Sissy’s birthday extravaganza seems to be coming to an end. There was the party, the cupcakes, the breakfast in bed. (You can catch up here if you missed it: Breakfast in Bed and Double Digits or Breakfast in Bed Update) Sissy has moved on to the thank you note part.
And her thank you notes come with personalized book marks made out of…you guessed it: duck tape. No feathers included.
Papa is visiting this week and had the honor of tucking Piper into bed last night. It can be a full contact sport, but Papa wore the appropriate protective gear.
If you’ve been to our home for dinner, you know that every person within a mile radius is required to come to Piper’s bedside and say good night. We’ve had a few dinner parties where this made our guests uncomfortable. “Send up the red head that sat next to whats-his-name!” Piper demands from her throne. You probably know what this ritual is actually about: The Great Stall. Papa said last night went like this:
Piper: “I’m hot.”
Papa: “Let’s take the quilt off. You can sleep with just a sheet.”
Piper: “I’m cold.”
Papa: “Do you want the quilt back?”
Piper: “No. I need the pink blanket from my closet.”
Papa: “There. Now you should be comfortable. Good night.”
Piper: “I’m still cold. I need the other blanket, too.”
Papa: “Okay. Now bedtime.”
Piper: “I’m sweating now. Can I take off my pants?”
Papa: “Whatever makes you comfortable. It’s time for bed, Piper.”
After several rounds of stalling Piper finally admitted her agenda. “Papa,” she said. “I think I really just don’t want to go to bed.”
We’ve had some long nights around our house lately. Too much traveling, too much grading, too much sickness. So, when I walked into Piper’s room this morning and found this:
I thought it was you-know-what. I didn’t have my glasses on. It was too early. That tells you what my house has been like lately. I just assumed a stray turd was left in the middle of the floor. That seemed feasible.
But then I heard the laugh.
Okay. I didn’t really hear the laugh, but how awesome would that have been? I did see Jabba, though, just a few feet away. He was clearly trying to inch over to reattach his chubby green arm.
I helped him out and I was grateful.
Today, Piper, you are a ballerina, and I want to study and to preserve you from head to toe. You’ve gotten so tall lately that I can’t find my baby in your long limbs. I want to remember how you nuzzle your nose against my neck like a kitten. I’m going to watch you dance with your miniature pot belly poking at the edge of your tutu. So what if your shoes are on the wrong feet? You put them on yourself. Your knees and elbows are scattered with scars and bruises. You play hard, P. It’s one of the things I love so much about your spirit. Remember to always play hard and be brave, even if it means sometimes you’ll get hurt. Even your heart will heal. I promise. You told me this afternoon that you don’t ever want to grow up. I’d stop time, too, kiddo, if I could just to keep you exactly like this:
But I can’t. Not even for you, Piper. We’ll both just have to remember today when you were a ballerina and hold on tight for the ride. White knuckles and all.
Piper has been debating the merits of her stuffed animals recently. Her bed is currently inhabited by more than fifty fuzzy creatures. She’s always claimed that sharing her bed with so many things was cozy, despite my protest.
She’s begun to worry, though, that stuffed animals are for babies. Piper is a big girl. We all know that. 4 and a half is huge. That half matters.
“I’m thinking of giving them all up,” Piper said at breakfast. “I don’t need stuffed animals anymore.”
“Whenever you’re ready, P. There’s no rush,” I answered.
Piper slowly turned toward me, her eyes trailing me up and down.
“Know what I really need, Mom?”
“What?”
“A stuffed you. Then I’d be really cozy and warm. I could cuddle you whenever I need to and keep you with me all the time.”
Creepy Piper scares me just a little. I think we’ll invest in more cute stuffed animals in our near future.
When Piper isn’t fond of a plan or wants something, she speaks of herself in third person en masse. It’s not her objecting, you see; it’s children in general filing a complaint. It’s not her making the request; it’s children in general who need chocolate chip ice cream for breakfast.
She did this quite well in Drunk Dialing or Something Like it during the hair brushing saga where “childrens get mad at their daddies.” According to Piper, some children do not appreciate their daddies brushing their hair nor do those children approve of their daddies going away on business trips.
She filed this complaint this morning when she saw her daddy packing. Again. He’d just returned from California and was on his way to Chicago. “Please tell daddy three important things,” Piper began, holding up four fingers. “First, if he goes, I will cry. Second, if he goes, I will be sad. Third, if he goes, I will put a special gift in his bed to make him want to come back and then, I will be sad.” I listened. I held the Piper close.
“It’s okay to be sad when your daddy goes away,” I told her.
“Know what daddies should do for their children?” she asked.
“What, Piper?”
“Daddies should bring their children pistachio ice cream when they’re sad. That makes the children feel better.”
I don’t know how he’s going to get the ice cream home from Chicago, but daddies better figure it out.
Have you checked your calendar lately? It may be closer to Halloween than you think. A Piper has already begun planning. Don’t let those innocent rainbows fool you.
Spring flowers make perfect costumes. That’s how you hide from rainbow ghosts when you’re finished bouncing in the new grass. Tall, green grass? It’s bouncy. Just like a Piper.
Need more? We aim to please:
I apologize for leaving you, dear reader, with quite the cliffhanger in Breakfast in Bed. You’ve spent the day wondering “Did Sissy invite the Piper to partake of her birthday breakfast? Did she forgive Piper’s snotty ways?” Of course she did. She even awarded Piper two mini muffins for good behavior.
It was a delicious way to start the Sissy celebration. There was cuddling. There were stories from birthdays past. Then we each told Sissy our favorite thing about her and gave her a dollar (a weird and welcome family tradition).
The yummyness continued with cupcake decor.
And we watched home movies starring Sissy as a baby. Piper was mesmerized. How could her heroine have ever been so tiny and full of drool? There’s hope yet.
Then on to the good stuff: gifts. A Piper isn’t known for keeping secrets. She told Sissy about her gift five minutes after we bought it, and she reminded her every day leading up to the birthday. “Guess what I got you!” Piper said, but there really wasn’t much to guess about. Still, Sissy played along. She put on her best look of surprise. “Yes! I was hoping for some duct tape!”
“What’s your first project, Sissy?” Piper asked.
Sissy unrolled a reel of neon yellow tape. “I know just what to do,” Sissy said. “Let’s tape your mouth shut!”
The cherry blossoms are in full bloom in our neighborhood. They’re losing their petals fast, though, and shower us with pink snow on our walk to the park. Piper says they look like cotton candy trees. She’d like me to raise her up so she can lick one, but I won’t. A girls got to learn to climb her own tree and claim what she wants. Sorry, Piper. I will cheer you on, though, and I promise to clean up your knees if you fall.
We’re preparing for Sissy’s birthday soon. Double digits. That’s big.
On your birthday in our house you get breakfast in bed. You place your order like room service by writing it up the night before and leaving it outside your door. Then your family gets up early to make you the perfect breakfast on a tray and delivers it while you lounge around in your pajamas. It’s as awesome as it sounds.
Last year Sissy invited Piper to get in bed with her and nibble off the edges of her tray. It didn’t go so well. This morning on the way to church they were debating whether Piper would be invited back for breakfast in bed when the birthday morning arrives.
“I don’t know, P,” Sissy said. “Don’t you remember what happened last year?”
“It was awesome?” Piper asked.
“Not exactly. You spilled my juice and sneezed all over my muffins.”
“Seriously? Why are you still talking about that? Just let it go, Sissy.”
I can’t say yet whether another birthday breakfast in bed will be extended to the Piper. If she’s that lucky, I’ll have the tissues ready.
piperism 