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 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.
Piper, Sissy, and I are growing strawberries in our backyard. This morning Piper decided she was hungry for one so we went to inspect our harvest. This was the entire batch:
Did you miss it? Our thumb size strawberry?
It’s miniature but mighty. Just like Sissy and Piper.
“Mom, will you cut it in half for me?” Piper asked. “I don’t want to get full.”
Then she laughed herself silly at her own joke.
Piper has been having nightmares. Kenny the Shark is to blame. Piper thinks he’s absolutely terrifying.
We don’t let her watch such violence at home, of course. She saw it during indoor recess. Discovery Channel needs and R rating, according to Piper’s imagination.
While I was trying to rationalize her irrational fear, she asked, “Mom, are sharks and ghosts real?”
“Well,” I answered, “sharks are real. Ghosts aren’t.”
“Ugh,” Piper said, “I was hoping you’d say ghosts are real. They’re so much less scary than sharks.”
Piper is ready to write her memoir. She told me so at lunch.
“Mom, when I’m six, I’m going to write a book about my life. I’ve lived a lot, you know. And there will dogs in my book. Lots of dogs. I’ve petted a lot of dogs.”
True. Very true. All of it. Can’t wait to read it. I’ve even picked out the cover photo.