do I like Christmas?”
“Yes!”
Piper squinted her eyes and assessed the family. “Am I real or fake?”
“REAL!” we all shouted.
“I know,” Piper exclaimed, jumping up from her chair, “I’m Santa Claus!”
And the crowd went wild.
It wouldn’t be the holidays if Piper weren’t sick. There was the Christmas Day when she was two that we spent in the Emergency Room. There was the Christmas Eve when her fever was so high she doesn’t remember the festivities. There was the New Years Eve of strep throat. Oh, and who could forget the holiday round of pink eye. Sigh. We have always flown and traveled for the holidays. We kiss and hug the germy masses. We spread our own kind of viral cheer. It wouldn’t be Christmas if Piper wasn’t coughing.
“How are you feeling?” I asked this morning. I checked her forehead. No fever. I looked down her throat. It wasn’t red. I put my ear to her back and listened to her cough. It’s just a cold. I gave her more vitamin C and made her a cup of her favorite Orange Spice tea.
“I feel loved,” Piper said. Cough cough. I asked after her physical health and she gave me her emotional report. “You know, Mom. You’re the right kind of mom for a girl like me.” Cough cough. Sniff. Hug.
Piper went to the spa yesterday for the first time. She had her nails done. There were manis and pedis and aunts and cousins.
She picked out her polish. Pink and sparkly pink.
Then the painting began. “Hold still!” Piper’s polisher commanded.
“This is as still as I get,” Piper informed her. Holding still is not one of Piper’s talents.
After the painting of nails, there was much “drying.” Piper draped herself over chairs and stools for the sake of “drying.” It took a very long time. She was committed to the outcome, though.
The “drying” brought about one of those conflicting motherhood moments. I tend toward a policy of containment when it comes to Piper, but the masses find her so adorable that her behavior is encouraged. “Oh, let her be. She’s fine,” I’m told again and again when I try to make Piper aware of other people. The masses usually win.
Post drying, Piper climbed up in my pedicure chair with me. It was the only thing in the spa she had yet to explore. Oh, the buttons. The remote controlled massage chair. “I really like the butt bumps,” Piper said, selecting a lower back massage.
“Now, let’s admire our toes,” she said. And we did.
It’s cookie making time, folks. First, you roll out the dough with your Sissy.
Then, you cut out the gingerbread “people.”
“I don’t know why they’re just gingerbread men, Mom. That seems so unfair,” Piper complained.
Next, you decorate your genderless cookies. Piper’s gingerbread are a patriotic bunch. The more red, white, and blue icing, the better.
Finally, you eat them. It’s an equal opportunity snack.
If Piper was a super hero, she’d be known for her Pipeyness. Pipeyness is hard to define but it’s easy to detect. It’s a way of being, a powerful force.
“Pipeyness is a lame super power,” Piper said.
“No way. Pipeyness is the best super power ever,” Sissy disagreed. Sissy is president and CEO of the Piper fan club. Most of the time.
Yesterday at Universal Studios Piper met all of her favorite superheroes. Spider-Man. X-Man. Wolverine. And the “tough girls,” too.
“See those Super Women, Mom? They’re so tough they don’t even need weapons!”
Papa outdid himself this year. The Christmas tree seems to be getting bigger with each additional grandchild. A tall ladder is needed for hanging lights and ornaments.
Here is Piper’s view tonight.
Those are the second story ceiling beams near the top of the tree. Next year he may have to put in skylights. Piper approves.
“It’s the most beautiful Christmas tree I’ve every seen!” Piper declared tonight while coloring. Her dad strummed holiday tunes nearby. We all sang along.
Then we guessed at the logistics of getting a tree that large in the house.
“I’ll bet Papa had it delivered,” Sissy said.
“Probably. It definitely wouldn’t have fit in the car,” Daddy agreed.
“Papa knows how to do Christmas. He tries and tries,” Piper said. “You can never give up on Christmas!”
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