Category Archives: Daily Dharma

A Piper Doesn’t Do That

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Piper likes to play hard. She’s not as keen on cleaning up.

Last night Piper and Sissy got out their fort making materials: sixteen pillows, two sets of Craniums, every blanket in the house, and every toy they could shove inside. The fort took up most of our basement. It had multiple rooms and multiple pathways to and from the wings. It was fortastic. They played and played. We let them keep it up for friends to come play, too.

This morning it was time to clean it all up. “Before we head to the park, you girls need to clean up the basement,” Dad said.

Sissy climbed off her chair and bounded down the steps. Happily, as far as we know.

Piper didn’t move. She just sat licking maple syrup off of her fork. Then she slowly turned to her dad and said, “A Piper doesn’t like to pick up. A Piper only likes to play.”

Painted Piggies

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I locked myself out of my office at work today. Twice. My mind has been preoccupied worrying about Piper’s kindergarten trauma drama. I’ve also just met my fifty-two new freshman who seem to be going through their own new school adjustments.

Piper locked herself in the bathroom at school. Twice. She said it was nice and quiet in there. She wanted a little peace, a moment away from the substitute madness. One of her classmates banged on the door while Piper was taking a break from it all. “What did you do?” I asked.

“I ignored him,” she said. “I wasn’t done yet. Besides, there’s another bathroom. Geez.”

We spent the afternoon recovering in the only way we know how. We ordered pizza,  curled up with Sissy on the couch to catch up on Cupcake Wars, and painted our toenails.

Now at least we’re ready to face tomorrow’s challenges with rainbow piggies. Oink.

Help Wanted

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Piper’s kindergarten teacher quit today. She didn’t come back for the second day of school. It doesn’t really matter why. I’ve been told on good authority, though, that it wasn’t something Piper did. Whew.

So Piper had a substitute teacher in kindergarten today. It’s not ideal. In fact, it’s a mess. And there’s not a darn thing I can do about it. I’ve already tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. Piper seemed to be holding her own adjusting to the new school, new friends, new classroom, new rules, but this new teacher thing was too much.

“I hate the substitute! She’s boring. All she knows how to do is boring school! I want my teacher back!” Piper cried in my lap, curled up in a ball. “It’s not fair,” she said. I had to agree. Then I had to tell her that her teacher, the one she’d known for exactly one day, wouldn’t be coming back. New Kindergarten Teacher couldn’t hack it. I’m not that surprised, but none of that matters to Piper. She just wants what she expected, the teacher I told her she’d have. Her five-year-old self can’t understand the adult world and how a new teacher could quit after one day. “Who’s going to be my teacher then?” Piper asked.

“Well, the substitute you had today will be here for the rest of the week,” I explained.

“How long is that?”

“Three more days. Your principal promised me today that you’d have a new teacher by next week. So, three more days with the substitute and then you get a brand new teacher.”

“Why three days?”

“Your principal wants to find the best one. He wants to make sure he gets it right. He’s going to find a special new teacher for your class.”

“But I hate the substitute. She should go back to substitute school and become less boring!” I went to school today to meet the substitute after I met with the principal. She was perfectly nice and competent. Sissy had this particular substitute several times in her own class and raved about her. In fact Piper’s class seemed much better managed the second day under the substitute’s direction.

“I understand, P. I’m sorry,” I said. I listened to her complain some more. I told her I was proud of how she’d adjusted so far and I knew that she’d do okay with this change, too. I told her that sometimes change is hard and uncertainty is harder. I told her that whatever teacher gets Piper in her class is the luckiest teacher in the school.

“I’m not going back,” Piper said. I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t tell her she didn’t have to because she does. I have to make her. I have to agree that this sucks and let the school do its job. I have to hand her her lunchbox and her backpack and send her back in, even if I don’t want to because I have enough faith in this school and even more in Piper.

1st Day of Kindergarten: Sissy’s View

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Since Sissy’s in charge of walking the Piper to and from school, she’s going to report on the big first day. From the desk of kindergarten, here’s another blog from Sissy:

Today was Piper’s first day of kindergarten. She started the day with her usual grumpiness but when she remembered that it was the first day, fits of screaming joy followed. Kindergarten is the next big thing. Her life goals, she once told me, are to say hi to her kindergarten teacher and buy all the My Little Ponies at Toys R Us.

We departed for school after struggling horribly not to take school pictures.  Her are the fruits of my parents’ labor:

When we got to school we had to stand with my dad waiting for the school doors to open. My friends fawned over Piper and she agreed. “I guess I am pretty cute,” Piper said. I always tell her that if she doesn’t make friends in kindergarten, at least she’ll have friends in fifth grade.

Then we found our classrooms. I might of shed a tear. Just a little one.

I saw her later in the day during the first day fire drill. She said she got separated from her class, but she was waving at me and smiling like crazy in her class line, so you can’t really tell. Then, after struggling to get out of the building because of all the parents and confusion, we got to the bottom of the first day. She has a nice teacher, she met some few friends, they didn’t get enough recess (yeah, right), and she had her first music class. At first I wasn’t sure she had had music class. “We went to see the music teacher,” Piper said. “She was super cool and sang us a song about bees. Then we went and danced to a funny song.”

“Umm. Piper. Did you have music class or just visit the music teacher?” I asked.

“Well… if you mean did I get to play my drums, then no. But I did have fun!”

Piper did a dance that looked like the funky chicken to demonstrate.

“I love school? Do we have it tomorrow?” Piper asked.

“Tomorrow is Tuesday. We have school on Tuesdays,” I told her. “Do you want me to teach you the days of the week?”

“No. But when is my Halloween party?”

Opposites Attract

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I’ve always believed that Sissy and Piper hold secret meetings to determine who likes what to ensure that they never agree. This is especially true when it comes to food. Sissy love pears. Piper hates them. Piper loves cucumbers. Sissy prefers salad. Piper won’t eat lettuce. She’ll eat her weight in grapes, though. Grapes make Sissy gag. It goes on and on. They’re both pretty good eaters, but they just won’t eat the same things. Ever.

Tonight at dinner Piper asked for some plain bread. Sissy wanted hers, of course, with butter. Piper couldn’t think of anything else to complain about so she said, “I hate the crust.”

“Crust?” Sissy asked, “The crust is the best part!”

“I like the insides.”

“I only like the outside, really.”

“Fine,” I said, peeling apart the bread and dividing up the pieces. “Satisfied?”

They seemed to be. I was more than annoyed, but at least there wouldn’t be wasted bread.

“Mmm,” Piper said, yumming up the sourdough center, “this bread is warm. Just like Mommy.”

If You Have to Ask

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I spent a good part of yesterday afternoon getting the Sissy ready for her first day of school. She needed just the right outfit, just the right shoes, just the right earrings, and just the right unmentionables. Piper stayed home with her Daddy so that she could participate in what we are now dubbing “Battery Fest ’12,” in which every toy/remote/flashlight that wasn’t working because we’ve stolen batteries from it finally received replacement batteries. Piper with a screwdriver is a frightening thing. I was happy to be stuck in multiple dressing rooms instead.

When we arrived home, there was a fashion show, of course. And there were speeding remote control race cars transporting Lalaloopsies throughout the fashion show, of course. Sissy is feeling great about her first day. She happily pranced through the room showing us her new outfit, which looks exactly like something I wore in 1983, dodging the cars that Piper aimed directly at her feet.

“I feel so special!” Sissy said, spinning around so that we could see her skinny jeans and neon accessories. “You’re the best mom,” she gushed. “When I grow up, I want to be just like you.”

Sniff. Sniff. There were tears. Hugs. Gratitude.

It might have been the best moment of my life.

Piper stopped zooming the cars around the room, turned to Sissy with an incredulous look, and said “Why?”

You Can Eat Crackers in My Bed Anytime…Except if You’re Naked

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It’s come to this. I thought Piper’s nudity problem was adorable. It saves me a lot of laundry. Not everyone in our house has been enjoying her exhibitionist ways, though. This morning, Sissy posted these new rules. Note the specificity of #1:

No Naked Bottoms! That changes everything. I do appreciate the exception that Sissy has made for changing. It’s very reasonable to expect a naked bottom or two during dressing. Do try to keep those nude parts off the furniture and floor. For obvious reasons. The tone is appropriate but firm. I’m definitely going to follow these rules. I want to avoid the consequence of rule #5 for sure. No one likes a “cranky Isabelle.”

Now we’ll just need to teach Piper to read cursive soon.

You’d Be Broccoli

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A Piper likes to categorize her world. It gives her comfort. It’s also decent practice for the analogy section on the SAT. You can never start too young.

Yesterday, on the drive home from church, Piper piped up with a new set of categories. I mean, we have our Cutie Marks and all, but we hadn’t considered the array of fruits and vegetables we could be.

“Mom,” Piper said, “you’d be broccoli.”

“Broccoli?”

“Yeah. ‘Cuz you’re good for us.”

“And what would you be, P?”

She was quiet in the backseat, thinking over her options. We all know it’s not a tomato. She definitely didn’t want to be the dreaded broccoli, either. Yuck.

“I’d be a blueberry,” she declared. “I’m tiny and juicy.”

Drum Circle or Bust

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A Piper loves music. And noise. And dancing noisily to music of any kind. When given the choice of musical instruments, Piper chose the drums. Against our better judgement, we got her her very own drum set for her birthday. I blogged about that mistake in her Birthday Blog.

Sometimes we even stumble upon music and add our own kind of noise, like the time we joined the O Street Band.

So, it seems a natural progression in the musical education of Piper to introduce her to her first drum circle. We’re in Asheville, North Carolina for the week (hiding in plain sight of Sissy’s camp because that’s the kind of mom I am). If any town in this country has a drum circle on a Friday night, it’s Asheville. After dinner last night, we went in search. The thing about a drum circle is that they really aren’t that hard to find. Like Piper, a drum circle has a lot of noisy dancing to music of any kind. You can hear them blocks away.

Piper has always marched to the beat of her own drum. It was her first drum circle, but it definitely won’t be her last.

Go Climb a Tree Part 2

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When you’re a Piper, sometimes you go for a hike around a lake.

And it’s a good hike with trails and covered walkways. You jump and dance and leap about the lake. And then, you find a clump of cool trees. So, of course, you climb in them.

But you walk straight into a mess of spider webs. You come running right back out because spiders give you the eebie-jeebies, you say.

“Wait!” you say, “I love spiders because they eat all the other bugs I don’t like. I’m going back in!” And you do.

The end.

Here’s another version of the same story: Go Climb a Tree