Big flakes, folks. Piper and I are watching real snow. Our world is closed. Only we exist inside this inclement weather let’s call the whole thing off bubble.
It’s just us and the hot chocolate. We’re on our third cup. It’s not even 10 a.m. I’m going to have to start rationing the marshmallows. Here’s Piper’s version:
Parenting happens gradually. So does independence. At least I think so. It feels like yesterday Piper was nursing, attached to my body. Last week she told me she could walk home alone from school. Detached. I walked ten feet behind her, of course, but she wanted to be out of my sight.
She’s becoming more independent. Sometimes I don’t even realize it until I turn around and find her fully dressed and almost ready to walk out the door. Who undressed her? Who picked out her clothes? Who helped her pull that shirt on? Piper. How did that happen? Sometimes it doesn’t.
Independence seems to be two steps forward, one step back. And just because Piper can doesn’t mean she will. And then sometimes she wants to and can’t. She’s still Piper.
This is how our chore chart has changed over the last year of blogging:
The best part? Dad and I are no longer on it. Believe me, we still have plenty of chores. We’re not lazing about on the couch eating grapes while Cinderella and her sister do our bidding, although that would be nice, too.
Sissy and Piper have simply taken on more. Sissy does a couple loads of laundry a week (sort, wash, fold) and then gets to boss Piper around putting it away. They set the dinner table and I don’t have to show them how anymore. They mostly remember their snacks and water bottles on their own. Sometimes I have to remind them but I don’t have to pack them. They clean up their dishes and put them in the dishwasher. They unpack their lunchboxes and wash them. They clean their rooms, reluctantly but independently. I’m not saying they do any of their chores perfectly, but they do them and that’s probably more important than my standards.
My standards have evolved gradually, too. Parenting, as hard as it is, makes me better, too. Who knew that was going to happen? Certainly not me. Whew.
This morning while packing lunch boxes, making waffles, and overseeing a fairy game under my feet, I listened to a report on NPR about sleep deprivation in children. It’s no surprise, really. Our 24-7 world isn’t good for us. Shocker. Kids need sleep. Parents do, too. The problem is our scheduling. Or, more specifically, our overscheduling.
Like most things in parenting, it’s a tough balance between ‘will Piper be ready for Harvard?’ and ‘has Piper licked up enough dirt in the backyard today?’ I want both. But I have to prioritize. I worry all the time if I’m choosing wisely. I protect our down time fiercely. Two afternoons a week Piper and Sissy have activities. They choose. Mad Science, ballet, piano. Two afternoons a week they don’t. I choose. Board games, books, library, walks. Fridays are always, always for play dates and fun. Saturdays are a mad catch up day. Sometimes I blow off a whole day of scheduled events for a day of nothing. Sometimes we spend all day at a museum downtown. I don’t know if these are the best solutions. I just know what my gut and my kids feel.
Every day I receive another announcement in the mail about the awesome summer camps and summer opportunities in our community. I’ve lived in plenty of places without any such offerings. I would have driven an obscene amount of miles in rural Illinois for a real Math Camp. Now I have six in my backyard. It doesn’t make the decision any easier. What I do notice is how many excuses I find for NOT putting Piper in back-to-back-to-back camps over the summer. It’s too expensive. She doesn’t want to go. We’re traveling. I don’t want to battle DC traffic. Some of my excuses are more valid than others. My goals are always the same. I want to slow things down. I want some balance among the fray. I want Piper and Sissy to not feel as wedded to the clock as I do.
This morning at breakfast Piper analyzed the equal or not so equal distribution of Nutella among the squares in her homemade waffle. It mattered. The perfect bite is not so perfect if it doesn’t have the correct amount of chocolate hazelnut spread. Then we discussed the rationale behind my insistence that she use either a paper napkin or a brown towel (not the new white towels!) to clean the Nutella smears from her face. It was a lesson in logic and consequences. Piper had 42 questions. Sissy answered 41 of them. I waited for my espresso to kick in. And I wondered out loud if making a homemade whole wheat waffle countered the processed sugar spread? I still don’t know, but Piper and Sissy seemed content with the choice.
Piper thinks a lot of things are awesome. Like museums on Sunday Funday and elevators. And most things in between. Her joy can’t be contained. It shouldn’t be either. Take a look.
“Piper, what did you think?” I asked.
“It was awesome! Let’s ride it down!”
This note came back to us in Piper’s homework folder yesterday. 
Apparently, Sissy was helping Piper with her homework the night before. Piper didn’t receive words for the word sort assignment. Sissy took it upon herself to communicate appropriately to the teacher.
Thank goodness someone is parenting the Piper. When I grow up, I want to be Sissy.
“Dad, did you have imaginary friends when you were a kid?”
“Yes. I did.”
“Dad, what was the name of your imaginary friend?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Well, then you must not have been very good friends.”
Piper has never met a carbohydrate she didn’t love. To get in her good graces, you just need to serve up pasta. Piper prefers spaghetti.
Tonight she stacked her meatballs high and sprinkled on the parmesan.
“There’s only one thing in the whole world better than spaghetti and meatballs and parmesan,” Piper declared.
“What’s that?” I asked, twirling the marinara love.
“You.”
One of my New Year’s Resolutions was to stop blogging about poop. But this blog is about Piper and poop happens to be one of her favorite topics. It’s February, so it’s time to break all resolutions anyway. Here goes.
We see many interesting things on our walk home from school every day. Last week Piper and Dad watched local firefighters practice ice rescues in the pond at our park. They cut a hole in the ice, put out some orange cones, crawled on their bellies, and pretended to rescue a dummy from the icy depths.
Our walk home always includes geese. They waddle about on the path honking and pooping. I’m not sure geese do anything else but waddle, honk, and poop. They poop a lot. Piper thinks they should learn to control themselves a little.
“Gosh,” Piper said, observing their excrement, “if gooses had their own house, it would be very messy.”
“I wouldn’t want to live there,” Dad agreed. “It would smell awful.”
Piper pretended to waddle and poop behind the geese until she came to a splat. Then she leapt over and resumed waddling and imitation pooping.
“If gooses ruled the world,” she said, “there would be poop EVERYWHERE!”
Thank goodness they don’t.
If you’re a parent, you spend a good part of your waking hours as a taxi service. The hours stink. There are no benefits. Tips are terrible. Yet, you pick up, drop off, and wait. Repeat.
Piper and I were shuttling Sissy tonight to a choir concert. It was raining. The parking lot was crowded. There was a tornado watch. Dinner had been rushed. Traffic was a nightmare. You get the idea. On our way to the concert we’d picked up Daddy at the Metro. He was walking Sissy inside while Piper and I waited in the warm car.
Piper watched the other parents in the parking lot doing the same. We saw more than one parent running after a kid with a McDonald’s sack.
“Where’s everyone going?” Piper asked.
“Probably doing the same as us, P. Picking up. Dropping off. Rushing around,” I said.
“Where are they all coming from?”
“Work. Downtown. This is a tough time to get anywhere. Especially in this weather.”
“But why are they working?” Piper asked.
“We have to work. Daddy and I go to our jobs. We get paid and then we can take care of you. Food, clothes, toys, choir concerts. It all costs money.”
“Wow,” Piper said, “that sounds like a serious amount of responsibility. What a meany world!”
There was a tickle fest tonight. Piper lost. Until she jumped on my back and yelled “Love is my weapon!” which made me laugh so hard that I lost the battle. The end.
piperism 