“I’m glad you’re my daddy because you tell me stories. I like the superhero ones and the ones about Amber the toenail eating monster. Even though you say monsters aren’t real. I’m sorry that you can’t eat chocolate. It’s really good. I bought you licorice instead. Sissy said you like it. Oh, and I like that you’re silly.”
-Piper Mae, Father’s Day, age 4
Sissy and Piper are attending Peace Camp this week. It’s all about the world and your role in it. Make yourself more peaceful if you want to change the world. It’s a Unitarian Church so we’re all into Thoreau over there. And there’s a dance contest every day, which Piper won, of course.
“My camp counselor said she liked how espresso I was!” Piper said, proudly displaying her stickers. I’m not sure if her verbal slip says more about her dance moves or my love of all things caffeinated.
“Did she say you were expressive?” I asked.
“Yep! That’s it!”
In addition to peaceful dancing, there is storytelling. This is a current favorite:
“If there was more peace maybe the world could be magical,” Piper said. “Maybe.”
The problem with piperism is its intoxicating power. She knows she almost has 30,000 hits. It’s gone to her head. It’s given the Piper a kind of swag previously unseen. If you were in Whole Foods today and you saw a haggard mom and an adorable little blond girl dressed in her crushed velvet emerald green holiday dress (I probably don’t need to explain Piper’s fashion choices at this point, dear reader), you probably witnessed the true corruption of a power like piperism. She knows we find her funny. She can make strangers in the aisle bust a gut. No one can keep a straight face in her presence. It all just encourages her more. Here’s a run down, aisle by aisle, of Piper’s abuse of power.
Fruit and Vegetables: “Mom, those apples look like your boobs!”
Bread Aisle: “Want me to sing the naked song Dad sings every night at bathtime?”
Frozen Foods: “Ice cream! Let’s get ALL of it.”
Dairy: “Jingle bells. Batman smells. Robin laid an egg…”
Canned Foods: “Come on, Mom. You don’t need sauce in a jar. You cook just fine.”
Grains: “Ooh. Let’s get some of that whole wheat pasta that helps me poop.”
You get the idea. She’s completely inappropriate. I have no power against it.
I beg you to stop encouraging her. It’s the only way to bring down the dictator.
Piper thinks her dad is a vampire. Here is her evidence:
Dad has black hair and wears a lot of black clothing.
He is kind of pale.
Dad likes to stay up late and sleep in.
He is allergic to garlic.
When I assess Piper’s list, I have to admit it seems rather incriminating. He is an academic (thus the pasty) who takes her to the park in the afternoon (thus staying up late to catch up on work), and he does wear a lot of black (suits, that is, it’s DC folks). The garlic thing is a severe allergy, entirely not his fault.
“You know how I really know Daddy is a vampire?” Piper asked.
I was going to ignore the line of questioning because I’ve been trying to dissuade the topic, but I knew her readers would want to know.
“Ok. How come?”
“Because he’s not a very good rememberer. He forgets his keys, his wallet, his lunch. A vampire doesn’t need those things. He just needs blood. You can’t forget your blood.”
Piper and I were reading a book last night in which a little girl cut her own hair.
“I would never do that, Mommy,” Piper promised.
“That’s good to hear,” I said. “People who cut hair have special training so they know how to do it.”
“Anna said her mom cuts her hair.”
“Well, maybe she has special training.”
“I don’t think so,” Piper said. “It doesn’t look so good. My teacher said Anna should go to a barbecue next time instead.”
A Piper is observant. She goes through the day like Yoda sprinkling her wisdom.
After a nature walk and scavenger hunt this afternoon, we stopped for ice cream. Piper slurped up her melting cup and turned her attention to my cone.
“Can I have a bite of your cone, Mommy?”
I had been licking down the chocolate chip ice cream to the perfect cone bite. You know the one. I handed it over. Piper happily crunched the cake cone. She watched me get the next bite ready.
“Here. You can have my cup,” Piper volunteered. “I’ll finish your cone.”
I looked at the melted vanilla mess.
“It tastes better when you share,” Piper assured me. It didn’t. But watching her on a summer day eating ice cream may have been worth it.
After ice cream, Piper went swimming. Then she came home to a bath and dinner. While she was soaking the chlorine out, I leaned over the tub and Piper traced my face with her pruned fingers. “You know how come I know you’re my mom?” she asked.
“Because I’m bathing you and making your favorite ravioli for dinner?” I guessed.
“No. You have those lines on your face and those dark things under your eyes. All moms have those. That’s how I know you’re mine.”
Piper continues to add to our family vocabulary. You may want to catch up on the vernacular with the first Words You Didn’t Know You Needed before trying out these new ones.
noodle-slized. Go ahead and say it fast. You may get it that way. As in “Mom, I noodle-slized that my birthday is coming up. Let’s play Candyland.” I just noodle-slized she means “realized.”
structions. Piper gives a lot of these. We always like to read the structions before we play Candyland. We’re hoping one day to discover a point to the game. Until then, we just do what we’re told.
nusually. When something happens often, it nusually happens. Piper nusually picks up after Candyland, but I noodle-sized she left the pieces all over the floor when I stepped on one in the middle of the night. Clearly, my structions weren’t clear.
chotskies. The girl loves a veggie sausage. We don’t have any idea how these became chotskies, but that’s what they are. Piper loves to munch on chotskies while playing Candyland.
Finally, I regret to inform Piper’s fans that lemolade may be a thing of the past. Blame it on Sissy.
“Piper, you know you’re drinking lemoNADE, right?”
“Yep,” Piper said, licking her lips. “I love lemolade.”
“No. It’s lemoNADE.”
“Oh. LemoNADE. Got it.”
We were considering grounding Sissy for her trespasses, but then who would blog and make Star of the Week posters and other things that Piper’s mother really should be doing?
I’m well known in our family for saying my partner’s name a bit incessantly, perhaps even in a nasally whine. When Sissy was little she used to stand at the bottom of the steps imitating me by yelling up to her father “Joooooeeee!” We thought it was hilarious. You have to be able to laugh at yourself, especially when you’re being ridiculous.
I thought I’d gotten better. I’ve learned the soft start. I don’t nag nearly as much as I used to. I’ve let a lot of things go. See how evolved I am? Piper doesn’t see my progress, though.
“Dad, if you were a chipmunk, you’d be Alvin.”
“Why, Piper, my name starts with a ‘J’?”
“Yeah. But you and Alvin are always getting yelled at. Dave says ‘Allllviiiin!’ and Mom says ‘Jooooeeee!’ the same way.”
1. Isn’t it great, Mom, that I got sick on a Saturday? You don’t have to cancel anything. You’re welcome.
2. Why doesn’t my body have enough skills to fight a little ole fever? Geez.
3. Uh oh. Time for a zebra pack. (Z-pak antibiotic)
4. More orange spice tea, please. Wait. Did you put in extra honey? Mmm. You’re such a good mom. Wait. Are you trying to cover up some medicine with that yummy honey?
5. What if I wake up a cheetah? Wouldn’t that be cool? I’d be a nice cheetah, though. I wouldn’t hurt you, Mom. Question! Do cheetahs get sick?
6. Pharmacies shouldn’t have candy. Candy doesn’t make you feel better. Toys make you feel better. Pharmacies should give away toys with medicine. Just like Old McDonalds.
7. Can you stick that thing that beeps in my armpit again? I’ve got an itch in there.
8. I can’t brush my teeth. Can’t you see I’m sick? Teeth brushing will make me even sicker. It will.
9. Good night, Mommy. I’m not going to wake you up as much tonight. Probably.
10. If I’m sick again tomorrow can we finish reading “The Secret Garden”? And If I’m not sick tomorrow can we finish reading “The Secret Garden”?
piperism 