Tag Archives: humor

Queen of Backhanded Compliments

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We had a little celebratory dinner last night in our house. It’s been a big year. Another cross-country move, new schools, new jobs, yet another new home. Sissy received a glowing report card. Piper finally learned to swim. We’ll take any excuse for a party. I let Sissy and Piper plan the menu: pizza, lemonade, salad, fancy miniature pastries. The table was set with superfluous paper umbrellas and paper plates. Candles were lit. We’re fancy.

We took a moment to say what we were grateful for. Piper was thankful we all know our place in the family. “Mommy, I’m glad you keep us doing. That way we never get bored and we get our doing done. Daddy, thanks for not eating the stuff you’re allergic to so that you can make everything fun because when you’re sick, you aren’t fun at all. And, Sissy, your job is to make everyone happy. You always play with me and that makes us all happy.”

Sure, Come On In

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Piper is well known for her hospitality. Good, bad, or otherwise. We’ve enjoyed a record number of house guests this year. 50 and counting. It must be that we live in hub of all happening things because it sure ain’t my cooking. Regardless of why they come, they come. We have guests in our home or visitors in our town almost every single week. They keep coming back, too. Even our chaos is better than $300 a night hotel room.

Piper and Sissy love it. They love making up the big bed in the guest room and picking out a book to leave on the night stand. They love designing a “fun schedule” for each visitor. They love bounding down the steps each morning and waking our guests up (sorry about that, friends). They think we have guests entirely for their pleasure.

Yesterday, Piper’s play mate, Alex, came over. Piper met her at the door and said, “Do come in” as she bowed like the butler. “How can we make you comfortable, Alex? We’re here to help.”

Alex just stared. “Um,” she said, “where are your toys?”

Sometimes the pressure of hospitality becomes too much, though. Piper can’t be on her best behavior all the time, you know. The last time her cousin Charlotte stayed with us Piper and she bunked together. Charlotte drifted off to sleep peacefully, but I found Piper with her eyes wide open glaring at her sweet cousin. “I don’t know, Mom,” she said, “I keep thinking really bad thoughts.” The high price of staying in our home is accepting Piper as alpha. It’s futile to resist.

Last week one of my former colleagues passed through town with her adorable two-year-old, Flynn. We invited the family downtown for some outdoor music and fun. There was ice cream, rock climbing, dancing. Piper and Flynn wanted balloons, of course. They got them, of course. The play got a little rough. Flynn may or may not have broken part of P’s balloon tiara. We stood in line for a replacement. Then she generously awarded Flynn with the deflated remainder of the broken balloon tiara. Flynn’s face lit up like Christmas. Piper’s hospitality is only rivaled by her charity.

Never Leave the Nuts

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Piper has an answer for everything these days. Unfortunately, it’s not the answer you want. When we dropped her dad off at the Metro this morning he kissed her good-bye and wished her a good day. Piper’s answer?

“Dad, remember: Never leave the nuts with the nuts!”

I know. We did a double take, too.

“What?”

“I said: Never leave the nuts with the nuts!”

Sissy came to the rescue.

“It’s from Penguins of Madagascar.The penguins say you shouldn’t leave the food with the squirrels or something like that. It also works for not leaving the good stuff with the crazies.”

Later in the afternoon, I suggested we clean up the playroom.

“Well, Mom. Maybe. But you should never leave the nuts with the nuts, you know,” Piper said.

Piper’s new answer actually works well in many situations. Go ahead. Give it a spin. Let me know how it works for you. Make Piper proud.

O Street Mansion Madness

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Sometimes, when you’re a Piper that is, your parents drag you along on their adventures. They don’t know where they’re going exactly, but they have the whole day free and the sun is shining and life is grand. So, somebody’s sister’s hairdresser’s cousin told them about this mansion in Dupont Circle where you can roam through 4 connected row houses with 20 secret passages and they don’t even know if it exists but they’re willing to try because it does sound magical, even if only half of it’s true. And because you’re a Piper, you say yes, too, because it’s in your blood. You skip down the cobblestone streets petting every dog along the way. You play along in the “If I had ten million dollars, that would be my house” game that everyone plays in Dupont Circle. You munch on a pile of naan bread because that is what you’re addicted to these days. Your parents find the address, but there is no real sign so they barge inside immediately, assuming the lack of welcome is another part of the intrigue. They’re right. You wander from room to room opening mirrors that lead to more rooms and pushing on bookcases that reveal secret passages. Every surface is covered in treasures. It’s surreal and you’re pretty sure you’ve stepped into a Scooby Doo haunted mansion episode. So, then you find fancy hats in one of the guest suites and of course, you try them all on.

Because you’re a Piper, you jump right in to the fun and make even more.

The next room over you stumble upon a motley collection of musicians who put a guitar in your daddy’s hand and he says yes, too.

And the adventure continues because you’re a Piper and you don’t just put your toe in to the test the water, you cannon ball into the middle of the pool. Always.

Smooth Move

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“Mommy, I like to wake up smooth,” Piper said, crawling beneath the covers on my side of the bed.

“Smooth?” I asked.

“Smooth,” she said. “It goes like this. I get in bed with you. You snuggle me. I snooze a little more. That’s smooth. Then I tell you about my dreams. You snuggle me again. Then you make my hot tea. You tell me about your dreams. Then Daddy and Sissy snuggle me. That’s smooth, too. Then I’m ready for the day.”

This probably explains why we are two hours late most places. Happy but late.

Daddy’s Day

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“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

Eye on the Piper

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I lost Piper tonight. For maybe three minutes. It was enough to make my mommy heart panic. We were downtown with friends listening to an outdoor Irish Rock band. It was a perfect summer night: kids were playing tag, parents stood in clusters drinking beer, we knew all the songs. And then. Just like that. Piper wasn’t in sight. She’d been told to stay on the grass. Between sentences I counted my kids. 1-2. 1-2. Sissy. Piper. Sissy. Piper. Sissy. Piper? I scanned the outlines of the grass. I walked from corner to corner peeking behind groups of kids. No Piper. I saw her Daddy cross the green lawn. “Where’s Piper?” he said.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m scared.”

“I’ll find her,” he said because that’s what he does.

We went in opposite directions and kept eye contact. The band started back up after their break. Piper wasn’t on the lawn anymore. Then it hit me. Piper would go hear the band. She would dance. I walked to the front of the band stand. She wasn’t there. Then I scanned the crowd for dogs. Because if Piper wasn’t up front with the band and she wasn’t back with the kids, she’d be with the dogs. Then I saw her. Her entire body was curled up on the cobblestone street spooning a huge St. Bernard. He was twice the size of Piper. She took off her headband and tried to put it on the dog. He licked her face. I grabbed Piper by the wrist and hauled her out of the St. Bernard’s lap. I told myself to calm down, to breathe, to be grateful. Piper was never in danger. My heart was.

“You scared me, Piper. You weren’t supposed to leave the grass. You can’t run off without telling me where you are.”

“I was right there,” Piper said, pointing to the dog. “I was right there.”

And she was. It wasn’t far. It was just too far for me.

Peace Camp

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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:

The Peace Book cover

“If there was more peace maybe the world could be magical,” Piper said. “Maybe.”