“Uh huh,” Piper agreed.
“He picked you up from school and made you a snack.”
“Uh huh.”
“He’s making dinner and cleaning out your lunch box.”
“Uh huh. Yep. He’s a good daddy because he does everything I tell him to. Now, can I have some tea?”
The Daily Interrogation Otherwise Known as Our Commute
Piper seems to save her big life inquiries for the drive to and from school. Thank goodness it’s only an eight minute commute.
Yesterday, we planned her romantic future in She Love Me, She Loves Me, Too. Today, we’re working on her monetary one.
She’s also began announcing “Question!” just to let us know what’s coming. We’re grateful for the warnings. Brace yourself.
“Question! Do robbers have to pay taxes?”
“I don’t think so, Piper. They just take stuff. They’re not know for their ethics in reporting income.”
“Question! Will I have to pay taxes?”
“Well, if you make enough money, yes.”
“Question! What do they do with the taxes stuff?”
“They collect all the money and build schools, libraries, roads, and stuff like that.”
“Question! What if I become an artist?”
“Then you probably won’t have to pay taxes.”
We may have just solidified her career path, too.
I’ll Stop the World and Melt With You
Today, Piper, you are a ballerina, and I want to study and to preserve you from head to toe. You’ve gotten so tall lately that I can’t find my baby in your long limbs. I want to remember how you nuzzle your nose against my neck like a kitten. I’m going to watch you dance with your miniature pot belly poking at the edge of your tutu. So what if your shoes are on the wrong feet? You put them on yourself. Your knees and elbows are scattered with scars and bruises. You play hard, P. It’s one of the things I love so much about your spirit. Remember to always play hard and be brave, even if it means sometimes you’ll get hurt. Even your heart will heal. I promise. You told me this afternoon that you don’t ever want to grow up. I’d stop time, too, kiddo, if I could just to keep you exactly like this:
But I can’t. Not even for you, Piper. We’ll both just have to remember today when you were a ballerina and hold on tight for the ride. White knuckles and all.
Taxidermists Need Not Apply
Piper has been debating the merits of her stuffed animals recently. Her bed is currently inhabited by more than fifty fuzzy creatures. She’s always claimed that sharing her bed with so many things was cozy, despite my protest.
She’s begun to worry, though, that stuffed animals are for babies. Piper is a big girl. We all know that. 4 and a half is huge. That half matters.
“I’m thinking of giving them all up,” Piper said at breakfast. “I don’t need stuffed animals anymore.”
“Whenever you’re ready, P. There’s no rush,” I answered.
Piper slowly turned toward me, her eyes trailing me up and down.
“Know what I really need, Mom?”
“What?”
“A stuffed you. Then I’d be really cozy and warm. I could cuddle you whenever I need to and keep you with me all the time.”
Creepy Piper scares me just a little. I think we’ll invest in more cute stuffed animals in our near future.
Childrens Miss Their Daddies
When Piper isn’t fond of a plan or wants something, she speaks of herself in third person en masse. It’s not her objecting, you see; it’s children in general filing a complaint. It’s not her making the request; it’s children in general who need chocolate chip ice cream for breakfast.
She did this quite well in Drunk Dialing or Something Like it during the hair brushing saga where “childrens get mad at their daddies.” According to Piper, some children do not appreciate their daddies brushing their hair nor do those children approve of their daddies going away on business trips.
She filed this complaint this morning when she saw her daddy packing. Again. He’d just returned from California and was on his way to Chicago. “Please tell daddy three important things,” Piper began, holding up four fingers. “First, if he goes, I will cry. Second, if he goes, I will be sad. Third, if he goes, I will put a special gift in his bed to make him want to come back and then, I will be sad.” I listened. I held the Piper close.
“It’s okay to be sad when your daddy goes away,” I told her.
“Know what daddies should do for their children?” she asked.
“What, Piper?”
“Daddies should bring their children pistachio ice cream when they’re sad. That makes the children feel better.”
I don’t know how he’s going to get the ice cream home from Chicago, but daddies better figure it out.
Go Climb a Tree
The cherry blossoms are in full bloom in our neighborhood. They’re losing their petals fast, though, and shower us with pink snow on our walk to the park. Piper says they look like cotton candy trees. She’d like me to raise her up so she can lick one, but I won’t. A girls got to learn to climb her own tree and claim what she wants. Sorry, Piper. I will cheer you on, though, and I promise to clean up your knees if you fall.
Lady in Lavender
Piper fell in love yesterday. The object of her affection was a “fairy dress” at Kohl’s. We were shopping for summer sandals when Piper came around the corner and saw it. “OMG!” she shouted. “There it is! The dress I’ve always dreamed about!” She ran to it and embraced its lavender taffeta goodness on the plastic hanger. Then she danced with it. She and her lavender love twirled about knocking into other racks of inferior clothing. The relationship was already to second base by the time I reached her. “Can I try it on? Please!” Piper begged. Her Sissy had an arm full of shorts and t-shirts by then so I figured the dress would keep Piper occupied. I assessed the sparkles and the flowing cut aways. She wasn’t serious, was she?
“You can try it on, Piper, but that’s it. We’ll play dress up,” I said.
Piper ran to the dressing room, shedding her beloved pink tutu as she went.
She’s fallen in love with items of clothing before. Remember Sissy’s blog about the Rainbow of Fruit Flavors? Then there was her love of the one ballet shoe in Homemade Magic. A Piper is always fashionable.
Piper spent the next thirty minutes admiring herself in the dressing room mirror. The dress transformed her. “I look like a grownup,” Piper claimed. “Duh.” Apparently, all grownups do is say “duh” in a sarcastic voice. Piper could use a few better role models.
You probably know how the dress saga ended. I really did go in with the best intentions to indulge her fantasy but to be practical in the end. But could you say no to this?
The lady in lavender found her new home.
Desperately Seeking Bounce
Piper’s daddy returned from California today with tales of his gorgeous hotel accommodations. It’s never really what you want to hear about as the partner that stayed home, but Piper was only concerned with one amenity. At dinner, Dad shared all the grueling details of his trip.
“The hotel was amazing. You would have loved it, honey,” he began. “There was a beach promenade for running.”
“Was there a bouncy house?” Piper asked.
“No bouncy house, but there was a yoga studio in the hotel and a Starbucks.”
“Was there a bouncy house in the Starbucks?”
“No. There wasn’t, but there was a beautiful wine bar on the balcony and outdoor cafes. Oh, and there was a frozen yogurt place in the lobby.”
“Did the lobby also have a bouncy house?”
“It didn’t, but you could walk on the beach anytime.”
“Was there a bouncy house on the beach?”
You already know the answer. It seems that a good hotel really only needs one thing. A little bounce.
Bloom Where You’re Planted
According to Sissy, I have a brown thumb. I can kill grass on our front lawn just by looking at it. I’ve somehow managed to keep two children alive, though, which probably matters more than herbs. Fortunately, Nana is visiting this week and she knows her way around a garden. One of their projects was to plant pansies in our front beds.
They couldn’t find gardening tools because I don’t have any, so they resorted to digging holes in the soil with ice cream scoops. It worked. Nana started the holes and the girls dug the good stuff. There were worms and grubs crawling around in the dirt, which pleased the Piper. “Look, Nana! I got one. Those worms are fat!”
Then came watering time. Again, my lack of gardening tools was apparent. Nana brought out pans of water with soup ladles for distribution. Piper loved this part. She was a bit zealous with the water. Maybe more of it got on Piper than on the flowers.
“You know what these flowers really need?” Piper asked. “Songs.”
So gardening went opera style and the flowers perked right up.
The Art of Doing Nothing
I had a boss once who infuriated me with his inaction. A problem would arise, a crisis by my measure, and he’d do nothing. He would wait. He would listen. He’d go for a walk. But he wouldn’t act. I’d roll up my sleeves ready to put out the fire with my bare hands and watch him walk away. It took me much too long to realize that most of the problems worked themselves out. All that was needed was time. It was an important lesson for my young hot-headed I-know-everything self. It’s helped me a lot in my parenting, too, when I’m patient enough to remember the art of doing nothing.
You may remember that Piper isn’t a fan of school. In fact, she hates it. The play part works for her. Snack time is good stuff. Books are okay. It’s just that when her teachers ask her to do something, like write her name, there is grand resistance. If you need a refresher on the name writing saga, read this post: A Piper By Any Other Name. Just before the end of the year holidays, her teachers asked me to come in for a conference regarding Piper’s “lack of academic progress.” Do I need to remind you that we’re talking about a four-year-old? A Piper, nonetheless? I went. It was ugly. The teachers disagreed about what was developmentally appropriate. Their message was incoherent. Piper couldn’t write her name. I got that, but I didn’t get what I was supposed to do about it. Drill and skill? It’s not us. They recommended private tutoring and early intervention. I didn’t see what we were intervening on. I teach college. I truly know very little about how to teach preschoolers anything. I did the one thing I’m really good at: worry. I worried a lot, but other than that, I did very little. I didn’t work with Piper on her name. I didn’t shame her. I said some encouraging words, hugged her really tight, and sent her out to play. My gut just didn’t indicate crisis yet. I did nothing.
Guess what Piper brought home today?
Her first certificate! It’s official. Piper can write her name. And she did it all by herself. It’s her victory not mine. My worrying didn’t seem to contribute at all. I still do it, of course, but maybe I should do nothing a lot more, too.
piperism 