Tag Archives: piperism

Niblets and Gravy

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“Piper, you really should close the curtains before you change your clothes.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I’ve only got niblets.”

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“There’s a big storm on the way, Piper. We may lose power.”

“I’ll eat all the ice cream if you want me to, Mom. Would that be helpful?”

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“What did you do at school today, Piper?”

“I chased Andrew. Pretended to do my school work. And tried to take a nap when I went to the bathroom. Same as always.”

Book Fair Puppy Style

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I busted a move on the dance floor at the elementary school book fair last night. I owned that gym. Sissy told me to stop. Last week I was still cool. This week I’ve become embarrassing. Yet I don’t feel any different at all.

Piper still let me dance, though, or at least shimmy a little in the book fair aisles as we searched for books. She was on a mission. “I will read books if there are puppies involved,” she declared. It’s not too tough at an elementary school book fair to find a book with puppies. This was our first prize:

You and I know there’s no such thing as a “perfect” Thanksgiving, but this darn puppy had to learn the hard way. First she bossed everyone around and then she got all puppy stressed about the decor. You know how it goes. You want things to be right. If they look right and taste right, suddenly your family will be less dysfunctional. We get you, perfect puppy. We’ve all been there. In the end, of course, the puppy’s Thanksgiving meal is a disaster but her family is good enough. Awwww.

But the real takeaway, besides the warm fuzzy message to just breathe, was the next book. I saw Piper’s eyes bulge as she examined it. “Mom,” she said, “I’ve found it. The book I’ve been waiting for my whole life.”

“Really?” I asked. “Your whole life? Wow. It must be special.”

“Oh, it is. Just look.” Then Piper held up the coveted page to me.

A puppy in a tutu? Wow. Just Wow. Not that is a perfect puppy for the Piper

Name Your Own Adventure

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We thought long and hard before we named Piper Piper. I’ve written about the pitfalls of “Baby Naming 101” for Mothering. I’ve professed our scientific baby naming process in “What in a Name? Guts.” I’m no baby naming rookie. So I thought we’d gotten it right. She’s a Piper, yes? Of course she is.

From the backseat today, Piper told us she’d made a big decision.

“I don’t want to be Piper anymore,” she said.

“What? Like you don’t want to be you?” Sissy asked.

“No, I’ll still be me. I just don’t want to be Piper. I’m changing my name.”

“Why?” Daddy asked. We’d just swung through the train station and picked him up 13 seconds earlier. Parenting makes you hit the ground running.

“I want a normal name.” My heart sank. This was my biggest fear in naming the Piper Piper. What if she hated it? What if she blames us later for giving her the coolest name on the planet because she doesn’t appreciate its coolness?

“I want to be Rebecca,” Piper said.

“That is a nice name,” I agreed.

“Nope. You’re a Piper,” Sissy insisted.

“Or Rosie.”

“Okay,” Daddy said, “but you’ll probably need to decide.”

“Yeah,” Piper said, “but it’s kind of a big decision.”

I know, Piper. Believe me, I know.

Top Ten Reasons Piper Should Moderate a Presidential Debate

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You have to admit that those presidential debates can be a bit dry. But what if Piper moderated them? That would be worth watching. Here’s why:

10. Everyone would wear tutus.

9. When a response doesn’t make sense, the candidate would have to open fake potato chip cans and release the screaming snake while Piper fact checked them.

8. She’d enforce the rules: No ‘rupting each other. Wait your turn.

7. Mid debate recess break. Wouldn’t everyone be nicer after a few trips down the slide?

6. The water would be in dribble glasses. Parched throat? Help yourself. Snicker. Snicker.

5. Candidates would have to hold hands while debating.

4. Augie gets to ask all the questions from the audience.

3. Bowls of goldfish for snacking. Yum.

2. Time? What time? What’s that?

1. Candidate who farts first, wins.

Wishin’ and Hopin’

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At breakfast this morning Piper announced that she’d be honeymooning in California. We’re used to declarations like this daily. We take them seriously and always play along. You might wonder where this one came from; we know Piper well enough not to ask. Why ask why? is our motto.

“Hmm,” I said, sipping coffee, “how will you get there?”

“By carriage.”

“Like horse drawn carriage?” I asked. “That will take awhile.”

“Then I’ll go to Paris,” Piper said.

“You can’t go to Paris by horse drawn carriage, P,” Sissy informed her. “Unless, of course, your horses can swim.” I think she snorted then at her own joke.

“You could ride your horse drawn carriage onto a ship and take that to Paris,” Daddy offered. He never wants to crush Piper’s dreams.

“Can I take a ship to California?” P asked.

We all looked at each other. “Yes,” I nodded, “you can, I suppose. It will take a long time because you’ll have to go through the Panama Canal or the Northwest Passage. Or you can take a boat and carry it across the Rockies.”

“Who are you going to marry, anyway?” Sissy asked.

Piper shrugged. “I haven’t worked out that detail yet.”

A Contrarian Doesn’t Smell the Rose Garden

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Yesterday Piper went to the White House. Again. She hated it just as much.

Her first visit was last year during the holidays. She almost got us kicked out and I blogged about it in “Is Obama on the Naughty List?” and “Ikea vs. The White House.”

Remember she is the contrarian. Read “A Contrarian Smells the Roses” for proof.

Still, we went back for the White House Garden Tour. My dear friend Jen scored us tickets. Piper brought her favorite stuffed animals along. At least a contrarian knows how to occupy themselves.

Then Piper mapped out her route. She was really just looking for Bo, the Obama’s dog.

Jen tried to help with the map reading. Piper continued to look for Bo.

She didn’t find Bo, but she did find the playground on the White House lawn. She wasn’t allowed to play on it, though. Here’s what she thought of that:

We also found the Bee Hive and the White House Kitchen Garden. Both looked yummy.

Piper wasn’t impressed with either. “Yuck,” she said. “I don’t like eggplant.”

So we had to rely on the one thing that always makes the contrarian smile: Sissy.

Being a Mom is Hard

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We have a family tradition on birthdays that we tell you our favorite thing about you and give you a dollar. The favorite thing thing is a blast. The dollar is just a bonus.

Just for fun, here’s Piper getting her favorite things present in “Happy Fake Birthday to You.”

And here’s Piper telling me her favorite thing in “Happy Birthday to Me.”

Yesterday was Grandma’s birthday so Piper and Sissy called her to share the tradition. Sissy said her favorite thing was that Grandma was so crafty. Grandma taught Sissy to sew and needlepoint and other domestic arts that I have zero skill in. Then Piper grabbed the phone:

My favorite thing about you is that you are my mom’s mom. Being a mom is hard. I know. You’re a good mom and you were nice to my mom. That’s my favorite thing, Grandma. 

And here’s my favorite picture of Grandma and Piper:

Hot Noodle Soup With a Side of Snap

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When Piper woke up this morning with a raging fever and a sore throat, I wanted to cry. But I can’t. I’m the mom. So I gave her a dose of ibuprofen, stripped off her sweat soaked pajamas, and brought her to our bed. We cuddled and talked about how stinky it is to feel sick. “I know what would make me feel better,” Piper said.

“Anything, baby. What?” I asked.

“Hot noodle soup.”

“But you ate all the noodle soup yesterday,” I reminded her. “We’re all out.”

Tears welled in Piper’s eyes. Okay. Okay. I can make a fresh batch. From scratch. Before 6 a.m. Fine. I diced and simmered the broth. I boiled the noodles. I buttered a fresh slice of bread. Then I fed it to Piper with a spoon. She said her throat felt better. She said it would feel even better if she could watch Word Girl on the couch. I’m a sucker, I know.

A few hours later, after the fever broke and some of Piper’s energy returned, after the negative strep throat test and doctor’s visit, I brought her another bowl of hot noodle soup. Piper peered into the bowl at her beloved carrots and celery floating in a fragrant bath of broth and noodles and said, “Mom, I don’t do leftovers.”