We’re visiting the grandparents this week. As I mentioned yesterday, Piper did her own packing.
After a long day’s drive, we arrived to a home cooked meal and a cozy cottage. The cousins were reunited. There were screams of delight and joyful hugs.
Then Piper climbed up on a kitchen stool next to Nana, looked her up and down, and declared, “Nana, you aren’t very fashionable.”
Nana busted out laughing. Then she explained that as a scientist who travels the world teaching about conservation she hadn’t really gotten around to fashion.
Piper listened intently. Then she said, “And Papa married you anyway?”
I sent Piper packing last night. Really. We’re traveling again, and she has strong opinions.
“Pack your favorite stuff, and I’ll be in to help you,” I directed. I’ve learned the hard way with Piper. She has to do it herself first.
After a few minutes, I came in her room to assess her progress. Tutus and more tutus. Wands. Sparkly headbands. Not a pair of underwear in sight. Bikinis. Lip gloss. More lip gloss.
Piper is enjoying what we’ll forever refer to as “The Summer of Nutella.” You know the hazelnut chocolate spread?
She wants it on everything. She likes to keep an extra smear on her chin “for later.”
“Nutella’s the perfect topping!” Piper says. “If you put it on something healthy, like oatmeal, it’s still healthy underneath. It’s magic, really.”
Piper has requested a healthy dose of Nutella on the normal stuff: toast, strawberries, crepes, each of her fingers. She’s also tried to convince me to spread it on: veggie dogs, cheese, tortilla chips, each of her fingers.
I admit that she’s even inspired me. After I put Piper to sleep last night, I pulled out a buffet of other things we hadn’t previously dipped: cheese puffs (yuck), crab chips (surprisingly not terrible), goldfish (eh), animal crackers (yum), and pita crisps (awesome).
Tonight, though, we entered true Nutella heaven. We went out for dessert to a new cafe. Piper was expecting something good, but nothing like this:
I’d tell you how good it was, but Piper wouldn’t even share a bite.
Who me? Couldn’t be. Then who? Piper took the cookie from the cookie jar. Are you singing along yet? Sorry ’bout that.
I caught Piper tonight between her fourth and fifth giant chocolate cookie. We were at a friend’s house and her mother-in-law made homemade treats second only to Mrs. Peterman’s. They were gooey and soft in the middle with the perfect buttery crisp edges. You know the ones. Can’t say that I blame the Piper.
Why didn’t I stop her from her chocolate chip cookie gorge? I was on the front porch stuffing down an enormous piece of strawberry rhubarb pie made by some Christian women who clearly just earned their passage through the pearly gates. Mmm. Delicious. When I came in to refill clean up my plate, I found Piper smeared in chocolate from mouth to elbow. She smiled so big. That’s how I knew there was trouble.
“How many you had there, sweet stuff?” I asked.
“They’re small,” Piper answered, avoiding my question.
“They look big to me. Is that your second or your third?”
“How many’s a lot, Mom?” Ah. Answering a question with a question. Well played, P.
“Well,” I said, taking the current cookie contender out of her hand, “what do you think is a reasonable serving?”
“Of what?” Piper asked. Oh, please. I’m so on to you.
“Cookies, Piper. How many cookies do you think is an acceptable number?”
“Five isn’t a lot, is it? You said I could hardly buy anything with five dollars. That’s a small number.”
“Not in cookies, honey. Five cookies is too much. How many have you had?”
Piper looked at the cookie in my hand. She licked her chocolatey lips.
“Less than five,” she said. “By one. Should I switch to pie?”
We sat down last night with our fried “chips” for the Opening Ceremonies and spoke in our worst British accents, of course. Piper had a lot of questions. Let’s face it. When it comes to the Olympics, we all do.
“I know what my Olympic sport would be,” Piper said.
“What?”
“Jumping.”
“Like pole vault jumping or ski jumping?” I asked.
“No. Like kitchen tile jumping. I can jump over three tiles before I smash my head into the wall. I’d totally win because I practice so much!”
Everyone knows 52 card pick up: the smelly game you teach your little sibling to tease them. But I’ve never met anyone who didn’t dislike it or feel cheated by it. Except Piper.
My cousin Jack and I were setting up a card game. Piper asked if she could play. “Sure” I said. “Try 52 card pick up.”
She loved it. There were songs sung about picking the cards up and whines of wanting me to throw the cards again.
“Let’s play more 52 pick up cards!” Piper said.
“Why do you like 52 card pick up so much?” I asked
“Well, you throw the cards. Then I dance and sing while I pick them up like when I pick up my toys. Then we can play my new favorite game again!”
Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new cleaning lady.
When you give Piper a choice of any place she’d like to go in the whole D.C. Metro area, she always picks the zoo. I’ll refrain from jokes about Piper’s own animal behavior. The zoo, it is. Off we went!
Piper’s favorite thing to do at the zoo is to pick out an animal we MUST see, locate that animal, and then the second we are in front of that animal’s cage, announce that she’s ready to see the next animal on her list. She’s not one for gazing or appreciating. For Piper, it’s all about the quest. Next, please. Bamboo eating panda? Seen it. Elephant squirting water on its back? Been there. Lion roaring and pacing in its cage? Done that.
That was, until we were eating our lunch and suddenly the monkeys, technically orangutans, found us. “The monkeys are loose at the zoo!” Piper shouted. She pointed into the trees above our head. She was right. There they were swinging and traveling in their own orangutan style on the O Line.
“Mom,” Piper asked, “can I get up there, too?”
We decided to save that request for another day. We’ll be back soon, I’m sure.
We’re big fans of Jack Handey’s “Deep Thoughts” in this house. Too big of fans, actually.
So big that Piper has begun dropping “deep thoughts” as ice breakers when she meets new people. Yesterday we were waiting outside Sissy’s violin lesson when another student arrived early for her lesson. Piper introduced herself by asking if she could have some doritos from the stranger’s bag. The answer was ‘no.’ Then Piper said, “If you drop your keys in molten lava, let them go because, man, they’re gone.” The stranger just stared. There may have been a language barrier, too. “Deep thoughts” don’t translate that well.
Sometimes when Piper is sharing her “deep thoughts” with the world, she fudges the punchline a bit. Or she starts laughing so hard she can’t get the ending out. This happens all the time with her favorite: I hope if dogs take over the world, and they choose a king, they don’t just go by size, because I bet there are some Chihuahuas with some good ideas. Piper is usually drooling on herself in a fit of giggles and can’t get the “Chihuahuas” part out. She’s tried this one out while ordering from the menu when we’re out to dinner. People think she’s ordering dog. And that’s just not funny.
Piper wrote her first poem today. It’s illustrated with a translation. If I ever needed confirmation that my children are plotting to keep me contained within the walls of this house so that they don’t have to share me with the world, I now have it. Piper put me in a box. Then she loved me.
Taking a Piper to the airport is a bit like bringing along a frisky cat. She darts under luggage racks and refuses to yield the aisle, even when a traveler is coming straight at her with rolling bags twice her size. She must touch and sometimes lick every germy surface. There’s so much open space in which to skip and frolic and cool moving escalators and belts. Makes me wish I had a kiddie leash. No judging here.
Even a trip to the bathroom is an adventure. While waiting in a long line in the ladies room, I bent down to check for shoes under the stalls.
“Mom,” Piper said, “I don’t think you’re supposed to look under there at the people. That’s what you always say.” I tried to explain that I was just assessing occupancy, but P had already moved on to her next observation. “Look! Somebody thinks their luggage needs to go potty, too!”
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