blueberry muffins

Maybe I was grumpy Sunday morning. Maybe I didn’t like waking up at 7 a.m. with a demand for Orange Spice Tea and reruns of Austin and Alley on the Disney Channel. Maybe even all the cuddling didn’t distract me from my grumpiness. Maybe my grumpiness was a bit contagious when other people started rolling out of bed in the 9 o’clock range. Or maybe by then grumpiness had turned into rage. Whatever.

I made blueberry muffins for our Sunday family meeting and the four of us sat down together to share our grumpiness. Maybe I whined a little about the unfairness of the day so far. I’d had hours to stew. Sissy and Daddy looked refreshed and ready to start their day. Piper bounced. She’s a bit like Tigger and Dennis the Menace rolled into one. Most of the time it’s ~~enduring~~ endearing. Sunday mornings at 7 a.m. it’s not.

At breakfast, Piper decided she wasn’t having any more of my grumpiness. “Maybe we should talk about our goals for the day,” she began, sounding a lot like me when I’m not so grumpy. “Let’s all say what we need and then we’ll all help each other. Sound good?”

“I need to play my guitar and read a little today. And we should do something fun,” Daddy began. I bit my lip. Nothing I was going to say would be positive or welcome.

“I have swim lessons at noon,” Sissy said, “and I need to play piano. Oh, and let’s go to the park for fun.”

“Mommy?” Piper asked. She was enjoying her role as moderator.

“I need to go for a run. A long run. Soon. And I need to finish planning for my classes tomorrow. Oh, and I want to be outside today.” Piper was right. I felt better just saying what I needed. I needed to stop being grumpy. I needed someone to listen. And they did. Darn it.

We mapped out a plan for the day. Time together. Time alone. Fun time. Music time. Me time. I even squeezed out a trip to DSW. It’s really hard to be grumpy there.

This morning Piper and I made blueberry muffins. She likes to “help” by measuring and mixing the dry ingredients and tossing in the fresh blueberries. But when I start melting butter, Piper runs from the room. “It smells like snot! It looks like it, too.” She’s a classy girl, I tell you. And who doesn’t love melted butter? Come on. It’s liquid gold.

After breakfast muffins, Sissy was dressing her American Girl in a new ice skating costume her grandmother sent. Apparently ice skating is big in pretend overpriced doll world. The outfit is adorable, though, and it has all the right accessories:

Piper grabbed the ear muffs and put them on the doll. “That’s better, isn’t?” she asked. “You were cold. Now you’ll be toasty in your ear muffins!” Yummy.

The problem with one of Piper’s verbal mishaps is that we spend the rest of the day egging her on. We find any reason possible to get her to say the cute thing she just said again. The days of little Piper are numbered. We’re holding on tight.

Piper’s papa once relabeled all the lemonade in the fridge with a black marker “lemolade” because Piper declared it so. You weren’t allowed to call it anything else. We still don’t.

Ear muffins and lemolade become part of our vernacular until I can’t remember what we said before Piper changed our lives and our language. We’re better for it. Or at least more entertaining.

Here are more words you didn’t know you needed.