Category Archives: Daily Dharma

Touching Base

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Piper is a big fan of her daddy.  He walks on water.  She waits by the door like a puppy when he’s gone and rushes to his open arms with a “Daddy!” even if he’s just taken out the trash.

I have to remind her regularly that I did in fact bake her in my body for 10 months and nurse her for a year and a half.  And that doesn’t even account for that whole labor and delivery thing. You’d think that might earn me some loyalty. To Piper, I’m base. She simply wants me there, omnipresent and available.  Base is safe, but it’s kind of boring.

On a recent drive to pick up her daddy at the Metro, Piper offered sage advice and a strenuous warning.  We were waiting in the car and Piper asked, “Do you think Daddy kissed any other moms at work today?” Because apparently only other moms are my competition.

“I doubt it,” I answered.  “Your daddy wouldn’t do that.”

Then Piper delivered the gut punch that only a four-year-old can.

“You know there are a lot of moms prettier than you.”

I took a nice, long breath, which is the only thing I’ve really learned in almost 10 years of parenting.  Take one breath before you speak.  A sacred pause.

“True,” I acknowledged.  Because it is true.  There are prettier moms than me. “But Daddy is committed to us.  He wouldn’t kiss anyone else.”

Piper was quiet in the back seat for a minute.  Then she saw her daddy walking across the platform toward our car. She put her foot on base and dug her toe in for good measure and whispered, “You never know.”

Darth Piper

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Piper loves the dark side.  She roots for Vader, and she cries when he dies. We knew that raising Star Wars girls could have consequences, but we never imagined it might go this far. She’s even perfected her Darth Piper impersonation.

She’s also a big fan of the Emperor.  Shooting lightening out of your hands is cool and apparently not the least bit scary. Her sister is hiding under the couch and Piper wants more blood on the screen. And that’s the thing.  What should scare Piper actually fascinates her and what is not the least bit scary sends her into a frenzy. When we took her to see “A Christmas Carol” at Ford’s Theatre we worried that the pyrotechnics and ghosts might be too much.  We prepped her with the Dickens story, the Kelsey Grammar movie version, and an introduction to spirits of every sort. When the ghost of Christmas future, who looked a lot like the Grim Reaper, floated above our heads Piper laughed out loud.  I had to cover her mouth to hide the giggles. But guess what does terrify her? Mannequins in department stores.

Regardless of the information we provide, Piper can’t decide if they’re real or fake.  She likes to get really close to them, daring herself even closer, then sprint away and clutch one of our legs.  Every time we go shopping, it’s the same set of questions: “Is that one real?  How about that guy? Is he real?  And that one over there? Fake or real?  How about the bald one?  It looks real.  Is she fake?  She looks real.”

And so our search for a Darth Vader mannequin from the dark side continues.

Have Kids, Will Travel

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We’ve moved 14 times in 15 years. All voluntarily.  We aren’t running from the law.  Jobs, graduate school, adventure, more jobs, more graduate school, overseas opportunities, etc. Even when we’re planted for a few years, we travel for every holiday. My kids are accustomed to moving and to embracing the unknown. My nine-year-old has the skills to navigate mass transit; I haven’t yet let her travel alone, but she could. They’ve learned how to make friends upon landing.  Most sadness can be overcome with the promise of bubble wrap dancing.  It’s a noisy outcome but it does cure the blues.

Over the holidays we took them on the road for 2 weeks to live out of 4 suitcases and see how we faired. My partner and I dream of travelling overseas for a semester, so we thought this would be a safe trial run. The trip was an absolute success.  Here the girls are exploring Tom Sawyer’s island at Disney, plotting their next adventure:

When we returned home, Piper put down her suitcase, unpacked her beloved Pinky, and just to be sure she was ready for our next move asked, “So, we’re home, right?  When do we have to check out of this place?”  Poor nomadic children or well-adjusted little explorers?  You decide.

Who Are You People, Anyway?

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Piper is shocked that her parents might actually be interesting people to anyone outside the four-year-old world.  On our last road trip she asked if I always carry snacks in my bag.  I told her I did.  As she happily munched away on gold fish she hypothesized, “That’s probably why Daddy liked you when you met.  He’s always hungry!”  Because, really, what other possible explanation would there be for our courtship?  Piper is equally amazed that anyone wants to hear what we have to say in our professional lives. A few weeks ago my partner announced at the dinner table that he’d been invited to give a talk at a policy institute downtown.  Piper asked immediately if he’d be telling the truth or making stuff up.  He said they’d probably want the truth. Then she suggested, “Daddy, you shouldn’t use potty words like you do at home.” True. True.  When Piper visited her father’s office on campus she declared it “lame” until she saw that she could do this on his big screens:

If you can play Disney games in high definition, you must have some worth, right?

A Piper By Any Other Name

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Piper mostly hates preschool.  Not the playground and the crayon thing but the academic thing.  If you have a preschooler, you may already know that they are doing long division by the end of the first week.  It’s insane.  Most of Piper’s classmates have been skilled and drilled since birth.  Half of them can already read. Piper can barely write her name.  It’s not that she doesn’t have the ability or that she isn’t bright, it’s that we haven’t really put our energy into her four-year-old academics.  She’s been busy making mud pies and memorizing Lady Gaga lyrics. Her father has taught her an array of armpit noise pitches.  We’re very proud. Every day her teacher sends home a note asking me to work with Piper on her name.  I haven’t paid much attention, but I’m pretty sure the note goes like this “Dear Lazy Mom Who Doesn’t Pay Enough Attention to Piper, Please take a few precious moments out of your busy day and work with this poor child on writing her name so that the other kids stop making fun of her on the playground. Thank you.”  I know that tone.  I’m a teacher, too. So, we work on the name thing.  We sit at the kitchen table with brightly colored paper and markers that smell of various fruit flavors.  And she does write a name.  It’s just not her name.  It goes like this:

So, I’m thinking of saving us all the headache and just changing her name.  “What do you think of going by Pirppirr?”  I ask.  Her face is hopeful. “Can I stop doing this then?”  “Yep.  Back to eating Playdoh and practicing armpit noises.” She happily runs from the table and I begin writing a note to her teacher informing her effective immediately of Piper’s new name. Problem solved.

Raising Star Wars Girls

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It’s no secret that my partner is mildly obsessed with Star Wars.  I’m sure it’s the Death Star and not Princess Leia in a metal bikini that began his adolescent obsession.  So when our local library decided to host a Star Wars Day, we signed up. Piper and her sister made their own light sabers, trained with Yoda, and fought the Dark Side.  Piper did her steamy breath rendition of “Luke…I am your fah-ver,” which she’d been perfecting for weeks in a mirror. But they were among a small minority of girls in attendance. People were surprised we’d sent them.  Star Wars is for boys, right?  Just like colors have genders? Not in Piper’s world.  As we were patting ourselves on the back for raising strong Star Wars Girls, my partner found this:

To Piper, even Master Yoda transcends gender boundaries.

Ikea Vs. The White House

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My favorite piperisms are delivered when I least expect them and need them the most.  Today I was whining about a $99 delivery fee Ikea wants to charge even though they are only twelve miles from my house.  Don’t they understand that twelve miles in traffic on the beltway could take hours?  And that’s only if I drive it between 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. Poor me.  From the backseat Piper said, “Ikea is so much better than the White House.  Wanta know why?  Because Ikea lets you sit on their stuff.  You can climb all over the furniture and they don’t care.  That White House is stingy.” True.  That does put it all in perspective.

An Apple a Day

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Why do fevers strike at midnight?  You’re sound asleep one second and the next you’re kneeling by the side of the bed while your child sweats through the sheets.  It’s terrifying.  I know. I know. Fevers are healthy.  Fevers are helpful.  They are useful to fight illness.  None of that comforts me when I’m simultaneously watching the numbers on the thermometer climb and counting down the minutes until the ibuprofen kicks in.  Morning brings another doctor’s visit, another strep test, another run to the pharmacy.  Even in a screaming fit, Piper delivers comic relief.  After a thermometer reading this morning, she lifted her weepy head off my shoulder and assigned blame where only the logic of a four-year-old can go.  “Wait!” she cried. “Nana said if I ate my apple I wouldn’t have to go to the doctor.  An apple a day keeps the doctor away.  She said so!” Such betrayal. And from her grandmother nonetheless.  “That’s it,” Piper declared, “I’m never eating fruit again!” That should definitely solve the problem.

New Year’s Resolution

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Piper greeted the new year at 6:10 a.m., as children often do when we really need them to sleep. Morning in our house announces itself with a quiet rattle.   The rattle is buried in Piper’s lovey, a well-worn pale pink teddy bear named  Pinky that miraculously turns into a blanket from the waist down.  Piper stirs awake, searches her sheets for Pinky, and drags the bear down the hallway.  As the rattle grows louder, thumping against the floor, my morning begins. Piper crawls in bed next to me and shoves Pinky, rattle and all, in my sleepy face. Pinky kisses me first to measure my mood. This morning, the first of 2012, I smiled and Piper declared her first new year’s Piperism:  “Mom, when I go really fast, I miss some fun. I’m going to go slow from now on.”  So, here’s to a slower 2012 filled with simple fun and a daily dose of joy.