Paty Kerry Live

Halloween happened. Paty Kerry was live in our home for a whole day. She sang through breakfast. She danced on her way to school. She posed for fans at her class party.

She performed on command at the Halloween Parade.

But no matter how big Paty Kerry got on Halloween, she didn’t forget the little guy.

“Dad,” Paty Kerry said, as she was walking out the door for trick or treating, “since you don’t have a costume, you can be part of my paparazzi.”

Happy Halloween

It’s that time of year when we take the knife to the pumpkin flesh and make dreams come true. The tools are sharpened. The pan is oiled for seed roasting. Our pumpkin carnage plans are drawn. Let the slicing begin. First, Princess Leia emerged with her famous side braid ear muffs. Piper colored mini white gourds black and Daddy attached them with nails.

Then Paty Kerry took the stage.

Sissy did her hair. Here’s a side profile so you can get the full effect.

Then we roasted their innards. With sea salt and chipolte. Yum.

And the pumpkin gals hung out together.

I have to wonder if one day some little girl somewhere will be presented with her first pumpkin to carve and declare “Let’s make a Piper!”

Dear Paty Kerry

Dear Paty Kerry,

My daughter, Piper, wants to be you. She’s five-years-old and is one of your biggest fans. In fact, for Halloween, Piper wants to wear a costume that she’s designed to be Paty Kerry.

It’s not just your blue hair that she adores. She understands your love of all things glitter. She feels that you are a kindred spirit. Piper likes to dress in costumes every day, just like you. She loves singing and dancing, just like you. And she believes in magical places, like the kind of that you invent on stage. When Piper sings “Firework,” she channels your energy and believes she really can go Boom, Boom, Boom. In fact, Piper’s birthday is just a few days past July 4th and she thinks that song was written just for its occasion.

I do steer Piper away, though, from some of your more mature lyrics. But mostly I just manage to keep them contained to our home. She’s in kindergarten after all and far from her first teenage dream, if you know what I mean. She hasn’t started kissing anyone yet, let alone girls and liking it. I’d love more G rated material from you by the way. It would really make my job easier. Piper doesn’t get most of what your lyrics say, but it’s a bit disarming to see her belt out Baby, let’s go all the way tonight on her walk to school. Fortunately, Piper thinks in your skin tight jeans is in your skim milk jeans, which is much more nutritious and probably explains why you can get into those jeans anyway.

And here’s Piper’s country version:

So if you decide you need a five-year-old back up singer on your next tour, Piper’s ready and waiting.

Sincerely,

Piper’s Mom

P.S. I do realize your name is actually Katy Perry but not according to Piper. Sorry.

You Know You Have a 4th of July Hangover When…

Alright. Alright. We cheated. It was too hot. We did the parade downtown as the temperature climbed toward 100 degrees. We spent the rest of the day in the pool. There was yet another fake birthday party for Piper. We were exhausted. The car was packed. A fifteen hour drive awaited us. We stayed home for the fireworks. Forgive me. Or maybe we started a new 4th of July tradition. We’ll see. I’ll let you know when I recover from holiday fun hangover.

We made rootbeer floats and cuddled up on the couch to watch everyone else’s fireworks live on T.V. We wore our pajamas. Paty Kerry sang “Firework.”  What more could a Piper want? A dance party, of course! Piper got us all to our feet. Again.

“Mommy, these are your moves!” Piper shouted, gyrating just like this:

Maybe we’ll go downtown for the fireworks next year after all.

Baby, You’re a Firework

It’s a well-know fact that the Piper loves Paty Kerry. She can’t get enough of that Firework song. “Who sings it again?” we ask.

“Paty Kerry,” Piper says. Giggle. Giggle.

So, in honor of Paty Kerry we took our own little firecracker to the Big Tent today to get some celebratory gun powder. We blew our $10 budget way out of the water when Piper saw this:

It was her fake birthday after all. After the rainbow sparklers, rainbow smoke bombs, and rainbow frog that shot rainbow sparks, we walked down to the pond’s edge for the air trooper finale. We were promised a rainbow parachute on our little army guy. He went boom and then parachuted down the hill into the woods. Piper wanted to chase him, of course, but the bushes were taller than her. Grandpa had no choice. “Kids,” he said, addressing the assembly of grandchildren, “we’re going to need the four-wheeler.” The pack trudged off to the shed for the necessary equipment. Then, they rescued our air trooper.

“Did you like the fireworks?” I asked Piper, after she came up the hill. I was hiding on the front porch. It’s best if Mommy doesn’t watch you ride a four-wheeler packed with grandchildren down a hill into the woods. I know my place. Out of sight.

“It was the best fake birthday I’ve ever had,” Piper said.

“What was your favorite part? The smoke bombs? The sparklers? I know. It was the parachute guy?”

“Nope. The four wheeler ride!” Of course.