Goonies Never Say Die

Posted on September 30, 2012 by melissa.scholes.young

We introduced Piper to the Goonies last night. It may not have been our best parenting move, but we were too far in by the time we realized what was a classic from our own childhoods was inappropriate by today’s childhood standards. Don’t get me wrong. I love the Goonies. But I remember watching it about 50 times one summer when I was Sissy and Piper’s ages unsupervised. I still quote from the Goonies on a daily basis. I had forgotten the cursing, which my kids aren’t accustomed to. I had forgotten the sexism (“Oh, let HER mother worry about it,” Brand’s mother says of his make out session with Andy. Gulp.) The good of the Goonies still outweighs the not so good, but I just didn’t remember. My childhood lens was so much less innocent than my children’s. Gulp again.

Piper found the good, though. She fell hard for Sloth. Every time he came on the screen, Piper fell into a puddle of giggles on the couch. She couldn’t catch her breath she was laughing so hard. “I just love Sloth!” she said. “He’s cracks me up.”

The most shocking part of the Goonies, though, was Sloth’s mother. “Why is she so grumpy? Doesn’t she love her Sloth? How could you not love him?” Piper asked. She was genuinely angry that Sloth, her new best friend, was mistreated by his family and especially by his own mom. “But how come she got kids if she’s so mean?”

“Maybe she’s not really that mean, P. She’s one of the bad guys, you know. Maybe it’s just for the movie,” Sissy explained. Piper examined Sissy with suspicion. She was so far into the Goonies that she’d momentarily forgotten that these were actors on a screen. That’s when you know it’s a good movie.

“Sloth’s a good guy,” Piper declared. “He deserves a good mommy. Like me.”

Then Sloth yelled “Heeeyy Youuuuu Guysssss!” and Piper squealed with delight.

The Middle Way

Posted on September 27, 2012 by melissa.scholes.young

I’m sad is one of Piper’s favorite new phrases. It’s both a declaration of emotion and a conversation starter. It’s also startling for a Piper to be bouncing about in a rainbow tutu, smiling her bright smile, and declare her sadness. You have to brace yourself.

The morning after my birthday, Piper declared her latest sadness.

“I’m sad.”

“Why, honey?”

“I’m sad because of your birthday.”

“My birthday? We had a nice time on my birthday.”

“It made me sad. You’re getting old.”

“Well, I’m not that old. I feel pretty good. We all get older. It’s part of life.”

“Yes, but I’m sad because you’re old and you’ll die.”

“True. Someday. But not anytime soon. I don’t think we have to worry about it for awhile.”

“Okay. I’ll save my sadness until then.”

And on that cheery note, Piper skipped out of the room.

An Oreo Autopsy

Posted on September 26, 2012 by melissa.scholes.young

Grandma and Grandpa are visiting Piper and Sissy this week. We caregivers (my partner and I) are entirely optional. Piper and Sissy are the stars of the show. That’s means our norms and fancy rules hardly apply. And that’s why Piper gets to eat this for dessert:

halloween oreos

I know, right? Piper is a fiend with a Halloween Oreo. Who could resist their five Boo-rific shapes? Most people fall into the eat them whole vs. deconstruction category. Piper has developed her own Oreo eating method. I call it the autopsy.

She dissects it piece by piece until she discovers it’s true orange dye and chocolate mystery. Then it disappears.

Halloween Oreos fall into the the grandparent’s prerogative category. And Piper never wants the grandparents or the Oreos to leave.

Do You Ever Sound Like a Broken Record?

Posted on September 22, 2012 by melissa.scholes.young

You know how you say a hundred things a day and your kids aren’t listening? Me, too. Most times I feel like a broken record doling out champion advice that is lost on the masses. Last week, though, for one glorious moment, all of my parenting of the Piper for the last five years was validated.

Piper got lost at school. Her elementary school is massive. Brace yourself. 1000 kids in K-5 in an overcrowded building. But. The staff is amazing. The principal is always present. The school runs well. It’s a positive environment. Sissy and Piper love the place, but still you lose a kid every now and then in the 1000 person shuffle. Piper was the one that day. She was in the lunch room. There was classical music playing that she said she was enjoying. She lost her place in line and her class went to the playground without her. She looked around and didn’t recognize a single face.

“So what did you do, P?” I asked when she told us at dinner. My heart was pounding in my ears. My baby got lost at school. Why was no one helping her? Why was she all alone? In my head I was in full ranting mommy mode ready to call the principal at his home. He really should have known better than giving a woman like me his cell number. Rookie move. I held my breath.

“At first I cried,” Piper said, “just a little inside. Then I remembered that you said that if I don’t make things happen nothing will happen, so I asked a big kid for help and they took me to the playground.”

Big exhale. My work here is done.

In Search of Mom

Posted on September 20, 2012 by melissa.scholes.young

I’m leaving today for a conference. I spend 363 days per year with the Piper. I’ll be gone for two whole days. And yet Piper stalked me all night. Every hour her little face was at the side of the bed. “Are you still here?” She crawled in bed and cuddled like her baby self used to. We snuggled and snoozed. Then I put her back in her bed, but she found me again.

“You’ll be in here in the morning, right?” She opted to keep me in her sight. I opted to add layers and layers of mommy guilt. It’s hard to leave. We’re still umbilically connected.

“I’ll be back, P. Mommies always come back. Grandma and Grandpa and Daddy will be here. You’ll have so much fun you won’t even know I’m gone.” I said all the right stuff. I’ve made all the right arrangements. This shouldn’t be so hard, this leaving thing, but it is.

“But when will you be back?” Piper asked.

“Two days. That’s it. I’ll be back Sunday.”

“Why do you have to go?”

“For work, honey. I’m presenting research at a conference. It’s part of my teaching. It’s an exciting opportunity for me. Aren’t you proud of me?”

Piper nodded. “I just wish you didn’t have to go,” she said with big, sad eyes. I looked at the clock. 2:34 a.m. And I let her stay.

Picnic? Yes, Please.

Posted on September 17, 2012 by melissa.scholes.young

We packed a picnic for Sunday Funday and went to the monuments. The Lincoln Memorial has always been our favorite. Piper likes it, too.

Our friends, Corey and Robyn, met us there. They’re the kind of smart, interesting women I hope Piper and Sissy grown into being. And they like our kids, so clearly they have impeccable taste.

I made guacamole, which is one of Piper’s true loves. Robyn made lentil salad with goat cheese. Yum. Piper’s dad whipped up a Greek pasta salad. It was a crowd pleaser. We topped it all off with sponge cake and fresh berries.

Then we played frisbee and softball and walked around the mall. We had time to play, you see, because there weren’t dishes to do. That’s my favorite part about a picnic. You sit and eat and lounge and chat and eat some more. The kids run around and you don’t have to chase them. Delicious.

Piper almost fell in the reflecting pool several times. She blamed it on the sidewalks. What else could it be?

Following her antics, Piper told Corey “My mom embarrasses me. Not as much as my Dad, but that’s still a lot.”

Free Piper

Posted on September 11, 2012 by melissa.scholes.young

A Piper doesn’t like to conform. I love that about her, but it makes me worry the most. I want to license her free spirit, let Piper be Piper, but I can’t promise that the world will always accept her when she steers from the norm. I’m still learning how to parent a Piper. She’s still teaching me.

Last night at the dinner table when Piper was telling us about her day it was a series of frustrations with what she was supposed to be doing and how she wanted to do it differently. Public schools like conformity. There are lines, procedures, rules. The structure is firm for a good reason, but I’m not sure that the reason works for a kid like Piper. Don’t get me wrong, Piper follows them. I can count on my hand the number of times she’s gotten in trouble and it’s always been for socializing and dancing and singing when it wasn’t time to socialize, dance, and sing. She’s mastered the art of steering as far from the center as she can without landing in danger. “My day was good until this boy at my table started bossing me around,” she said, separating her beloved peppers from the carrots she loathes in her stir fry.

“What did he do, P?” Daddy asked.

“He kept leaning over the table and pointing to my picture. ‘You’re supposed to fill in the balloons’ he said. ‘You’re doing it wrong.’ Geez!”

“Was he trying to help you follow directions?” I asked.

“Who cares? I’m going to do it my way,” Piper said. “Do I have to eat the carrots?”

She knows the rules on this one. You have to eat a serving of vegetables. Which vegetables is up to you. This is how I’ve learned to balance Piper’s strong will with healthy choices. I pick my battles. Piper ate the asparagus and peppers with her tofu and udon noodles. “Can I have water instead of milk?” I gave her both and she drank both.

“I don’t know about this school stuff,” Piper said. “I think I’ll just be a shark when I grow up.”

“That sounds fun,” I said.

“But I won’t bite you, Mommy.”

Walking to School

Posted on September 7, 2012 by melissa.scholes.young

Every morning Sissy and Piper walk to school together. They hold hands on their commute. I watch them from a bench on our front porch. You can, too. They’re the ones at the front of the line. You’ll spy Piper’s blue tutu.

Then they walk home together after school. Sissy’s teacher dismisses her first. Piper waits in the kindergarten classroom for her pickup. I’m waiting on the same bench at home for their return, but I can imagine the moment when they see each other again. It’s not a chore they have to do together. Sissy doesn’t think it’s a burden. They enjoy walking to school together and walking home together. They always hold hands. There will be a day, I’m sure, when they won’t. And it will come sooner than I’m ready for, but for now, for this moment, this is the commute, and I’m savoring it.

One afternoon Sissy was a few minutes late picking up Piper. Her art teacher held them over the time to clean up. It worried Piper. “I thought you forgot me,” she told Sissy over their afternoon snack.

“I’d never forget you, P. I was just late,” Sissy explained.

“But I thought you weren’t coming,” Piper said.

Sissy grabbed Piper’s hand. “You’re the most important thing to me in that whole school. I’ll always come get you. I won’t forget. How could I forget you?”

And the Crowd Goes Wild!

Posted on September 4, 2012 by melissa.scholes.young

Piper’s been her own little cheering squad lately. The girl’s got self esteem of steel. “And the crowd goes wild!” has become her catch phrase. I’m not sure where she picked it up but it seems here to stay. Wherever Piper goes and whatever task she accomplishes, that crowd is right there waiting.

This afternoon Piper buckled herself into her booster seat. All by herself. Then she shouted “And the crowd goes wild!” and gave herself a high five.

I heard a “And the crowd goes wild!” from the bathroom. I didn’t investigate.

She clears her plate from the kitchen table “And the crowd goes wild!” I mean, I’m happy. Don’t get me wrong. Piper’s certainly old enough for chores but this crowd seems pretty easy to please to me.

P.S. We’re meeting Piper’s new kindergarten teacher today! “And the crowd goes wild!”

A Contrarian Smells the Roses

Posted on September 3, 2012 by melissa.scholes.young

Yesterday was Sunday Funday, which means that one lucky member of our family gets to choose something completely cool to do and the rest of us go along with it. Willingly. I’d suggested a picnic at the beach, but the rain suggested otherwise. “I know,” Sissy said, “let’s go to the Botanical Gardens. It’s peaceful and there’s cool stuff for Piper, too.”

“I hate the Botangical Whatever,” Piper said.

“But you don’t even know what they are. There are walking paths and flowers. There’s a jungle room. And you can plants flowers in the Children’s Garden.” Sissy had sold me. I started packing snacks.

“I’m contrary,” Piper declared. “I never have fun. Call me the contrarian. I hate everything.”

For once, Piper was right. She didn’t have any fun at all.

It’s wasn’t fun when she walked the beautiful garden paths with her sister.

It wasn’t fun when her Mommy held her because a Piper couldn’t walk another step. See how miserable she looks?

It was boring when she saw lily pads for the first time. That’s why she screamed “Look! Lily pads! I’ve only seen those in books! Look, Sissy!”

The smelling room was a total snoozer. That’s why we spent an hour taking the tops off of every bottle so that we could smell the herbs, plants, and spices from around the world.