Tag Archives: piperism

You, Too, Could Win the Prize

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Let’s play a little game.  We’re gamey folks around here. This one is called “Reasons to Wake Up Mommy in the Middle of the Night.” Good luck!

Should you wake up Mommy if your eyes are bleeding?

Ding. Ding. Ding. That’s right. Bleeding out of your eyeballs is definitely a reason to wake up Mommy.  You’re doing great!

Should you wake up Mommy if one of your socks slips halfway off of your foot?

Eeeeeehhh. (Imagine it’s a buzzer’s bad sound). This is not a reason to wake up Mommy.  You have my permission to reach down into your blankets and to retrieve your own damn sock.

Should you wake up Mommy if one of your 52 stuffed animals falls from the bed to the floor?

Eeeh. Eeeh. Eeeh. That was a close one, wasn’t? Stuffed animal retrieval falls into the same category as sock retrieval.  You can handle it without waking up Mommy.

Should you wake up Mommy if your fever is so high that you are hallucinating that your stuffed animals are performing “Singing in the Rain” and you’ve pulled off every piece of clothing, including your socks?

Ding. Ding. Ding. High fevers and hallucination do warrant a Mommy wake up call. Call away.

Should you wake up Mommy to tell her you’d like strawberries with your breakfast?

EEEEEEHHHHH! At this rate you probably won’t get breakfast. The answer is ‘no.’

And your final question.

What happens if you keep waking up Mommy six times a night?

Ding. Ding. Ding. That’s right.  You win a grumpy Mommy who passive aggressively blogs about your antics while you’re sleeping.  Congratulations!

Sick Kids Suck

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“Mom! My froat hurts!”

Ugh. Either Kathleen Turner is hiding in Piper’s bedroom or we’re headed down the sick path again. The raspy voice. The sweaty forehead. The cuddles from my normally bouncy girl.

“Can you make me my tea?”

One cup of orange spice with 1/4 cup apple juice, a tincture of echinacea, 2 tbsp honey, and 2 ice cubes coming up. With a straw.

Piper assesses how sore her throat is. “It feels like there’s a pretzel stuck in there.” As bad as that sounds it’s not as bad a the time she said she thought she’d swallowed glass. That was the dreaded strep throat. Double ugh.

I check her temperature. Again. I dole out ibuprofen. I wish for the hundredth time I had magic pills to give my kids when they’re sick. I wish I could go through it for them. Piper’s glassy eyes get glassier.

“Will you nap with me?”

Of course, baby. I could use the reserves, too. Who knows how long this will last? I already miss the Piper a.k.a. my squirrel on crack.

Her dad takes her upstairs for a quick bath and brings her back down weepy and wrapped in a towel. “She says you do it better. She just wants you,” he reports.

I warm a bowl of noodle soup. I blow dry her hair while she slurps.

“I know what we need,” I say. “Cherry Garcia. STAT!” Piper nods and takes her medicine.

Games. Games. And More Games.

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We’re gamers. When we don’t have a new game to play, Piper and Sissy invent their own. Piper’s latest dinner time game is called “tell your story.” Here’s how it goes:

Pipe throws out a question like “Who has seen a giraffe?”

We all raise our hands like eager school children. Piper selects one of us.

“Okay. Tell your story.”

She’s a complete dictator of the game. If your giraffe story isn’t interesting, she cuts you off mid-sentence and starts another round. “Enough. Who has been to New York City?”

This afternoon we found a new game. Sissy invented it for us.

The game came complete with a folder and accessories for play.

There were rules, of course. Sissy likes rules.

Piper spent the day nursing a nasty cold, so the game was a welcome distraction.  She immediately dug into the notebook so I could dictate her first message.

Dear Sissy,

You’re a good sissy. I’m glad you’re my sissy. I like how you draw houses. I love the bracelet you made me. When I get older, will you take care of me?

Love, Piper

Then we tucked the note into the supplied plastic tube and hid it in Sissy’s room. Piper really couldn’t wait for the whole finding the message thing, though, so she dragged Sissy upstairs and pointed at the tube and then ran off giggling (and coughing).

Sissy wrote back immediately.

The game was a hit with much sneaking between rooms.  It was sort of like a message in the bottle, but you didn’t have to wait years for the ocean to bring it to you. I was even rewarded with this:

Awww. Piper confirmed that Sissy’s new game was awesome.

“This is so much better than 60 questions, Mom.”

“Do you mean 20 questions?”

“Whatever,” the dictator said. “Hand me that tube and start writing.”

Moving at a Cupcake’s Pace

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It can take a Piper upwards of 45 minutes to put on her shoes before school. The stalling is excrutiating. Eating broccoli can be an hour long affair. Writing her name requires multiple bathroom breaks. As frustrating as it can be to get a Piper to do anything she doesn’t want to do, you have to admire her commitment to non-violent resistance. She’s a master. It’s sheer will.  But this afternoon when I asked, “Piper, do you want to go with Sissy and her friends for cupcakes?” all I saw was a blur of light I assume was my child speeding out the door.  Her shoes were on. Her coat was on. And zipped. She was halfway to the car. Clearly, it’s the cupcakes.

Our local cupcakery won Food Network’s Cupcake Wars shortly after we moved to town. We don’t flatter ourselves to think the two events we’re related, but we’re happy to share in the benefits.  It’s become our pilgrimage. When we celebrate, we go to Cake Dreams. When we’ve had bad days, we go to Cake Dreams. When the Dancing Queens perform in their school’s talent show, we go to Cake Dreams.

It never takes Piper long to make her cupcake selection. It’s always the one with the sprinkles. She knows exactly what she wants.

A Piper might fall asleep in a bowl of pasta a vegetables before she finishes it. Yet, this…

…was gone in ten seconds flat.

Cupcake time must have its own clock.

Book Club for Beginners

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There are a lot of things I can tolerate in a Piper. Trash collecting, hoarding, potty words, Lady Gaga. Just to name a few. But I don’t know how to parent a kid who doesn’t appreciate books. We’re a house of readers. We have no athletic ability. Most of us can’t see our hands in front of our faces without glasses. We’re nerds. We read. So when Piper was invited to her first book club for kids, I checked an emphatic “yes!” on the evite. I had no idea what you do at a book club for four-year-olds but they had me at the word “book.” I’m that easy.

I did notice a few differences between my usual grownup book club and this kid’s version. Here are the top 5:

1. Seats are assigned.

Piper’s friend, Rylie, and her mom were hosting the book club.  This was waiting at Piper’s chair when we arrived:

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Nothing makes a girl feel more welcome than a friend to your right and a name tag.

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2. You get cool stuff.

There was also the cutest little mailbox you’ve ever seen:

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And there was chocolate inside that mailbox.  That’s my kind of book club!  Now I know what you’re wondering. How about the “book” in “book club,” right? That came next.

3. You don’t have to read the book beforehand.

Rylie’s mom read the book while Piper mostly listened. I only had to dig the melted chocolates out of her grubby hands twice.

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4. There’s more than just talk.

There were activities that corresponded to the book’s theme, which I suppose is similar to activities at my book club with grownups. Drinking mimosas is an activity, right?

Piper’s activities were response sheets that related to the theme of the book. I helped her write them…

5. You get to bring your mom.

The best part of a four-year-old book club was doing it together. I was basking in our mutual love of words when Piper and I were walking to the car.  I buckled her in, leaned over for a hug, and said, “Wasn’t that fun? Your first book club!”

Piper played with the lid on her new mailbox, counted her chocolates again, and asked, “What book?”

Stolen Time

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“Hey, Mom. Guess what?”

“What, Piper?”

“I love you.”

Piper is a spontaneous lover.  She doles out “I love yous” like beads at Carnival. She interrupts me mid-sentence. Just as I’m ranting at everyone to grab their lunchbox don’t forget your coat did you wash your hands, I lean over to hurry up Piper who is sitting on the stairs pulling on her shoes and she whispers “I love you.” It slows me down. Just for a second. I kiss her cheek.  I sniff her a little.  It’s what mothers do.

This afternoon we stole an hour together and went to the library.  We had overdue books to return and more errands to run, but a welcome cancellation left us with a whole unscheduled hour. A luxury indeed.  Our public library is in the town center, an adorable cobble stoned space with shops, restaurants, and people. There is an outdoor ice skating rink and summer concerts.  It’s one of the reasons we wanted to live here. Actual live people out enjoying their community.  Who knew? The library is three stories with a glass bottomed spiral staircase.  The first thing Piper likes to do when we visit is slowly climb the entire staircase.  The she holds my hand and leads me through the reference area, shushing me with her finger to her lips.  I assure you I’m being quiet, but Piper knows the rules.  At the library she actually follows them.  After our trek up and down the stairs, we visit the children’s area, which is tucked away in a glass rotunda.  This afternoon we planted ourselves on bean bag chairs in a pool of sunlight.  Piper fetched books and I read and read.  She rewarded me with little “I love yous” between books.

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Piper can be a hot mess most days.  But she loves really hard and she tells me all the time.

Just as we were leaving the library, Piper asked again “Hey, Mom. Guess what?” I smiled and braced myself for another love reward.

“What, honey?”

“Let’s get donuts.”

Oh, well played, Piper.

Once Upon a Turtle

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Nana is visiting this week, which means we are playing with new toys.  The biggest hit is Story Cubes.  It’s supposed to go like this: roll all 9 cubes and make up a story based on the symbols.  Piper makes up her own rules, though. Rolling isn’t involved. Cubes can be turned and/or ignored.  There are no wrong answers.

Now I’ll let Piper tell you a story.

Once upon a time there was a rainbow. It was a sad rainbow because it lost its magic.  See the wand? That tells you its magic.  It’s leaking stars. Magic wands do that if they really have magic. When the wand ran out of start it was sad, too.  Can I change the cube to happy?  I don’t like all this sadness.  The end.

Once there was sheep.  She was named Jenny.  Jenny the sheep loved to read.  All of her books were about New York City. She loved New York City. Then she had an idea. See the lightbulb? Why not take her rainbow with her to New York City? Jenny the sheep met a turtle.  The turtle was named Crumbles.  He lived in a little house in Central Park.  He like rainbows, too. So one day Jenny and Crumbles went to a fountain together.  And their books got all wet.  They laughed and laughed.  It was okay, though, because they just rolled back the story cube and dried off their books. By the way, that parachute guy doesn’t belong. The end.

The Birthing of a Bambi

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Most four-year-olds have questions.  Instead, Piper has answers. At dinner tonight she explained what she learned from watching Bambi about how deer have babies.

  “Well, it’s complicated, really,” Piper began. “You need some water. Then you shove some hooves into the mama deer’s belly.  Then, you add the water. Voila.”

“So, it’s like those foam pellets that expand in the water and become toys?”

“Exactly,” she confirmed. “Stop laughing at me, Sissy!”

Sissy, who actually knows how deer have babies, couldn’t help herself.

My partner couldn’t resist, either. “What does the buck do?”

“He just waits on top of the mountain.  What else would he do?”

I’m certainly not going to answer that one.

What’s in a Name? Guts.

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It was the night before my baby shower and all through the house every baby was named except the one in my belly.  My sister-in-law arrived with an agenda, having heard a rumor that we were undecided in our task. She’d had twins a few years before, so she has street credibility in the baby naming department. She’s also a media specialist at an elementary school, so if anybody knows how other kids will tease and torture you because of your name, it’s her.

There was a scientific approach to baby naming, she said.  It goes like this. We make lists. Everyone gets a veto. No one can go to bed until we decide. Here was our first round:

The name Piper miraculously appeared on each list!  Perhaps it was the subversive suggestions from my father. There were other contenders, though, so we made pro/con lists for each finalist.

That “people could freak out” seemed a persuasive enough reason. I floated the name the next day at the baby shower. “We like the name Piper, but I’m not sure I have the guts to actually name her that. People could freak out.”

“True,” my friend Elizabeth said, “but if anybody has the guts, it’s you all.”

It felt like a double dog dare. I couldn’t possibly back down.

Before our final decision, we asked our friend Dash, who was named after the mystery writer Dashiel Hammett and knew all about growing up with an unusual name.

“It’s fine,” Dash said, “as long as she’s not a loser.”

“Did anyone ever give you a hard time?”I asked.

“No. Probably because I’m not a dork.”

So Piper became a Piper and it fits just fine.

What’s in a Name? Guest Blogger: Grandpa

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I get the “Oh, that’s an interesting name!” response often. Fortunately, most people have enough manners to withhold the “Oh, that’s an interesting child!” response once they’ve experienced a few minutes with the Piper. They’re usually too busy laughing or staring with open mouths. We’ll continue today sorting out the business of how Piper became a Piper. Here we go.

In Grandpa’s second guest blog, he’ll share his Piper naming story:

Grandma and I have always known the secret to Piper. We know why she is the way she is. It’s simply her destiny.

The naming as I see it:  I am responsible, at least partially.  My great friend Dean and I were on one of our weekly fishing trips.  I can’t remember if this was one where we talked and fished or just talked.  Many times we have to remind each other to put our lines in the water.

He was telling me the great joy his new great-granddaughter was.  Her name is Piper.  He told me her name fit perfectly.  I asked permission to use Piper in a future, yet to be determined naming opportunity.  Since he freely granted permission, I tucked the information away not knowing when that opportunity might present itself.

Now here, I have to be careful.  My daughter, Piper’s keeper, is a strong-willed, opinionated woman who does not take direction well.  And she wonders where Piper gets her stubbornness. They’re both probably better of for it.

It took some time to slyly suggest the name.  I think I said “Piper” in every conversation we had until the great naming ceremony.  I said “Piper” when I coughed.  I reminded her that her alma mater, Monmouth College, had a Pipe Band and bagpipe players. Apparently it worked.

Piper is the perfect name for this child.  The name is English in origin and means “flute player.” And that seems exactly what she is.

Piper lives for joy in the moment. She should be a lesson to us all.

I actually think she is trying to raise us.  I hope she succeeds.

Grandpa also offers sage advice about the quest for lalaloopsys. Check it out.