Category Archives: Daily Dharma

To Catch the Sun

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While Sissy is away at camp, Piper and I are having our own little camp alternating between hikes, museums, and arts and craft projects. Today, our task was to paint a suncatcher. It looked easy enough.

I carefully read the directions out loud. “Looks like each paint color has a number that matches a place on the suncatcher,” I explained. The diagram was a bit tedious, but with Sissy away, I have plenty of time for complicated art projects that require more than my normal reserves of patience.

“Or you could just make it look pretty,” Piper suggested. “There’s a picture of the butterfly already painted. We could just follow that.”

Which is about ten times easier than the stupid color-coded number instructions. Good idea, P.

We opened the first miniature pot of pink stain. The kit comes with a plastic “stain spreader” rather than a paint brush, which adds an extra element of danger.

An hour later, we’d made some progress. Piper stuck with it. Until she decided that she needed an assistant. “An artist needs help, Mom. They need someone to tell what to do. An artist gets tired, you know.”

“Let me guess. I’m going to be your assistant?”

“Yes! I’ll be the master artist and direct you!”

It sounded like another excuse to boss me around, but we were approaching hour two and my back was beginning to ache.

So, with the handy help of the assistant and the bossiness of the master artist, we completed our creation. Ta da! And I learned that Piper is much better at giving artistic direction than following package directions. We can’t wait for Sissy to see our masterpiece.

Cool Mountain Air

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Piper hiked to her first waterfall today. It was a little more than a mile up an incline. She was brave and tough the whole way. Every step came with a new challenge.

“Mom, can I run ahead?”

“Yes, with your Sissy or a cousin.”

“Mom, can I climb the rocks, too?”

“They’re slippery. Be careful.”

Then came the big one.

“I don’t want to just look at it,” Piper said. “I want to go in the waterfall!”

Of course you do. But it’s dangerous. And I’m scared you’ll get hurt. “Promise you’ll hold my hand?” I compromised, taking her hand in mine. I held on tight, but not too tight.

Together, with the help of an aunt, an uncle, and four cousins, we took Piper down to the base of this:

When we reached the pools of clear water, Piper peeled off her shoes and socks and went in. “Ah! Cool mountain water!” she yelled over the rush of the falls. She sounded like a commercial for the tourism board. She splashed with delight. She dipped her feet deeper. Then she stuck her head in.

As we climbed out of the waterfall, Piper was pretty proud of herself. So was I. She stopped at the base of the mountain and took a deep breath. “Ah! Cool mountain air!” she proclaimed. And it was.

Glamour Girl

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We’re gearing up for a week without Sissy. Sniff. Sniff. She’s going to sleep away camp in the mountains. She’s been packing her trunk for weeks. It’s great that she’s excited, right? What a brave girl, huh? Piper and I are in mourning, but we’re keeping it to ourselves. At least I am. With Sissy away doing cool camp things, that means Piper will have two doting parents all to herself. And yet.

“No one ever pays attention to me!” Piper complained yesterday. I’m sure you’re on her side, dear reader. You can tell from this blog what a deprived child poor Piper is. Sarcastic sniff.

Still, I’m a bit vulnerable these days. Proud of my growing up kid. Sad for how much I’ll miss her. Grateful to have the time with Piper alone. It’s one long emotional roller coaster ride. So I fell for the “poor Piper” bit in the worst way.

“I’m available, P. We have an hour together while Dad takes Sissy to piano. What would you like to do? I’m all yours,” I said, wiping away her fake tears.

“Paint my nails, please,” Piper begged.

“Ah, honey. Of course.  I can do that.”

“With this,” she added, pulling out an enormous box hidden behind her back.

My only logical reaction was to run screaming from the room and avert my eyes. Piper had clearly been digging through the “who the heck gives this plastic crap to a kid for their birthday?” pile. You know, the gifts you stash away for never? The one thing I forbid in this house is glitter. And there it was in four shiny tubes just waiting to embed itself in every corner of the house. I loathe glitter. It’s the devil.

“A designer nail and tattoo studio? Wow, that sounds fancy,” I managed through gritted teeth. Then I poured a drink rolled up my sleeves and said yes. Remember I was feeling vulnerable. Surely, I hadn’t paid enough attention to Piper’s “look” as the box encourages.

So, we unpacked all the tubes and glue and (gasp) glitter and set them all up in the tacky purple tray just like the front of the box instructed and got to work on our neglected “look.”

“They’re perfect!” Piper squealed. “Can we do this every day?”

It may be an even longer week without Sissy than I expected.

The Case of the Missing Lalaloopsy

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Alice is missing. I know. I know. It’s tough news to take. When you’ve grown as attached to a six-inch-plastic Alice and in Wonderland as we have, it breaks a Piper’s heart. As best we can discern, she went rogue somewhere between Piper’s bedroom and the front steps of our townhome. It’s a lot of ground to cover. Here is Alice in happier days. Sniff.

Lalaloopsy Mini Figure 2Pack Wacky Hatter Alice in Lalaloopsyland

We’re distraught, but we’re trying not to panic. It won’t help Alice. Keep calm and carry on. Wherever you are, Alice, we won’t rest until we find you.

Until then, the game must go on. I mean, once you’ve covered every inch of the living room space with “Lalaloopsy Land” and you’re gearing up to play the make-believe game of the century, you can’t let a thing like a missing Alice stop you. Sissy to the rescue!

I’m not saying that a one-dimensional Alice on high-quality printer paper cut down to size can take the place of the real thing. I’m saying that when a Piper is crying, desperate times call for desperate measures. Sissy solved the immediate problem, if not the case.

So, until Alice climbs out of the rabbit hole and returns to reality, we’ll be waiting. Happily.

Members Only

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Piper and her cousin, Charlotte, have formed a club. You can’t join. I know. I tried.

“What do you do in your secret club?” I asked.

“Tell secrets,” Piper answered.

“Stuff,” Charlotte added.

“Can I join?”

“No.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s secret,” Piper said.

“It’s only for members,” Charlotte explained.

“Right. I want to become a member,” I said.

Piper and Charlotte consulted. Then they ran off together squealing. Then they came back, holding hands and skipping.

“Do you have any money?” Piper asked.

“Yeah,” Charlotte said, “it costs a lot of money.”

“How much?”

Whispering ensued. “Hundreds of pennies,” Piper said.

“I have that.”

“It’s not enough,” Charlotte assured me. “You can’t afford our club.”

They’re probably right, especially when this is the view from their clubhouse window.

Do You Want Fries With That?

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We were downtown last weekend visiting Grumpy Naked Guy and drove by a park where a soup kitchen was serving a meal. The line for food was long and in Piper world, that must mean something good.

“What’s the big line for?” she asked.

“It looks like they’re feeding people,” I said.

“Why are they feeding people?”

“Because they’re hungry,” I explained.

“I’d like a chocolate milkshake, please.”

 

Letter to a Commenter

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Piper’s playmate, funny guy John Clark, is sharing his private letters with the world, including this letter he wrote to Piper’s Daddy. Piper adores John Clark because he’s very, very tall and he married a poet. Who does that? Read on to find out!

John W Clark's avatarThe Private Letters of John W. Clark

Dear Joe Young, the Commenter Who Keeps Asking for a Personalized Letter:

I’m only writing this to put an end to the calls, the letters, and the banners-trailing-planes, although the last one—“Write me or the pilot gets it”—was kind of clever, if alarming.

But the gifts need to stop, seriously. I don’t need Montreal Expos season tickets. I don’t have any use for a Thermos full of uranium. And the Chris Brown-gram (where Chris Brown broke into my apartment, sang a song, and punched me in the face) was really upsetting.

On second thought, this letter is a bad idea.

I can’t establish a precedent where readers can bribe, cajole, or punch me into writing them a letter, no matter how many times they tell PETA that I’m running a cat slaughterhouse in my second bedroom (the protestors are demanding to use our restroom, by the way).

So I’m going…

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The Call of the Piper

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I was raised with wolves. Okay, maybe not wolves. More like Shelties and German Shepherds. We had more than a dozen roaming our property in the woods of rural Missouri.  My baby pictures mostly feature me in a puddle of puppies. I know pack behavior, and I’ve always known that I was an Alpha. Until Piper joined our family. She often challenges my Alpha status. She’s also drawn to four-legged friends. Piper has never met a dog she didn’t love. In one of my favorite baby pictures of Piper she is curled up under the belly of our friend’s dog, Cocoa. Piper had climbed under their kitchen table to cuddle. Cocoa was trying to get some space from her, so Piper held on like a baby kangaroo trying to climb into its mama’s pouch. Cocoa just swept the floor with Piper attached.

Last weekend we went to visit our friend’s farm house in rural Maryland. They brought along their dog, Leo, and Piper spent most of the day trying to be his best friend.

She got to feed Leo his dinner, which she hasn’t stopped talking about since. Leo took a run through the cow pasture and smeared himself good with manure. Piper thought it made him more attractive. When I suggested that she give Leo a little space, Piper growled at me for the first time “Back Off, Mom!”  I was stunned. Piper has a strong will, but she’s never asserted herself so vehemently against mine. A part of me wanted to cheer her on. Another part of me wanted to hump her back into submission. Leo raised his liquid brown eyes to watch. I opened my mouth to bark back…then stopped. She was right. Leo and she were fine. I didn’t need to intrude. An Alpha doesn’t have to fight every battle. Just the right ones. Piper and Leo let the porch door snap shut behind them as they went off to explore.

I Hate That

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Piper loves trying new things. Usually just so that she can tell us she hates it. She’s an adventurous eater  complainer. Even when we fix her favorite things, like basagna, she gripes about the service. Food hating is all the rage in Piper world.

Here’s a list of foods she’s currently hating: stir fry, hot dogs, green grapes, bananas, salad, corn, apple juice, green beans, grilled cheese sandwiches, cold cereal, and water.

She’d like to subsist on macaroni and cheese. Anytime we put something in front of her that isn’t macaroni and cheese she says the same thing: “I Hate That!” But. Then. She finishes every morsel on her plate. For all of her complaining, she’s a great eater.

Sometimes she forgets to complain at the beginning of the meal, so she saves all of her offenses for after the food is gone. “That wasn’t any good,” Piper says, examining her empty plate. “I didn’t like any of it. Can I have some more, please?”