Tag Archives: piperism

Sleeping Beauty Stalls…Again

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Aunt Angela was over for a rousing game of cards last night. Piper did everything she could to get us not to play. Grown ups playing cards means kids going to bed. Everyone knows that. The shuffling of the deck can only mean defeat.

“Want to play Go Fish?” Piper asked. Her voice had that strained cheeriness which means she’s about twenty seconds from a whining fit but knows if she does, it’s all over.

We played Go Fish.

“Want to sing songs?” Piper asked. She shoved the guitar in Daddy’s lap and generously brought him the song book.

We sang Bob Marley’s greatest hits.

“Want to see my rocks?” Piper asked. She dragged out her new gem collection and offered one to every adult on the porch.

We all picked out rocks and appropriately complimented them.

“Want to read books to me?” Piper asked, crawling up in Aunt Angela’s lap. Aunt Angela’s kids are at camp with Sissy. We’re all missing little people crawling up into our laps. Piper can smell our weakness.

Then she whispered in Aunt Angela’s ear, “I like reading books. Lots of them. It’s the best way to get to stay up later. Just ask for more chapters. Works every time.”

And it did.

Swimsuits Optional

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We stumbled upon one of those outdoor water play things downtown yesterday. I know some people like to “plan” their vacations with lists of “sights to see” and “must-visit hot spots.” They research and send away for brochures. They bookmark sights and book hotels in advance. We like to stumble. We drive through neighborhoods and ask about the best ice cream joint. We eavesdrop in coffee houses. We go to the library and pretend we’re locals. The folks at toy stores always know the best places for dining out with kids.

So, we weren’t exactly expecting the awesome outdoor water play thing. Therefore, Piper didn’t have her bathing suit.

“Can I play?” Piper asked her dad.

“Of course. Go on in,” he said.

“But I’ll get my clothes wet?”

“So? They’ll dry.”

Piper tiptoed near the fun. Cautiously.

“But I need a swimsuit,” she said.

“We don’t have one, P. Just go in.”

Swimsuits are always more of a suggestion than a rule, right? I mean, when I dress Piper up in her star studded bikini with matching sun hat, it’s really only for the cuteness factor. And the photo op. She usually peels it off anyway.

Piper continued to feign concern. We didn’t take it that seriously. If you’ve gotten to know Piper through this blog, you probably don’t either. The girls got guts. Crazy courage. Rules schmules.

“Well,” Piper said, “if I must.”

 

Go Climb a Tree Part 2

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When you’re a Piper, sometimes you go for a hike around a lake.

And it’s a good hike with trails and covered walkways. You jump and dance and leap about the lake. And then, you find a clump of cool trees. So, of course, you climb in them.

But you walk straight into a mess of spider webs. You come running right back out because spiders give you the eebie-jeebies, you say.

“Wait!” you say, “I love spiders because they eat all the other bugs I don’t like. I’m going back in!” And you do.

The end.

Here’s another version of the same story: Go Climb a Tree

Tomato, Tomahto, Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off

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Piper picked these this morning. She reached her kid paws into the towering tomato vines and plucked. Happily.

“They’re beauties, aren’t they?” she asked.

“They sure are, P,” I agreed.

We ran our fingers over their smooth skin, inspecting the colors, pressing their ripeness.

“What do we do with them?”

I looked at Piper, studying her deprivation. Surely, the kid’s had a tomato. What kind of a mother am I? Her Daddy has a tomato phobia, it’s true, but I know for a fact that Piper’s enjoyed grape tomatoes in her lunch. I packed them myself.

“You eat them, honey. They’re tomatoes. Fresh ones,” I explained, for good measure. I’ve taught grammar to high school students, too, but that doesn’t mean they remember where to put their commas. Sometimes we have to reteach and repeat.

“Can I eat one?”

“Yep,” I said, nodding my head and popping a pearl tomato into my mouth.

Piper picked out a juicy one. She licked. She nibbled. She broke the skin. She stuffed it in her cheek like a squirrel. Her whole face smiled. Tomato juice dribbled down her chin. Pure delight.

Then she leaned over the trash can and spit the whole thing out. “Yuck! They’re sweet. Like candy!”

And the problem is? Maybe it’s genetic.

To Catch the Sun

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While Sissy is away at camp, Piper and I are having our own little camp alternating between hikes, museums, and arts and craft projects. Today, our task was to paint a suncatcher. It looked easy enough.

I carefully read the directions out loud. “Looks like each paint color has a number that matches a place on the suncatcher,” I explained. The diagram was a bit tedious, but with Sissy away, I have plenty of time for complicated art projects that require more than my normal reserves of patience.

“Or you could just make it look pretty,” Piper suggested. “There’s a picture of the butterfly already painted. We could just follow that.”

Which is about ten times easier than the stupid color-coded number instructions. Good idea, P.

We opened the first miniature pot of pink stain. The kit comes with a plastic “stain spreader” rather than a paint brush, which adds an extra element of danger.

An hour later, we’d made some progress. Piper stuck with it. Until she decided that she needed an assistant. “An artist needs help, Mom. They need someone to tell what to do. An artist gets tired, you know.”

“Let me guess. I’m going to be your assistant?”

“Yes! I’ll be the master artist and direct you!”

It sounded like another excuse to boss me around, but we were approaching hour two and my back was beginning to ache.

So, with the handy help of the assistant and the bossiness of the master artist, we completed our creation. Ta da! And I learned that Piper is much better at giving artistic direction than following package directions. We can’t wait for Sissy to see our masterpiece.

Our Little Gold Digger

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We sent Piper to the mines yesterday. She’s been lazing about for five whole years. We figured it was time she learn what child labor is all about. And somebody has to help pay for Sissy’s fancy mountain camp. Geez.

Piper went on her mining expedition with her Nana and Papa to the world famous Elijah Mountain Gem Mine. They got their Little Miner’s bucket of dirt and began sifting. And sifting. And sifting. Mining treasures is hard work, but Piper persevered. “You know,” she said, “I’m just really good at this mining thing!”

Turns out, Piper has a knack for mining. She struck it rich! She came home with bags of genuine gem stones.

We set up our own gem cleaning station. Piper’s been hard at work ever since. She’s been washing, scrubbing, sorting. We’re not entirely sure what the glowing one in the bucket is. It’s either real gold or too much flash on the camera. Either way, Piper may have found her true calling.

Homesick

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Piper asked me to dictate a letter to Sissy this afternoon. We dropped her off at a wilderness camp in the mountains this morning, and we’re all missing her something fierce. It’s been almost three whole hours.

Dear Sissy,

I miss you. I’m sorry I stabbed you with the pool cue yesterday. I was just having fun. I know you didn’t like it. I hope you aren’t still mad at me and I hope you bring me something fun from camp. Like a stuffed animal. Or a snow globe. Mom said they probably don’t have snow globes at camp, but I hope she’s wrong. I really want a snow globe.

Also, Mom keeps crying. I think she wants a snow globe, too.

Love,

Piper

Cool Mountain Air

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Piper hiked to her first waterfall today. It was a little more than a mile up an incline. She was brave and tough the whole way. Every step came with a new challenge.

“Mom, can I run ahead?”

“Yes, with your Sissy or a cousin.”

“Mom, can I climb the rocks, too?”

“They’re slippery. Be careful.”

Then came the big one.

“I don’t want to just look at it,” Piper said. “I want to go in the waterfall!”

Of course you do. But it’s dangerous. And I’m scared you’ll get hurt. “Promise you’ll hold my hand?” I compromised, taking her hand in mine. I held on tight, but not too tight.

Together, with the help of an aunt, an uncle, and four cousins, we took Piper down to the base of this:

When we reached the pools of clear water, Piper peeled off her shoes and socks and went in. “Ah! Cool mountain water!” she yelled over the rush of the falls. She sounded like a commercial for the tourism board. She splashed with delight. She dipped her feet deeper. Then she stuck her head in.

As we climbed out of the waterfall, Piper was pretty proud of herself. So was I. She stopped at the base of the mountain and took a deep breath. “Ah! Cool mountain air!” she proclaimed. And it was.

On the Catwalk

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We’re visiting the grandparents this week. As I mentioned yesterday, Piper did her own packing.

After a long day’s drive, we arrived to a home cooked meal and a cozy cottage. The cousins were reunited. There were screams of delight and joyful hugs.

Then Piper climbed up on a kitchen stool next to Nana, looked her up and down, and declared, “Nana, you aren’t very fashionable.”

Nana busted out laughing. Then she explained that as a scientist who travels the world teaching about conservation she hadn’t really gotten around to fashion.

Piper listened intently. Then she said, “And Papa married you anyway?”

This from a girl who alternates her tutu daily.

More is Always More

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I sent Piper packing last night. Really. We’re traveling again, and she has strong opinions.

“Pack your favorite stuff, and I’ll be in to help you,” I directed. I’ve learned the hard way with Piper. She has to do it herself first.

After a few minutes, I came in her room to assess her progress. Tutus and more tutus. Wands. Sparkly headbands. Not a pair of underwear in sight. Bikinis. Lip gloss. More lip gloss.

Piper doesn’t pack outfits. She packs costumes.