To beat the heat, we took the girls to a movie matinee today. Piper asked for a box of Mike and Ike candy, too.
We said yes. We know how to party. Piper reached inside and started tasting the chewy goodness. “Mmm…this one is strawberry. Yummy. I think this is lemon. I love lemon. And this one,” she said, holding up a lime green candy, “is zucchini.”
“What’s this?” Piper asked, crawling into her dad’s lap as we watched T.V.
“It’s the NBA draft. Want to watch with me?” he answered. He was thrilled to have the company.
“Umm, Dad. Why are we watching the NBA draft?”
“To see where the players go. I like to watch the parents celebrate, too. They’re pretty proud.”
Piper watched quietly for five seconds.
“Umm, Dad. Why are we watching the NBA draft when it’s soooo boring?”
Piper had her first sleepover last week. It was at Augie’s house. Dreamy, I know.
When I picked her up, I asked about the sleepover success.
“Did you use your best manners, P?” I asked.
“Yep. I was polite, Mom. I really was,” Piper said.
“Did you follow their rules?”
“I did,” Piper answered. “But they don’t have the no jumping on the bed rule. Thank goodness.”
You know those videos of kids whose parents surprise them with trips to Disney? The kids scream with delight and bounce up and down with excitement. They hug their parents and swear eternal gratitude. That’s what it was like when we told Piper an hour into our road trip this morning that we were Augie Bound. (See Soulmates and What We Talk About When We Talk About Love for background on the Piper/Augie Lovefest)
“Really, Mom? We get to see Augie! Really?” Piper’s eyes kind of popped out of her head.
“Really. We’re on our way now,” I answered.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“How much longer?” Piper asked.
“About 10-”
“-Minutes?” she interrupted
“10 hours.”
20 minutes later she needed another arrival time update. Then Piper began scheming.
“I’m going to ask Augie-in private-if he wants to be my lovey-dovey.”
“Why did you pick Augie?” Dad asked.
“Because he’ll probably say yes.”
“He’s a good guy,” Sissy agreed, “but you might want to wait until you have a better reason to ask someone to be your lovey-dovey.”
“Wait a minute,” Piper said, “aren’t I older than Augie? That won’t work!”
“You’re only a month older, P. I think it will be okay,” I answered.
“Yeah, you’re right. You’re older, too, Mom. Dad doesn’t seem to mind.”
(For the record, I’m four months older. He never lets me forget it, either.)
In two weeks Piper will turn 5. It feels very big. Yesterday I was pregnant with her. Today she walked in to her room, took off her pajamas, put them in the dirty laundry, dressed herself, and brushed her own teeth. How did that happen? Piper’s birthday wish list seems to be growing by the minute. She’s gotten the idea that your birthday is a magical moment where all of your dreams come true. Here are a few of my marching orders:
1. A turtle birthday party (whatever that means)
2. A breakfast picnic at the park (this I can do) with water balloons (for sure)
3. All of the American Girls (not a chance)
4. A drum set (Lord, help us all)
5. A beach ball for every single friend at her party (a definite yes)
6. Vegan muffins for her playmates with dairy allergies (works perfect for the breakfast picnic)
7. Every single cheap plastic toy at Toys R Us (umm…no)
8. An all-expense paid trip to Build-A-Bear (not likely)
9. A tambourine (to got with the drums, of course)
10. Bongos (I’m sensing a theme)
There will be a breakfast picnic party at the park across the street from our house. It will be simple and fun. We’ll throw water balloons at each other. We’ll eat muffins and watermelon. We’ll toss around beach balls because beach balls make everything fun. The kids will play. Piper will feel special. It’s enough. There will be presents, a few anyway, and there will probably be a very noisy, musical house afterwards. I’m ordering multiple sets of ear plugs right now. You might want to, too.
“Beans make me burp out of my butt!”
-Piper Mae, age 4 and 11/12 (the fraction is essential)
Piper has an answer for everything these days. Unfortunately, it’s not the answer you want. When we dropped her dad off at the Metro this morning he kissed her good-bye and wished her a good day. Piper’s answer?
“Dad, remember: Never leave the nuts with the nuts!”
I know. We did a double take, too.
“What?”
“I said: Never leave the nuts with the nuts!”
Sissy came to the rescue.
“It’s from Penguins of Madagascar.The penguins say you shouldn’t leave the food with the squirrels or something like that. It also works for not leaving the good stuff with the crazies.”
Later in the afternoon, I suggested we clean up the playroom.
“Well, Mom. Maybe. But you should never leave the nuts with the nuts, you know,” Piper said.
Piper’s new answer actually works well in many situations. Go ahead. Give it a spin. Let me know how it works for you. Make Piper proud.
Sometimes, when you’re a Piper that is, your parents drag you along on their adventures. They don’t know where they’re going exactly, but they have the whole day free and the sun is shining and life is grand. So, somebody’s sister’s hairdresser’s cousin told them about this mansion in Dupont Circle where you can roam through 4 connected row houses with 20 secret passages and they don’t even know if it exists but they’re willing to try because it does sound magical, even if only half of it’s true. And because you’re a Piper, you say yes, too, because it’s in your blood. You skip down the cobblestone streets petting every dog along the way. You play along in the “If I had ten million dollars, that would be my house” game that everyone plays in Dupont Circle. You munch on a pile of naan bread because that is what you’re addicted to these days. Your parents find the address, but there is no real sign so they barge inside immediately, assuming the lack of welcome is another part of the intrigue. They’re right. You wander from room to room opening mirrors that lead to more rooms and pushing on bookcases that reveal secret passages. Every surface is covered in treasures. It’s surreal and you’re pretty sure you’ve stepped into a Scooby Doo haunted mansion episode. So, then you find fancy hats in one of the guest suites and of course, you try them all on.
Because you’re a Piper, you jump right in to the fun and make even more.
The next room over you stumble upon a motley collection of musicians who put a guitar in your daddy’s hand and he says yes, too.
And the adventure continues because you’re a Piper and you don’t just put your toe in to the test the water, you cannon ball into the middle of the pool. Always.
“Mommy, I like to wake up smooth,” Piper said, crawling beneath the covers on my side of the bed.
“Smooth?” I asked.
“Smooth,” she said. “It goes like this. I get in bed with you. You snuggle me. I snooze a little more. That’s smooth. Then I tell you about my dreams. You snuggle me again. Then you make my hot tea. You tell me about your dreams. Then Daddy and Sissy snuggle me. That’s smooth, too. Then I’m ready for the day.”
This probably explains why we are two hours late most places. Happy but late.
Piper is having a playdate today with her best schoolmate Alexandra (Alex around these parts). It’s a huge success. I define “success” because I’m in my office writing while she and Alex are playing in the room next door. Sure I’m supervising, but it’s not my playdate. Geez. It’s taken almost five years to get to this solo moment, and you better believe I’m savoring it…by blogging twenty feet away about Piper. Don’t ever say I don’t know how to party, right?
Here’s a snippet of what I’m missing (or not missing as the case may be):
Piper: “Say eyeball!”
Alex: “Eyeball! Now you say Goo Goo Ga Ga!”
Piper: “Goo Goo Ga Ga!”
(Screams and giggles)
Alex: “I made you sound like a baby!”
(Screams and giggles)
Piper: “Hey, look at this!”
Alex: “OK!”
Piper: “Made you look! Made you look! Now you’re in the baby book!”
(More screams and giggles)
Piper: “Let’s smack ourselves in the head!”
Alex: “Your mom said we weren’t supposed to do that anymore.”
Piper: “Oh, right. Let’s pat ourselves on the head. Gently.”
Alex: “OK!”
(More screams and giggles)
piperism 