Category Archives: Daily Dharma

Top Ten Reasons Piper Should Moderate a Presidential Debate

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You have to admit that those presidential debates can be a bit dry. But what if Piper moderated them? That would be worth watching. Here’s why:

10. Everyone would wear tutus.

9. When a response doesn’t make sense, the candidate would have to open fake potato chip cans and release the screaming snake while Piper fact checked them.

8. She’d enforce the rules: No ‘rupting each other. Wait your turn.

7. Mid debate recess break. Wouldn’t everyone be nicer after a few trips down the slide?

6. The water would be in dribble glasses. Parched throat? Help yourself. Snicker. Snicker.

5. Candidates would have to hold hands while debating.

4. Augie gets to ask all the questions from the audience.

3. Bowls of goldfish for snacking. Yum.

2. Time? What time? What’s that?

1. Candidate who farts first, wins.

Echo Echo Echo

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We bought Piper a microphone yesterday. It is the final accessory that she desperately needs to complete her Paty Kerry costume for Halloween. Really what’s a rock star without amplification? We gave Piper a lot choices in her microphone selection. She fell for Magic Mic:

Translucent Magic Mic (Colors May Vary)

Piper’s has a black handle with a shiny silver microphone. It’s for the glamorous fake rockstar variety. It’s kid-powered; no batteries required. And when you sing into Magic Mic-or spit all over it with huffy breaths-as Piper does, your voice sounds like an echo. It’s completely addictive. I’m warning you. If Piper hadn’t already stamped this one owned with her germs, I’d be stealing it after she goes to bed and putting on my own concert. Trust me. You don’t share Magic Mic.

Piper is now speaking to us only through Magic Mic. Every response requires amplification. Even dinner conversations.

“Piper, do you want peppers or carrots?”

“CARRRROTTTSSS!” she echoed.

“Use your napkin. It’s in your lap.”

“I WIIIILLLL!”

“Did you clear your plate?”

“I’MMMM GOOOING TOOOOOO!”

Magic Mic adds an element of drama to every response. And we needed a lot more drama around here.

Hot Noodle Soup With a Side of Snap

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When Piper woke up this morning with a raging fever and a sore throat, I wanted to cry. But I can’t. I’m the mom. So I gave her a dose of ibuprofen, stripped off her sweat soaked pajamas, and brought her to our bed. We cuddled and talked about how stinky it is to feel sick. “I know what would make me feel better,” Piper said.

“Anything, baby. What?” I asked.

“Hot noodle soup.”

“But you ate all the noodle soup yesterday,” I reminded her. “We’re all out.”

Tears welled in Piper’s eyes. Okay. Okay. I can make a fresh batch. From scratch. Before 6 a.m. Fine. I diced and simmered the broth. I boiled the noodles. I buttered a fresh slice of bread. Then I fed it to Piper with a spoon. She said her throat felt better. She said it would feel even better if she could watch Word Girl on the couch. I’m a sucker, I know.

A few hours later, after the fever broke and some of Piper’s energy returned, after the negative strep throat test and doctor’s visit, I brought her another bowl of hot noodle soup. Piper peered into the bowl at her beloved carrots and celery floating in a fragrant bath of broth and noodles and said, “Mom, I don’t do leftovers.”

If I Had a Million Dollars

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The dinner table conversation last night turned quickly from “What are you grateful for?” (our standard) to “If you could have a super power, what would it be?” (the inevitable) to “What would you do with a million dollars?” Piper’s answer was quick. She’s a bit impulsive. I’m hoping she never actually has a million dollars.

“I would SPEND, SPEND, SPEND,” she said, dancing around the table with what must have been her fairy spending wand.

“I’d buy us a house,” Dad said. Real estate is a bit pricey in our neck of the woods. A million dollars may get us a nice detached three bedroom.

“I think I’d give some away,” Sissy said. “We’re pretty lucky. A lot of people aren’t.”

Everyone looked down at their full dinner plates. Then Piper said, “That’s what I meant. I’d SPEND it on someone else.”

Parenting Plots

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We caught Sissy reading a parenting magazine at breakfast yesterday. “Anything good in there?” I asked.

Sissy glanced over the top of the magazine. “You really should be teaching me this stuff, you know.” Which is probably true. But why bother when I can just have her read it herself? She doesn’t seem to need fixing to me.

Piper, too, got into the unsolicited parenting advice business tonight.

“Mom,” she began, “if I wrote a parenting book, I’d say…Step One: Be nice to your kid. Step Two: If they’re hurt, just hold them. Step Three: If they want something, give it to them after dinner. Step Eight: If they break something or ruin your favorite things and you get mad, pat them on the head and say you’re sorry. Step Five: If they want books, say yes.”

Whew. That’s a rather clear and concise parenting manual. I have to wonder if Step Four, Six, and Seven were key, though.

A few minutes later, Piper’s parenting plot was revealed. “Did I mention that there was a book fair at school next week?”

UnWacky Your Tacky

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It’s Spirit Week at Sissy and Piper’s school. Every day they are supposed to dress up. Monday was sports team day. Tuesday was hat day. Wednesday is Wacky Tacky. You get the idea. It’s been a fun week, but last night, dress up hit a speed bump.

“What’s Wacky Tacky?” Piper asked.

“You wear mismatched clothes. Crazy stuff. Fun stuff. You know. Like a costume,” Sissy explained. “Here. I’ll show you.” Sissy took Piper into her room to share the outfit she’d picked out: tie dye shirt, floral scarf as a belt, mismatched socks, two different earrings, silver shift, day glow belts, etc.

Piper went to her own closet and started pulling out accessories. The rainbow dress, of course, polka dot socks, silver strands of beads, a blue tutu, rainbow sunglasses, and two different sparkly shoes. “That’s perfect, P. Very wacky tacky,” I said. “You’ll look great.”

Piper looked over her outfit one last time. I assumed she was trying to work in one more rainbow something. “But that’s not wacky tacky,” she said. “That looks like what I wear every day.”

Braiding

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Piper likes braids. Except when she doesn’t. Then she wants pigtails. And rainbow hair accessories. Or glittery headbands. Mismatched barrettes. Silver bows. Purple ribbons.

Piper has a hair agenda for each day. She sits in my lap or on the floor beside me and directs. She knows exactly what she wants. It’s her hair, after all.

Lately, Piper wants me to braid her hair wet before bed so that she wakes up with wavy locks. I take her golden brown strands, that look remarkably like mine, and comb and  part and straighten and braid Piper into the person she wants to be.

If Dancing Doesn’t Work…Dance More

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Piper got stuck again. This was a little different than my last stuck post “Stuck in a Compromising Position.” This one had an extra element of danger and intrigue.

A new grocery store opened in our downtown, so we decided to take a stroll through after dinner. We’re wild party animals aren’t we? I mean, who checks out a new grocery store for fun, right? Geez. Piper thought it was Christmas, though. She was so excited to run the aisles and see the goods. I had to keep reminding her “We’re just looking, P. This isn’t shopping. We just want to see what they have.”

Anyway, we went through the first set of automatic sliding glass doors together. Then the second set opened to deliver us to produce. Piper was dallying a bit behind because she wanted to see everything. And touch everything. And pick up everything. The second set of doors closed behind me and I turned around to see a wall of glass behind me and P. The first set had closed, too, so Piper was stuck in a little glass cage. I swung my arms wide on my side thinking maybe the sensors worked. They didn’t. Piper smiled through the glass. Then she swung her arms wide, too, but nothing happened. She was too short to activate the sensors. She pointed behind her to ask if she should go out the other way. I pressed my hands to the glass and mouthed “NO!” The parking lot with zooming cars was on the other side. We stared at each other a moment more. Then Piper began dancing. I’m not sure if she was actually trying to activate the motion sensors and open the door or if the moment was just ripe for dancing. You never know with P. Either way, the glass doors still didn’t budge. So she danced more and added ballet leaps. The leaps must have done it. Mid-pirouette the doors slid open and Piper danced her way in produce.

“That was cool, Mom. I like this store already,” she said.