This is What the 100th Day of School Looks Like…
Image
2
Tag Archives: piperism
The F Word
Piper told us at dinner last night that she’d heard THE “f” word. Kids at school are saying it. Her teacher is discouraging it but it seems to be contagious.
“First Kayla said it,” Piper said. “Mrs. A warned her. Kayla did it again. BIG trouble!”
“What happened then?” Sissy asked.
“Nate said it, too. Mrs. A told him not to say it again.”
“Did Mrs. A say the ‘f’ word when she told them not to say it?” Daddy asked.
“No. She didn’t have to. Everyone knows the ‘f’ word.”
“What is it, Piper?”
“Fart.”
Say Cheese
Yesterday was Piper’s class picture. You know the one where the whole kindergarten smooshes together and smiles so that 10 years later you can look back and wonder what happened to the kid who ate paste. We forgot it was picture day. You’re supposed to dress up for picture day. You’re supposed to look presentable.
We’ve had a series of weather delays and early releases and general schedule rescheduling that’s left us in a permanent state of flux. I’m pretty sure Piper’s teeth were brushed. I doubt her hair was. She was wearing at least seven pieces of rainbow jewelry. Maybe two tutus. I remind her daily to wear underwear. Clean underwear. My standards are that high.
“Mom! We forgot picture day!” Piper told me on our walk home.
I shrugged. What could I do now? “Sorry, honey.”
“Thank goodness I look THIS good every day!” Piper said, twirling in her paste eating loveliness and smiling. I checked for underwear. Whew.
Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?
Piper’s favorite place at school is the hallway. She’s a fan of anything that gets her out of class. There are multi-colored clothes pins that serve as hallway passes. Piper likes to collect them.
One of my dear stay-at-home-volunteer-at-school-rule-the-world friend moms recently took pictures for the school yearbook, and here is where she located the Piper: smiling innocently as she got out of class once again.
A Piper has places to go. Here are her favorite routes:
1. The Bathroom. She likes to sit on a stool and think. It’s quiet in there. Also, you can sing loudly and listen to the echo.
2. Sissy’s Classroom. There’s a little glass window in the door of Sissy’s classroom. If you smash your face against the glass and squint hard, you might catch a glimpse of Sissy, but Sissy usually has her face stuck in a book and doesn’t look up. Every single one of her friends has to call out one by one “Isabelle! Piper is at the window!” The teacher loves that.
3. The Hand Washing Station. This is the trough of soap dispensers and fun outside of the cafeteria. It looks a lot like those water tables at Science Centers. Piper likes to make suds and soak her clothes. At least she’s sanitized.
4. The Locker. Oh, the locker. Has there ever been anything cooler than your locker? It’s endless fun. And it’s the best place to shove things on the route between your teacher and your mom. Neither of them check there. Hardly.
5. The Office. Every school should have a Mrs. Army. That’s her real name. Sort of. She runs the school. At any second Mrs. Army knows the exact GPS position of all 900 kids in school. And she knows where they are supposed to go after school, too. Mrs. Army deserves top secret security clearance. Piper likes to intentionally forget stuff at home just so she can get called to the office to pick it up from Mrs. Army.
Catch a Cab
If you’re a parent, you spend a good part of your waking hours as a taxi service. The hours stink. There are no benefits. Tips are terrible. Yet, you pick up, drop off, and wait. Repeat.
Piper and I were shuttling Sissy tonight to a choir concert. It was raining. The parking lot was crowded. There was a tornado watch. Dinner had been rushed. Traffic was a nightmare. You get the idea. On our way to the concert we’d picked up Daddy at the Metro. He was walking Sissy inside while Piper and I waited in the warm car.
Piper watched the other parents in the parking lot doing the same. We saw more than one parent running after a kid with a McDonald’s sack.
“Where’s everyone going?” Piper asked.
“Probably doing the same as us, P. Picking up. Dropping off. Rushing around,” I said.
“Where are they all coming from?”
“Work. Downtown. This is a tough time to get anywhere. Especially in this weather.”
“But why are they working?” Piper asked.
“We have to work. Daddy and I go to our jobs. We get paid and then we can take care of you. Food, clothes, toys, choir concerts. It all costs money.”
“Wow,” Piper said, “that sounds like a serious amount of responsibility. What a meany world!”
Spelling Champ
Piper spelled her first word out loud recently. We’re so proud. She did it all on her own.
“Okay. Ready, Mom?”
“Ready.”
“D-O-O D-O-O.”
“Doo doo? Really, Piper?”
“Hahahahahah! I made Mommy say poop!”
Pay No Attention to that Man Behind the Curtain
What goes on in a Piper’s head? I wonder myself. It seems a great mash up. Every once in awhile she pulls back the curtain. What comes out is equally fascinating and hilarious. Piper’s revelations make me laugh so hard espresso shoots out my nose.
Yesterday, from her perch on the toilet, with the bathroom door wide open, of course, Piper yelled:
“Wait. Is RG3 like R2D2?”
It took me a full minute to register that she was mixing the Washington Redskins with Star Wars. And that’s what really goes on behind the curtain.
IKEA: Making Dreams Come True
Every once in awhile a block on our wall calendar comes up blank. No piano recitals, no birthday parties, no dinner parties. An empty Saturday block waiting for fun. Sure, there’s laundry, groceries, errands, cleaning, blah, blah, but they’re not going anywhere. The chores have been neglected this long; they can wait a little longer.
“What do you want to do today?” I asked Piper and Sissy over breakfast.
“IKEA!” they both shouted. I know. This part is a little embarrassing. My kids love going through the little micro rooms and pretending they live in a studio in Manhattan, which isn’t as glamorous as Piper and Sissy think but it’s certainly tolerable when every inch of your space is organized. Oh, and there are cinnamon rolls to die for. They sell them by the tray. You should buy two. Trays that is. That way you have some leftovers after you’ve scarfed down the first tray in the parking lot.
Sissy is a bit more obsessed with Ikea than Piper. Sissy asked Santa for an Ikea gift card; she’s memorized their catalog. The girl dreams big. But like the dutiful little sister, Piper obliges. She, too, has pledged her devotion to Ikea. Here is where I should probably tell you we actually only own one thing in our entire house by Ikea: bookshelves. We’re mostly into antiques and folk art. Ikea doesn’t traffic in either. Yet we regularly visit Ikea for fun. It’s like a giant doll house. And did I mention the cinnamon rolls?
“Can I go to their playland?” Piper asked.
“We’ll try,” I promised.
What’s the Ikea playland, you ask? Hold on to your seat. You aren’t going to believe this…
From the Ikea website: “Småland is a play area where children can feel Swedish forest atmosphere. While they are playing, you can enjoy your shopping experience knowing your children will be safe and cared for.
60 minutes, free of charge.”
You read that right. 60 MINUTES. FREE OF CHARGE. You just hopped in your car and started driving didn’t you? I would. In fact, I did.
The only catch? You’ve got to get there early. Every parent in town is trying to drop off their kid so they can take a nap in a showroom bed. Don’t judge us. Oh, and germaphobes need not apply. It’s a cesspool.
This was Piper’s first visit to Smaland. We’ve never arrived early enough to indulge in the Swedish forest atmosphere. The line has always been too long. Or I’ve been able to keep Piper flu free by convincing her that the entire store is Smaland. But my defenses were weakened. I was working on my fifth day of single parenting. Germs be damned.
So, we got our little red bucket and filled it with Piper’s hat, scarf, mittens, coat, boots. They slapped on matching arm bands so that they’d know which kid to return to which parent. And they gave me my pager, which you carry around the store for your 60 minutes of freedom. I’m guessing it actually works as an alarm clock to wake up those of us snoozing trying out the comfy couches. Piper gave Sissy and me high fives and ran off to the Swedish forest. Sissy and I bought hot chocolates and strolled. We pretended we lived in Paris and shopped for our library because everyone in Paris has a library and it needs organized.
59 minutes later we returned to retrieve our Piper. She looked a little sleepy. Probably worn out from all the fun, I guessed. Bonus.
“What did you do, Piper?” Sissy asked.
“Ball pit? Climbing wall? Art?” I offered.
“That slides looks fun,” Sissy said. “Did you meet new friends?”
Piper yawned. “No, I just watched a movie. It was the best!”
Jalapeno in Your Business
Last night at dinner I professed my love for jalapenos. It’s a new infatuation. I’m eating them on everything. Salads, spaghetti, fajitas, pancakes. Okay. Maybe not pancakes, but I’m seeking the heat, the spicy. I can’t seem to load on enough.
“You know why don’t you, Mom?” Sissy asked, matter of factly.
“Um. I love jalapenos?” I guessed.
“It’s because you’re getting older. Your taste buds deteriorate as you age. Aren’t you almost 40?” Oh, snap. She DID NOT. I gave her the evil eye and heaped on more jalapenos.
“It’s true, Mom,” Dr. Sissy continued. “That’s why young kids don’t like spicy food. They’re taste buds are stronger.”
“I get it, Mom,” Piper said. “I feel the same way about cannolis. If they were the last food on Earth…well, I’d eat ALL of them.”
Sugar. Oh Honey Honey.
Piper will do about anything to avoid the inevitable surrender to bed time. It begins with a shower, which is always too hot and too cold. If her teeth need brushed and I’m holding the toothpaste, she runs to her dad. If Dad has the hairbrush, Piper runs to me and begs me to wrestle her tangles. Until she decides I’m doing it wrong and runs back to Dad. And so it goes. Her stall tactics are epic.
Tonight she ran from the post bath lotioning ritual. “I need a hug, Mom. Dad’s putting on too much lotion. I’m all slick!” Piper slid into my lap.
“Ah,” she exhaled, wrapping my arms around her. “That’s the sugar!”
piperism 