The Art of Doing Nothing

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I had a boss once who infuriated me with his inaction.  A problem would arise, a crisis by my measure, and he’d do nothing.  He would wait. He would listen. He’d go for a walk. But he wouldn’t act. I’d roll up my sleeves ready to put out the fire with my bare hands and watch him walk away.  It took me much too long to realize that most of the problems worked themselves out. All that was needed was time. It was an important lesson for my young hot-headed I-know-everything self.  It’s helped me a lot in my parenting, too, when I’m patient enough to remember the art of doing nothing.

You may remember that Piper isn’t a fan of school.  In fact, she hates it.  The play part works for her. Snack time is good stuff.  Books are okay.  It’s just that when her teachers ask her to do something, like write her name, there is grand resistance.  If you need a refresher on the name writing saga, read this post: A Piper By Any Other Name.  Just before the end of the year holidays, her teachers asked me to come in for a conference regarding Piper’s “lack of academic progress.” Do I need to remind you that we’re talking about a four-year-old? A Piper, nonetheless? I went. It was ugly. The teachers disagreed about what was developmentally appropriate.  Their message was incoherent.  Piper couldn’t write her name.  I got that, but I didn’t get what I was supposed to do about it. Drill and skill? It’s not us. They recommended private tutoring and early intervention. I didn’t see what we were intervening on. I teach college.  I truly know very little about how to teach preschoolers anything.  I did the one thing I’m really good at: worry.  I worried a lot, but other than that, I did very little.  I didn’t work with Piper on her name.  I didn’t shame her.  I said some encouraging words, hugged her really tight, and sent her out to play.  My gut just didn’t indicate crisis yet.  I did nothing.

Guess what Piper brought home today?

Her first certificate!  It’s official. Piper can write her name.  And she did it all by herself.  It’s her victory not mine. My worrying didn’t seem to contribute at all. I still do it, of course, but maybe I should do nothing a lot more, too.

Everything’s Better at Grandma’s House

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Piper’s chore after dinner is to clear the table.  Sissy cleans the plates and loads the dishwasher.  I have either cooked the dinner or I’m on pots and pans duty.  My partner does the same. This chore distribution is under constant negotiation at Saturday family meetings, but it seems whatever chore Piper is assigned, she spends much of her time trying to wiggle out of it.  She’s actually quite proud of herself once her chore is completed, but the actual task brings much protest.  The working conditions are just unacceptable.

“I wish we lived at a hotel,” Piper said tonight dragging her feet as she moved the dishes the entire ten feet from table to counter. “Then we wouldn’t have to clean up.”

This was followed by loud, exaggerated sighs.  We all ignored her. Piper escaped to the living room.

“Come back, Piper.  The table isn’t clear.”

More sighs.

“My arms are tired,” she whined, flailing her exhausted arms.

We all ignored her.

“I wish I was at Grandma’s house,” Piper said. “You don’t have to do chores at Grandma’s house.”

“We aren’t at Grandma’s house. Piper, finish clearing the table, please.”

She’d now stretched her two minute job into almost half an hour.  She cleared the last plate and mumbled, “Everything is better at Grandma’s.”

Who do you think taught me to make my kids do their chores? Piper probably doesn’t want to know the answer to that.

Flaco Taco Shows Us His Moves

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My childhood Sundays included Catholic Mass, glazed donuts, and the WWF.  My father considered the World Wrestling Federation to be an important part of my education.  My brothers and I spent hours watching the WWF and debating the merits of Jimmy Superfly Snuka, my personal favorite, versus Rowdy Roddy Piper.

Wrestling was a religion in our house. I assumed Piper and Sissy would share a similar love of wrestling, but we’ve so far failed as parents in this regard.  Their wrestling education usually goes like this:

My partner, known by his wrestling name Flaco Taco, announces the upcoming wrestling match.  Imagine Jack Black as Nacho Libre if Jack Black were a tall, slender academic wearing glasses.

Flaco Taco yells “Show me your moves!” to Piper and Sissy. He then tries to tackle them and they run out of the room screaming.  “Come back!” Flaco Taco pleads, “Let’s wrestle!” The girls huddle together whispering and finally decide watching their father beg may just be worth it. After all, this wrestling thing involves fake names and dance moves, too. First, Squirrel Two Toes (aka Piper) twirls about waving a wand and takes a bow. Then she does a somersault. Flaco isn’t happy. “Um. Those aren’t wrestling moves. Those are flourishes,” he complains. Sissy, who in her younger wrestling days was known as The New York Crusher, dances into the room karate chopping the air.  Contact still hasn’t been made.  Flaco Taco yells “I’ll show you wrestling moves!” and grabs at their feet, trying to knock them over for a take down. There is more screaming. “Ow!  Why are you hurting us?” “Yeah, stop hitting! Mom, Dad is hitting!” Flaco defends his moves by again explaining the concept of fake wrestling. The girls stare as he speaks his foreign language.

“Dad,” Sissy asks, “did you want boys instead?”

Squirrel Two Toes sashays out of the room.

Oh, Superfly, where are you when I need you the most?

The Sound of Silence

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Remember when I said we were big gamers? I failed to mention our favorite, the quiet game.  I think you know how this goes. Everyone is supposed to be quiet and the first one to make a noise, loses the quiet game.  Your job as a sibling is to poke, prod, and tease until you can get a giggle or squeak to escape from your sister’s mouth. Then you win.

It’s probably not shocking that Piper isn’t very good at the quiet game.  She spent the first two years of her life mostly silent, but she’s been making up for it ever since.  I’m so used to the constant Piper banter, that it’s become the background soundtrack of my day.  Strangers stop me at the grocery store, “Wow.  She sure talks a lot, doesn’t she?”  I hadn’t noticed.  Silence would be more alarming than a chattering Piper.

When I Look Up, I Trip Over Things

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It took Piper and I an hour and a half to walk three blocks.  It was a great three blocks, though.  I had the time to move at her pace, which requires the following pauses:

1. Counting all public benches.

2. Sitting on all public benches to assess their comfiness (note: cement benches all feel the same).

3. Sitting on all public benches and letting the sun shine on your face at different angles (note: city buildings block the sunlight from some benches).

4. Choosing your favorite cherry blossom tree (note: cherry blossoms next to public benches with ample sunlight win).

5. Smelling all cherry blossoms  (note: cherry blossoms don’t actually smell much, but you still need to smell every single one).

6. Touching, leaning against, exploring anything shiny.

7. Forgetting that you actually have a destination.

8. Realizing that Piper is ready for the poetry of Ani.

When I look around
I think this, this is good enough
and I try to laugh
at whatever life brings
cuz when I look down
I miss all the good stuff
and when I look up
I just trip over things

A Cow Says Moo

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Aunt Angela is visiting this week.  Last night she was putting Piper to bed and learned the following about my awesome cooking skills.

Piper: I really like my mommy’s cooking best.

AA: You do? She must be a good cook.

Piper: She is.

AA: What’s your favorite thing mommy makes?

Piper: Chocolate milk.

Naked Isn’t Funny

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We were driving downtown last weekend, and Piper saw a statue of George Washington off in the distance.  George’s lack of modesty caused Piper to launch into the following lecture.

“Naked isn’t funny. You can see other people’s private parts. Other people’s private parts aren’t funny. When I get out of the bath, I don’t laugh. George Washington needs to put some clothes on.”

Naked isn’t funny. Or is it?

On the Road Part 5: Grandpa Guest Blogger (Again!)

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Back by popular demand…Gpa’s guest blogging again:

Piper loves everything.  She especially loves the beach.

She loves her cousins.  It doesn’t matter which cousins, her Florida or her Missouri, she enjoys being with them all.

The combination of three of her Missouri cousins and the beach was too much to pass up.

It’s about an hour ride from our house on the river to the beach.  A long ride for a Piper but she had cousin Jilly to read to her the entire trip.  Having someone read to her is another love of Piper’s.   A quick, flawless trip.

Cousins, beach, reading, sun….what more could a Piper need?

Just let her go.  Keep her in sight at all times, but let her go.

Piper has spirit.  Piper cannot be tamed, barely restrained.

Every older person, especially a Gpa, needs to sit, watch, appreciate, and laugh at Piper.  I did.  The ocean was not my favorite place to be, until today.

Sand castles were built, little cousin P.J. stepped on them all.  They ran.  They waded.  The weather was great, the water was cool, and cousins were there.  What a day.  What a memory.

I was brave on the trip home; I took the one year old, P.J., Piper, and Jilly for the long trip back.

But, Piper has a unique ability to fall asleep in a truck riding for an hour.  It must be contagious, so did her cousins.

As I drove, they rested and recharged.  I reflected on the day.  Perfect weather, sand, ocean and grandchildren. God has blessed me again.

Arriving home, Piper’s keeper was amazed I had survived and suggested I might be  running for Grandpa of the year.  It doesn’t matter.  I already have my reward.

On the Road Part 4: Grandpa, Guest Blogger

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In case you need to catch up on the road trip…

On the Road Part 1

On the Road Part 2

On the Road Part 3

And now…a guest blogger, Grandpa:

Fishing is a game of patience.  Grandparents, especially Gpa’s, are known for patience.

Even so, fishing with Piper is a challenge.  Piper is, well…energetic.

She is known for an attention span that sometimes approaches 15 seconds.  This amount of concentration is only achieved when you quickly get to the point of the activity.

This does not always happen with Piper.  Armed with my best Gpa plan, I helped Piper get ready.  This involved putting sunblock on all exposed body parts and outfitting her with a hat. This took more time than she thought the whole trip would last.

Piper promised to listen to me, stay seated in the boat and at all times wear her lifejacket.  We set off in the boat down the cannel by our house.  Within 50 feet I spotted an alligator on a log.  Thinking this would interest Piper, we motored over to take a picture.

She studied the six-foot reptile mere feet from our boat.  “He’s not a big one is he?” she asked.  It’s hard to impress a Piper.  Always has been.

As we trolled into the fishing area, her hat blew off into the water.  It did not faze her a bit.  I trolled over and used the net to retrieve her hat.  By then, she was lapping the deck, forgetting about the plan to stay seated.  Just as I casted the rod toward the lily pads, hoping to grab her attention with a bite, Piper said she was ready to go home.  “Uh..we’re too far out on the boat to go back, Piper,” I said.

“I can see Grandma standing on the dock right over there.”  It’s hard to fool a Piper.

So we trolled back to the cannel by the house. I casted the rod, caught a fish, and quickly handed the rod to Piper.  Although happy to reel in her first catch, she refused to touch the fish. She had another idea.

“Let’s eat it, Grandpa!”

“Only if you touch it,” I said. “We’d have to clean it first.”

Piper thought about this, but she had another idea. “Do you have a cheese stick? I’m hungry.”

We took some pictures of Piper and her first fish.

Then we set the fish free and returned the Piper safely to Grandma.

On the Road Part 3

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I grew up fishing with my dad.  My first catch was on a bright yellow Snoopy pole with a bobber.  The red bobber plunged beneath the muddy surface of our pond, and by the proud smile on Dad’s face, I knew I’d won some prize.

I was fascinated with the fish; his bulging milky eyes called to my curiosity. Piper was equally excited about the prospect of fishing with her grandpa. When I proposed the road trip to Florida, Piper immediately said yes. She was not so game about the actual fish part. She lasted about two minutes on the boat before boredom sat it. “I want to go back,” Piper said just as the boat pulled away from the dock. And in the same breath, “Where’s the fish?” Fishing, apparently, took more patience than Piper could muster. (Tune in tomorrow for On the Road Part 4: Grandpa’s Guest Blog)

She didn’t join our fishing trip the next day, but she was waiting at the dock when we returned.  We didn’t disappoint. My brother and nephew caught huge catfishes and hauled them in.  Piper still wasn’t that interested until it came time to do the fish cleaning deed.  “What’s that knife for, Mom?” she asked, innocently. I warned her about what came next. Piper has been raised vegetarian, so unless you count a tofu steak as a kill and I don’t, cleaning a fish for the frying pan was a foreign experience.

“You may want to go inside, P.  Grandpa is going to get the fish ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Ready to eat, honey.”

“The fish is hungry?”

“No, Grandpa is hungry.  He’s going to cut the meat off the fish. You probably don’t want to watch.”

Piper looked at the table. She saw the fish, the knife, the hose. I waited for the tears.

“Cool. Can I watch?”

And she did.  Every gruesome second. She couldn’t get enough. I had to keep scooting her back from the blood.

“Now what?” Piper asked as she watched the fish fillets in the pan disappear inside the house.

“Now we watch the sun set, Piper.”