I made a berry pie for dessert tonight. It’s cooling on the countertop. The crust is flaky and brown. Blueberry and blackberry juices have seeped out a bit at the side. The house smells delicious.
It would be a Norman Rockwell moment really except that I have to yell “PIPER, GET AWAY FROM THE PIE!” every other second.
She sniffs it. She pokes the pie. She tries to slip a finger into the berry juices.
“If you don’t get away from the pie, I’ll…I’ll…stuff your face in it!” I yell. Not my best parenting move, I’ll give you that. It just came out.
“Well, Mom,” Piper said, “that’s kind of what I was hoping for.”
piperism 