Tag Archives: piperism

Dear Paty Kerry

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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.

Thumbs Up for Rice Krispies

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A Piper doesn’t do blue jeans. They’re too stiff. She refuses to unbutton and zip. Tutus don’t easily slip over blue jeans and dancing is inhibited. So there.

Yet the leaves are changing and it’s starting to get cool. Blue jeans keep you warm. So yesterday we hauled out the hand-me-downs to add some layers to Piper’s tutu collection. Sissy made it into a fashion show. We blasted Lady Gaga and assessed new outfits with thumbs up and thumbs down. It was fun. At first. Piper gave everything a thumbs down. Too many blue jeans. Too many plain turtlenecks (Sissy was a bit more practical in her kindergarten fashion). Piper agreed to a few knit pants but only the ones with flowers, Eiffel Tower prints, and rainbows. The shirts were boring. The blue jeans were impossible. Piper was grumpy. So was I. Then she turned on Sissy. “Why couldn’t you like dresses and skirts?” she accused. “Now look what I have to deal with!” Sissy just rolled her eyes at her sister’s fussiness.

“Mom, you know what we need?” Sissy said.

“A shopping spree paid for by someone else?” In my mind I was trying to come up with a compromise between all the free hand-me-downs I’d laundered and stored and Piper’s fashion demands.

“Rice krispie treats.”

“Okay. A break would be good.” We pulled on fall jackets and walked to the store for the essentials. Along the way Piper was a little chilled. Bare legs in brisk fall weather will do that to you.

We made the rice krispies. We ate the rice krispies. Piper told us that marshmallows are harvested from the clouds. Sissy said, “Boy is she going to be disappointed when she learns about the water cycle.”

With bellies full of rice krispies we went back to abandoned clothes piles. Piper was more agreeable. I was more patient. Piper picked one pair of hot pink blue jeans with an elastic waist. She picked long sleeve t-shirts and tights that she could wear with her tutus. I showed her how we could layer all of her favorite rainbow t-shirts over the turtlenecks. Then we went back to finish off the rice krispie pan.

If I Had a Million Dollars

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The dinner table conversation last night turned quickly from “What are you grateful for?” (our standard) to “If you could have a super power, what would it be?” (the inevitable) to “What would you do with a million dollars?” Piper’s answer was quick. She’s a bit impulsive. I’m hoping she never actually has a million dollars.

“I would SPEND, SPEND, SPEND,” she said, dancing around the table with what must have been her fairy spending wand.

“I’d buy us a house,” Dad said. Real estate is a bit pricey in our neck of the woods. A million dollars may get us a nice detached three bedroom.

“I think I’d give some away,” Sissy said. “We’re pretty lucky. A lot of people aren’t.”

Everyone looked down at their full dinner plates. Then Piper said, “That’s what I meant. I’d SPEND it on someone else.”

Parenting Plots

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We caught Sissy reading a parenting magazine at breakfast yesterday. “Anything good in there?” I asked.

Sissy glanced over the top of the magazine. “You really should be teaching me this stuff, you know.” Which is probably true. But why bother when I can just have her read it herself? She doesn’t seem to need fixing to me.

Piper, too, got into the unsolicited parenting advice business tonight.

“Mom,” she began, “if I wrote a parenting book, I’d say…Step One: Be nice to your kid. Step Two: If they’re hurt, just hold them. Step Three: If they want something, give it to them after dinner. Step Eight: If they break something or ruin your favorite things and you get mad, pat them on the head and say you’re sorry. Step Five: If they want books, say yes.”

Whew. That’s a rather clear and concise parenting manual. I have to wonder if Step Four, Six, and Seven were key, though.

A few minutes later, Piper’s parenting plot was revealed. “Did I mention that there was a book fair at school next week?”

Braiding

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Piper likes braids. Except when she doesn’t. Then she wants pigtails. And rainbow hair accessories. Or glittery headbands. Mismatched barrettes. Silver bows. Purple ribbons.

Piper has a hair agenda for each day. She sits in my lap or on the floor beside me and directs. She knows exactly what she wants. It’s her hair, after all.

Lately, Piper wants me to braid her hair wet before bed so that she wakes up with wavy locks. I take her golden brown strands, that look remarkably like mine, and comb and  part and straighten and braid Piper into the person she wants to be.

Popping Popcorn Pops

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Piper went on her first kindergarten field trip last week. They travelled by school bus to a local farm. This was Piper’s take home haul.

She was quite proud of how much she learned. When I asked her if she’d had fun, she unpacked her goods onto the floor and Professor Piper delivered the following lecture:

“First we’re going to discuss this cotton. See, it’s a pod. This will bloom. There’s cotton in there. They grow it in the fields on the farm. That’s how we get clothes. You’ll see.”

Then Piper picked up her pumpkin and demonstrated how you properly pick a pumpkin from the patch. It’s not as easy as it looks. It takes strategy.

“Finally, this is an ear of corn. We’ll be making popcorn from this. You’ll be helping me, Mom. You’ll need to be patient. Popcorn popping takes time. Then we’ll eat it.”

So, we did, of course. I’d never popped popcorn from the cob. It’s remarkably easy. Piper and I watched a demo on YouTube before we began. We took the corn and put it in a brown bag. Then we closed the bag and put it in the microwave. Then Piper climbed up on the counter and pushed the “popcorn” button. Then we did a popcorn dance while we waited for the popcorn to pop. “It makes it taste better,” Piper reassured me while we listened to the kernels burst. Then we dumped out the fluffy white popcorn into a bowl and ate our feast. Professor Piper gave it an A+.

If Dancing Doesn’t Work…Dance More

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Piper got stuck again. This was a little different than my last stuck post “Stuck in a Compromising Position.” This one had an extra element of danger and intrigue.

A new grocery store opened in our downtown, so we decided to take a stroll through after dinner. We’re wild party animals aren’t we? I mean, who checks out a new grocery store for fun, right? Geez. Piper thought it was Christmas, though. She was so excited to run the aisles and see the goods. I had to keep reminding her “We’re just looking, P. This isn’t shopping. We just want to see what they have.”

Anyway, we went through the first set of automatic sliding glass doors together. Then the second set opened to deliver us to produce. Piper was dallying a bit behind because she wanted to see everything. And touch everything. And pick up everything. The second set of doors closed behind me and I turned around to see a wall of glass behind me and P. The first set had closed, too, so Piper was stuck in a little glass cage. I swung my arms wide on my side thinking maybe the sensors worked. They didn’t. Piper smiled through the glass. Then she swung her arms wide, too, but nothing happened. She was too short to activate the sensors. She pointed behind her to ask if she should go out the other way. I pressed my hands to the glass and mouthed “NO!” The parking lot with zooming cars was on the other side. We stared at each other a moment more. Then Piper began dancing. I’m not sure if she was actually trying to activate the motion sensors and open the door or if the moment was just ripe for dancing. You never know with P. Either way, the glass doors still didn’t budge. So she danced more and added ballet leaps. The leaps must have done it. Mid-pirouette the doors slid open and Piper danced her way in produce.

“That was cool, Mom. I like this store already,” she said.

And the Winner is…

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Piper hears a lot of political talk in her average day. There is the election, of course. And we live in Washington, D.C. She’s also exposed to a wide range of opinions. The people in our house rarely agree on politics and it is always at the dinner table. Not surprisingly, Piper has come to her own conclusions about Baback Omama and McRomney, as she calls them, erroneous as they may be.

She didn’t watch the presidential debates, though. It was past her bedtime. But she did ask about their outcome. I don’t know that it matters whose team you’re on. A victor was declared. We delivered the honest truth.

“Oh no,” Piper said. She put her head down on the table in defeat. Then she popped back up. “Wait. If McRomney wins, does that mean we have to buy a bunch of guns?”

Lexicon

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Piper is reading a lot these days. She’ll tell you her lexicon is expanding. Lexicon is one of her favorite words from Word Girl.

But I’ve noticed that Piper’s lexicon is limited to only those words that she likes.

She can read the regulars: to, the, it, go, I, and, etc. The little words aren’t a problem.

It’s bigger words that she struggles to sound out: work, sleep, pick up, nap. No matter how many times we repeat them, Piper doesn’t add these words to her lexicon. She won’t even try to sound them out, and she’ll often substitute a “more fun” word for those.

There are words equally as challenging that she has no problem remembering, though: play, toys, fun, park. She can also read every dog name in the book: Mudge, Biscuit, Martha. Per Piper’s request, we read a lot of dog books.

Hmm. I’m sensing a pattern. Like most things, it appears Piper’s lexicon will entirely her own.