“Mom, I’m going to need you to schedule a meeting.”
“A meeting? You mean like a playdate?”
Piper rolled her eyes. “No, I mean a meeting. With Madeline. We have club business to discuss.”
“Alright. I’ll schedule some time at the end of the week.”
“Yes. That will do. And we’ll need snacks.”
“Playdate…er…Meeting. Snacks. Got it.” I wrote my instructions down on my notepad like the dutiful administrative assistant I clearly am.
“Blueberry muffins. Seaweed. Cantaloupe. Lemonade. Did you write that down?”
Piper knows that when you outgrow something, you pass it on. This is true for clothes, shoes, and habits. When you aren’t a baby anymore, pacifiers get shipped to the cousins (whose mommies know what to do with them…ahem…). When you outgrow your favorite tutu, the hot pink tulle one you’ve been wearing since your second birthday, you give it to your beloved cousin, PJ, who loves to wear “cousin clothes” more than anything else. Your pacis, your tutu, your favorite fancy shoes, they’ll find a new home and they’ll be honored there.
Letting go is sometimes hard but it’s necessary.
Piper is hoping that I’ll be as generous. She thinks there is a chance that I’m still growing. I really want her to be wrong. “Oh, Mom! I love those earrings. Can I have them when you grow up? Promise?” She eyes me and my outfits like she’s shopping at the mall. This afternoon when I picked her up from school, Piper complimented my skirt. Then she narrowed her eyes. “I want that when you pass it on, okay?”
“I don’t plan on outgrowing it anytime soon, P. I’ve been wearing this skirt for years.”
“One day it will be time. I’ll help you,” she promised, patting my hand. Then she gently slid off my sparkly bracelet and claimed it as her own.
When Piper walks to the park, she skips and dances. She frolics under cherry blossoms. She makes up songs and sings them loudly. She keeps her eye on me to make sure I’m following.
If she meets a dog along the way, she looks back for my permission. I look to the owner to see if we know them and to the dog for a sign of friendliness. If I nod, Piper crouches low and holds out her hand. She holds her body still. As much as a Piper can, anyway; stillness is not her default setting.
Meeting a dog on the way to the park is Piper’s favorite thing in the whole world. Suddenly, she’s not on a walk to the park. Piper is petting a dog.
A Piper is always on a journey. She often forgets her destination. There are cherry blossoms and dogs and songs. Maybe there is a park on the other end of the path. Maybe not, but a Piper is sure there will be an adventure.
Piper has decided what she’d like to do with her life. Those of you who know her animal loving ways won’t be surprised much. Piper’s never met a four-legged stranger.
This morning while I was braiding her hair, Piper asked, “Mom, what would you do if you had a lot of money?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Seems like we have most of what we need. Maybe help other people?” It was 6:02 a.m. and I hadn’t had coffee. Forgive me for neglecting a teachable moment.
“I’d open a mall just for dogs. Then I could let them go to the doggie spa all day. There would be parks for playing and fresh water bowls everywhere. In fact, I’d hire one person just to go around cleaning and refilling water bowls.”
“And what would you do at the mall, Piper?”
“Oh, I’d cure cancer. Nobody deserves cancer but especially not dogs. I’d have my own lab with a big window so I could watch the dogs play while I worked. Then they’d bring in the sick ones and I’d make them better.”
When Piper is sick, she wants soup. Lots of soup. Noodle soup. Pasta fagioli. Tomato Soup. Repeat.
While slurping up her tomato soup today, she decided that cheddar bunnies would be better than crackers. It’s Piper’s version of a grilled cheese, which she loathes: “It’s smashed bread and cheese! What’s the big deal?”
So the bunnies took a yummy dive and Piper said, “Mom, there is a pool party going on in my tummy. I’ve invited these cheddar bunnies. Hope they can swim!”
Piper wants me to blog about her strep throat. Again. Because she has it again. Ouch.
“Tell them I’m really sick, Mom.”
“You said it doesn’t hurt. And you’re dancing.”
“Yeah but that won’t get me any sympathy at all.”
Poor Piper. Skipping around our house with 103 fever begging for her next dose of Amoxicillan because she loves, loves the flavor. She claims that swallowing doesn’t hurt. Her tonsils are so swollen that her voice sounds funny. She’s either the toughest kid on the planet or a complete liar.
“Oh, and tell them Dad smells like pizza. He does.”
“But pizza smells good.”
“Ok. Just tell them about my stripey throat.”
Piper has decided we should be a family of sea otters. Last night we were cuddled up on the couch watching Planet Earth when we learned about the importance of body rubbing. You see, a family of sea otters practices body rubbing, which is exactly what it sounds like, to manage their furry coats and promote bonding.
“Let’s try it!” Piper said, wiggling her body and rubbing her head on my arm.
A fit of giggles ensued. Obviously. Bonding accomplished.
It’s all rainbows, fresh crepes in bed, and love around here this morning.
Hope your day is full of homemade cards, peace, and your heart’s desire.
No one likes a party more than Piper. She can’t wait. Any reason to celebrate suits her. As you know, Mother’s Day is this weekend. Piper is gearing up. Or more accurately, Sissy, who is currently addicted to Pinterest, is designing daily art projects for Piper to complete for Mother’s Day. Piper can’t wait until the weekend, though, so I get a dose of homegrown love every day leading up to the big event. Here is this morning’s treat:
Ahh….every day should be Mother’s Day. I’ll take it.