Tag Archives: piperism

Piper’s Notes from a Sort of Sick Bed

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1. Isn’t it great, Mom, that I got sick on a Saturday? You don’t have to cancel anything. You’re welcome.

2. Why doesn’t my body have enough skills to fight a little ole fever? Geez.

3. Uh oh. Time for a zebra pack. (Z-pak antibiotic)

4. More orange spice tea, please. Wait. Did you put in extra honey? Mmm. You’re such a good mom. Wait. Are you trying to cover up some medicine with that yummy honey?

5. What if I wake up a cheetah? Wouldn’t that be cool? I’d be a nice cheetah, though. I wouldn’t hurt you, Mom. Question! Do cheetahs get sick?

6. Pharmacies shouldn’t have candy. Candy doesn’t make you feel better. Toys make you feel better. Pharmacies should give away toys with medicine.  Just like Old McDonalds.

7. Can you stick that thing that beeps in my armpit again? I’ve got an itch in there.

8. I can’t brush my teeth.  Can’t you see I’m sick? Teeth brushing will make me even sicker. It will.

9. Good night, Mommy.  I’m not going to wake you up as much tonight. Probably.

10. If I’m sick again tomorrow can we finish reading “The Secret Garden”? And If I’m not sick tomorrow can we finish reading “The Secret Garden”?

Fro Yo Love

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Last night we went out for a favorite Friday night treat: Fro Yo. Piper’s daddy is a bit of a fanatic for the fruity frozen custard. While we were enjoying our dessert we got a message from Augie’s parents (see Soulmates and You Know You Have a Valentine’s Day Hangover When for Augie info) letting us know that he’d declared Piper his best friend in his preschool yearbook.  Now it’s in print.  Their soulmate status has reached a new level.

“You never know when you’ll meet your soulmate, Piper. Who knows?” Piper’s dad said.

Piper rolled her eyes, threw away her empty frozen yogurt cup, and climbed up in the chair with her Sissy.  The new American Girl magazine was much more interesting than dad’s love lecture.

“I met your mother on a chance encounter at the steps of the Lincoln Memorial back in 1996,” dad continued, undeterred by Piper’s obvious lack of interest. “You just never know.”

“Dad,” Piper said. “Could you please stop talking about the love stuff? Thanks.”

Some Like it Hot and Spicy

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This is the Piper’s favorite drink: steeped Orange Spice Tea with one dollop of honey, one ice cube, and a dash of apple juice. She’s been fighting a cold lately so she orders even more “spicy tea.” Why wouldn’t a girl who’s spicy herself love a little hot toddy with a kick? It suits her. Piper, too, is a zesty blend.
A big part of Piper’s spiciness is her ability to get everyone to do what she wants.  This afternoon I was praising Piper’s dad because he’d spent the afternoon meeting her every need. “You have a good daddy, Piper,” I said. “He helped you get ready for ballet and took you to class.”

“Uh huh,” Piper agreed.

“He picked you up from school and made you a snack.”

“Uh huh.”

“He’s making dinner and cleaning out your lunch box.”

“Uh huh. Yep. He’s a good daddy because he does everything I tell him to.  Now, can I have some tea?”

The Daily Interrogation Otherwise Known as Our Commute

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Piper seems to save her big life inquiries for the drive to and from school. Thank goodness it’s only an eight minute commute.

Yesterday, we planned her romantic future in She Love Me, She Loves Me, Too.  Today, we’re working on her monetary one.

She’s also began announcing “Question!” just to let us know what’s coming.  We’re grateful for the warnings. Brace yourself.

“Question! Do robbers have to pay taxes?”

“I don’t think so, Piper.  They just take stuff. They’re not know for their ethics in reporting income.”

“Question! Will I have to pay taxes?”

“Well, if you make enough money, yes.”

“Question! What do they do with the taxes stuff?”

“They collect all the money and build schools, libraries, roads, and stuff like that.”

“Question! What if I become an artist?”

“Then you probably won’t have to pay taxes.”

We may have just solidified her career path, too.

She Loves Me, She Loves Me, Too

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Piper and I were driving home from preschool today when she announced:

“Mom, I just don’t know who I’m going to marry!”

I’d only asked was how her day went.  Geez.

“You see,” Piper began, “Andrew told me he wants to marry me.”

“Okay…” I said, stalling.  “Want to listen to Lady Gaga?”

“I’ve never met a man like Andrew.” I knew this was big if Piper ignored the Gaga.

“What’s special about Andrew?” I asked because I’m a good mom who takes preschool romances seriously.

“He’s older. That’s special. He’s already five and I’m still four and a half.”

“That doesn’t seem like enough reason to marry him, Piper. You have a long time to figure out if you want to marry. No rush, kiddo.”

“Yeah, but Andrew said he wants to marry me.”

“Do you want to marry Andrew?” I asked.

“He’s good enough.  I just thought I’d marry Augie.”

“Augie would be a good choice, too, Piper, but you really don’t have to rush into anything.”

“Okay. I’ll just have two boyfriends for now. One in town and one out of town. That’s better anyway.”

No Ducks Were Harmed in the Writing of This

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Sissy’s birthday extravaganza seems to be coming to an end.  There was the party, the cupcakes, the breakfast in bed. (You can catch up here if you missed it: Breakfast in Bed and Double Digits or Breakfast in Bed Update) Sissy has moved on to the thank you note part.

And her thank you notes come with personalized book marks made out of…you guessed it: duck tape. No feathers included.

Even Sleeping Beauty Stalls

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Papa is visiting this week and had the honor of tucking Piper into bed last night.  It can be a full contact sport, but Papa wore the appropriate protective gear.

If you’ve been to our home for dinner, you know that every person within a mile radius is required to come to Piper’s bedside and say good night.  We’ve had a few dinner parties where this made our guests uncomfortable.  “Send up the red head that sat next to whats-his-name!” Piper demands from her throne. You probably know what this ritual is actually about: The Great Stall.  Papa said last night went like this:

Piper: “I’m hot.”

Papa: “Let’s take the quilt off. You can sleep with just a sheet.”

Piper: “I’m cold.”

Papa: “Do you want the quilt back?”

Piper: “No. I need the pink blanket from my closet.”

Papa: “There.  Now you should be comfortable. Good night.”

Piper: “I’m still cold.  I need the other blanket, too.”

Papa: “Okay. Now bedtime.”

Piper: “I’m sweating now. Can I take off my pants?”

Papa: “Whatever makes you comfortable. It’s time for bed, Piper.”

After several rounds of stalling Piper finally admitted her agenda. “Papa,” she said. “I think I really just don’t want to go to bed.”

Jabba Lost His What?

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We’ve had some long nights around our house lately.  Too much traveling, too much grading, too much sickness.  So, when I walked into Piper’s room this morning and found this:

I thought it was you-know-what.  I didn’t have my glasses on. It was too early.  That tells you what my house has been like lately.  I just assumed a stray turd was left in the middle of the floor.  That seemed feasible.

But then I heard the laugh.

Okay. I didn’t really hear the laugh, but how awesome would that have been?  I did see Jabba, though, just a few feet away.  He was clearly trying to inch over to reattach his chubby green arm.

I helped him out and I was grateful.

I’ll Stop the World and Melt With You

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Today, Piper, you are a ballerina, and I want to study and to preserve you from head to toe.  You’ve gotten so tall lately that I can’t find my baby in your long limbs. I want to remember how you nuzzle your nose against my neck like a kitten. I’m going to watch you dance with your miniature pot belly poking at the edge of your tutu. So what if your shoes are on the wrong feet? You put them on yourself.  Your knees and elbows are scattered with scars and bruises.  You play hard, P.  It’s one of the things I love so much about your spirit.  Remember to always play hard and be brave, even if it means sometimes you’ll get hurt.  Even your heart will heal.  I promise. You told me this afternoon that you don’t ever want to grow up.  I’d stop time, too, kiddo, if I could just to keep you exactly like this:

But I can’t.  Not even for you, Piper. We’ll both just have to remember today when you were a ballerina and hold on tight for the ride. White knuckles and all.

Taxidermists Need Not Apply

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Piper has been debating the merits of her stuffed animals recently.  Her bed is currently inhabited by more than fifty fuzzy creatures.  She’s always claimed that sharing her bed with so many things was cozy, despite my protest.

She’s begun to worry, though, that stuffed animals are for babies.  Piper is a big girl.  We all know that.  4 and a half is huge.  That half matters.

“I’m thinking of giving them all up,” Piper said at breakfast. “I don’t need stuffed animals anymore.”

“Whenever you’re ready, P.  There’s no rush,” I answered.

Piper slowly turned toward me, her eyes trailing me up and down.

“Know what I really need, Mom?”

“What?”

“A stuffed you.  Then I’d be really cozy and warm. I could cuddle you whenever I need to and keep you with me all the time.”

Creepy Piper scares me just a little. I think we’ll invest in more cute stuffed animals in our near future.