If you’ve been keeping up with your piperisms, you know that our little spitfire took a tumble last week. She earned herself a trip to the ER and four stitches. The stitches thread is blue, which Piper thinks is awesome. You can read about the drama here.

Yesterday Piper returned to school. She was excited to share her injury. Unfortunately, her mother made her put a band aid on it to keep out additional germs. Moms ruin all the fun. So Piper asked me to take a picture of her gruesome chin and print it. Stitches make for killer show and tell. Piper didn’t mind the attention one little bit.

She came home from school with this note from two of her best buddies.


“I am sorry that you fell down. Your friends, Madeline and Kian.”

Never Let Them See You Sweat

Piper gave her first Power Point presentation last week in kindergarten. She was very excited and little nervous. She kept running to me pre presentation to let me know she was sweating. Piper is a little sweaty. Always has been. Deodorant will one day be her friend.

I blogged about her fan club attendance here. Sissy and her friends filled the tiny chairs in the back of Piper’s classroom. It was about as adorable as you can imagine.

The presentation was called “Pasta Fagioli.” Piper bounced to the front of the board when her name was called and proudly presented her research. Here goes.





Like the other kindergartners, Piper most read from her presentation. She went a little off script when she riffed about dried basil being an herb and she wasn’t sure what food group that belonged to. Then she added the interesting tomato as a fruit/vegetable debate. Then she smiled and said, “Okay, next slide please” to her tech assistant. At the end of her presentation, Piper bowed deeply. Then she sprinted to my lap. It’s not every day in kindergarten that your mom’s lap is just sitting there empty waiting for you.

After all of the presentations, Piper was assigned a reflection piece to write. She had a little help from her people.



Piper is worried about first grade. She just started reading. She just began really writing. And she’s already anxious about an event that is 9 months away. Her eyes fill up when she talks about it. Poor baby.

“What are you worried about, P?” I asked, wiping away her tears.

“It looks so hard,” she said, “they do all this big kid stuff.”

“You do big kid stuff, already. This morning you dressed yourself and packed your snack and set the breakfast table. That’s big kid stuff.”

“That’s easy stuff, Mom. In first grade you get REAL grades. It’s not just about trying anymore.”

I thought about that. Piper already understands that effort goes a long way but eventually this world is about performance and evaluation. At five, she gets that. Sigh.

“Actually, Piper, they don’t give grades in first grade. I don’t think report cards have grades  on them until third. Instead, they give you little check marks about your progress.”

Piper’s eyes got big at that news. “Well, geez, then, why do they call it first GRADE?”


What’s On Your Plate?

It’s a little slow around here, especially compared to the marathon that is the holidays. Today there weren’t any presents to wrap or unwrap. No holiday cards to address (Oh, who am I kidding? Tiny Prints does all the work for me). No holiday tunes to belt out. We said goodbye to the beach and flew home with sand in our suitcases. I’m hoping the fairies show up soon and wrap each ornament individually and put away the tree. Le Sigh.

So Piper and I spent some time this afternoon mulling the new year over a bowl of spaghetti. It’s what she asked for when she came in the door from her first day back to school. “Mom, I had a great day,” Piper announced, creating a pile one foot from the door of backpack, coat, mittens, scarf, lunchbox, hat. “Now, I need some spaghetti. Bolognese sauce, please.” I understand. I had made the same thing earlier for lunch. Great minds think alike. The new year needs comfort food. Parmesan makes everything better.

Piper ate and told me about her new school project called “What’s on your plate?” where she’ll be learning how food actually gets onto her plate. It’s her first big research project. She’ll create a Power Point. She’ll present it by herself to an audience of parents. There will be cookies, of course, but she’ll know that the cookies are made from flour which comes from wheat which is grown in the ground. It’s cool stuff. I’m pretty sure I sat and made Playdoh snakes my entire kindergarten year. Times have changed.

“I’m really starting to think about my food, you know?” Piper said, gazing down into her spaghetti goodness. “Like this came from you, right?”

“I boiled the pasta and made the sauce, but I didn’t grow the wheat myself,” I admitted. “I bought the pasta from a store. Someone else grew the tomatoes.”

Piper twirled a good amount around her fork and sprinkled on more cheese, which comes from cows and is aged two years in Italy’s Parmigiano-Reggiano region.

“Well, wherever it came from, I like the sound spaghetti makes when I slurp it,” she said, smacking her lips together for effect. “It sounds like someone is KISSING!”

I Made This for You. Maybe.

Piper’s latest obsession is making collages. This involves dragging things out of the craft closet, cutting everything into tiny pieces, and then gluing them onto a surface. Sometimes the surface is paper. Sometimes it’s a hat. One time it was her shoe. “I’m collaging!” she says, wiping a glue stick on Barbie’s leg and pressing red beads all over it. It looks like Barbie has an infectious disease. She should probably see a doctor. Barbie that is. As far as I can tell, Piper’s “collages” are perfectly healthy.

I blame it on the art table. A few weeks ago in a massive reorganization (I had a syllabus to write and therefore began cleaning out every drawer in the house in order to procrastinate) we moved the art table from storage to Piper’s room. She needed a space to sit and “write” and play games. The art table needed to be used. Or else.

Making a collage is how Piper likes to unwind after a long day of kindergarten. She’s been making a lot of collages. Mostly for me. My birthday is coming up so each collage becomes an early gift. That is until her dad walks in the room. Then Piper takes the collage out of my hands and presents it to him. “I made this for you, Dad!” I should protest, but I know there will be more collages. Many more.

Go for the Green

Piper’s new kindergarten teacher is a keeper. When Piper grew bored of coloring in her behavior report every day with the same boring green crayon, she let her color the square rainbow. “You’re in charge of you,” Mrs. Adams told her, “you know if you behaved, don’t you?” Piper did. 

When I met Mrs. Adams for the first time, I gushed about how glad we were that she’d shown up for her second day, too. My standards are now that low after Dear Kindergarten Teacher and Help Wanted.

Piper declared Mrs. Adams to be a good hugger. “You kind of just fall into her. I think she’s hugged a lot.”

Mrs. Adams had a positive report, too. “Oh, Piper!” she said. “I get her. I really do.”

And that’s good enough for me.