Determined or Demented?

Last night, Piper treated us to a performance piece that was hilarious, but, of course, for me also troubling. Like a soul afire, she moved all her chairs from one side of the living room to the other with a quickness and determination I haven't seen outside an Army recruiting video. She would push one about 10 feet up against our refrigerator, scoop up an armful of toys, dump them into the seat and then yell "OH!" and run to the next chair and do the same. She did this with 3 chairs in one direction and then repeated it in reverse. It was cute and it reminded me of a similar scenario played out in May aboard the unfortunately named Goodtime III - a cruise boat that tours Lake Erie in Cleveland. As you can see in the accompanying photo, here too she became possessed with the notion that the deckchairs on the Goodtime III needed to be rearranged (sending most of the elderly passengers into a full-on post traumatic stress moment in remembrance of the Titanic). She moved 8 deckchairs from one side of the boat to the other with maniacal force in about 10 minutes, which is saying a lot for a kid who takes about the same amount of time to climb the 3 stairs into her daycare. It's also reminiscent of her latest ritual during daycare drop-off in which she circles me like a shark about 300 times before I finally break free and run. The teachers think it's cute, last night Jaime, our friend and I laughed and during the Goodtime III episode, she had most of the boat rooting for her fruitless effort. And yet I can't help but think that this behavior is quite reminiscent of captive animals in zoos and aquariums. You know, the kind that pace/swim back and forth relentlessly in their cages or tanks and then rip the head off of their feeders - I'll spell out for the slower readers here that Piper is the caged polar bear and I am her keeper in this scenario. I've sometimes had the thought that having a toddler in our house is much like those lunatics who keep chimpanzees as pets and dress them in bow ties only to be shocked when they go beserk at their own birthday party in the park during which the chimp literally chews the ass off of his formerly beloved "Dad." It happens, OK, watch Animal Planet...the guy has no ass. I've put those thoughts aside as Piper has grown, learned to talk, shown love (at least to our dogs - see post below) and subtly chipped away at my fear instincts. This most recent spate of "caged beast" behavior has woken me from my stupor, thank god, and I'll go back to my former vigilance. As the parent of a toddler, you let your guard down at your own peril. As the guy who was found in the belly of his 8-foot pet alligator last year in Fort Lauderdale learned way too late, you have to remember that there is danger lurking in every bathtub.

I love you...Hiyo

Oh friends, July 21st at approximately 8am was a real game changer. Jaime and I shower affection on Piper in all ways possible - him with an almost unbearable amount of kissing and hugging, me with slightly less physical affection, but equal fervor behind my snuggles. We've told her we love her approximately 400 times a day since she was in utero and I'd say 5-10% of the time, she'll reward us with a mumbled and delayed, "I uv you doo." We live for those responses. We call to each other if we hear it - showing off that she said it to me and not you. In fact, we're pretty ruthless about it. Despite the fact that I'm her primary caregiver - and on this Jaime would agree, although calling him an "involved dad" is akin to calling Napoleon a "little ambitious" - she has always responded to Jaime's "I love yous" more often, much to my chagrin. Evidently feeding, bathing, schlepping, reading, Dora-ing, interpreting, dressing, comforting and generally being all things slave are not enough for Piper to throw me a bone. But I digress. On Wednesday morning, as we departed for school, Piper began her ritual of saying bye-bye to our dogs. It's a long process, one that is tolerated, but I suspect not entirely enjoyed by Obi, Leo (Hiyo) and JuJu. JuJu is put in a crate before we leave and Piper very much enjoys being her gatekeeper and slamming the door on her while saying goodbye. Obi, since receiving his summer shave, has spiraled into a deep hole of humiliation (with good reason, he looks like an idiot), so he hides under the bed most mornings. (As an aside, this has just started in the last few weeks and has led to countless discussions about "Obi hiding" between Piper and us and strangers, really anyone who she encounters learns that "Obi hiding," including a really comedic exchange with our elderly neighbor). Anyhoo, with those 2 dispatched, Piper has taken to really lavishing her bye-bye attention on Hiyo. He's cute, as you can see above, and a pretty hilarious dog. He's lazy and slow and easily the worst behaved, most diabolically clever dog I've known. He's part goat who literally ate an entire CAN of Coke (not the contents, the CAN) as well as a package of razorblades without skipping a beat. So, he's lovable, I'll admit it, but Piper...well, she went too far. She hugged him, said bye-bye, hugged him again, made it halfway out of the door, told me to wait, hugged him again and then...you guessed it, said very clearly, "I love you, Hiyo." Much like George Costanza on Seinfeld, her first self-initiated "I love you" was to a dog, who like George's unrequited love-dog, responded by licking himself. I whipped around and said, "Piper, what did you just say???" and she clearly said again, "I love Hiyo" and marched merrily out the door. I stood there, stunned and hurt, really pretty horrified and she called, "Mommy, car" as a reminder that it was my job to carry all her crap and her into the car with no thanks, forget "I love yous." I tried it, god forgive me, I know I was setting myself up for heartache, but I said "Piper, I love you. Do you love mommy?" and she responded "No, Hiyo...Mommy CAR." I looked at Hiyo, who had by now moved on from licking himself to eyeing all the dishes in the sink for when I shut the door and tried to understand what he's got that I don't got. I welcome input, but be gentle, I'm still recovering.

Hey Dora, I've got something for you to explore

You know what's great about the show Dora the Explorer? Nothing. Abso-freaking-lutely nothing. Sure, she's a normal-sized (ignoring her ginormous head), bilingual Latina, much like my own daughter, but that is totally obliterated by her vacant stare, insipid voice, and let's be perfectly honest here, total stupidity. Why do I have to help her with EVERYTHING? More importantly, why does my 2-year-old have to help her find a freaking rock 6 inches behind her? It's like she doesn't have peripheral vision. And does anyone else find it disturbing that she's wearing a belly shirt? There's about 2 inches of skin showing. Isn't she like 7 years old? Well, why am I surprised - she clearly has no parental supervision since she spends most days exploring the wilderness with a coked-up backpack and a scrap of omniscient paper and the dumbest TV monkey since BJ and the Bear. Don't get me started on Boots. Oops, too late...why do you wear winter boots in the middle of the rain forest? And since they made him a talking monkey, why doesn't he speak Spanish? I don't care what the neo-conservative nuts say, clearly Dora lives in some Central/South American country (and is NOT an illegal alien), so why doesn't Boots speak Spanish AT ALL? Why do I constantly have to tell him that abrir means open and brinco means jump? I'd like to fill Dora's backpack with rocks and drop her and Boots into the closest Gooey Geyser, which are evidently threatening the South American rain forest with gushes of gum and trapping every idiot cow (BENNY) who walks within 6 feet of them. Oh and by the way, I know what goo is - Piper knows what goo is - and even if we didn't, saying "gooey goo" or "windy wind" doesn't define the terms. It's just repetition, which makes sense for a show that has its talking Map literally repeat NINE TIMES the 3-step path that bumbling Dora and Boots are going to take that day, which after watching it twice I realized always involves a bridge, mountain, lake and again, a geyser. But what gets me most of all - really, what makes me have to leave the room - is The Grumpy Old Troll. Here's the setup for you lucky bastards who haven't watched the show - he's a troll, he's grumpy, half-dressed and he lives under a bridge. Sound like any serial killers you know? What really gets me though is that you have to answer his "riddle" or he won't let you cross the bridge. Riddle? RIDDLE? Asking Piper to count the stars in the sky is not a riddle. Asking her to make a funny face is not a riddle. Asking her how to say Happy Birthday is Spanish is not a riddle. A riddle is an enigma, a conundrum, a goddamn puzzle not a question. Just replace the word "riddle" in the script with the word "question" and I am like 50% closer to not hating the show. I'd be even closer if they'd stop emphaszing how terrifying rain and thunder is and therefore completely solidifying my kid's current #1 fear.
I'm sorry, I realize this post isn't really about Piper. She's nuts for Dowa and Boots. It's mostly just to get this really burning hatred off my chest, so that I can sit with Piper most evenings and watch Dowa for 23 long minutes without having my head explode. So, this has helped and I'll go back to sitting with P and helping Dora and Boots make their intrepid journey through the rain forest to get to the yellow valley and help Benny get rid of his hiccups. Thanks.

Pusher...or Thug?

Do you see that look? Can you look into those eyes and see the deep-seated rebellion and nascent violence just beneath the surface? You can't? You see a cutie with her pice? Oh my poor, sweet, naive friends. Paranoia, you say? No, this time I have proof from a childcare professional. Yesterday when I picked Piper up from school, I was told she's been pushing other kids. It was said in an offhand way by the teacher and excused, but I think we all know what was really being said. She's a brute...clearly. She's stomping around that playground like Godzilla knocking over countless Japanese victims in the form of well-adjusted toddlers who know how to play well with others. I'm assuming this was mentioned to me at school since it's never happened there before and the teachers are confounded by how to correct this menace. I offered to never bring her again, but luckily they're good people and they're giving my criminal-in-training a second chance. I ventured on the drive home that, "we don't push friends, right, Piper?" and I was greeted with a profound and telling silence that I'm sure I'll remember during many future prison visits. She then repeated that "no, we don't push friends," but I'm now thinking that she had, in those moments of silence, moved all her fellow daycare attendants from the friends category into the hapless victims cateogry as to continue her rampage. So, if anyone needs me today, I'll be waiting with my hand on my cell phone for the school to call and ask me to remove her from the premises. Damn it, I love her anyway, because that's the commitment I've made to my little troublemaker.

Vocabulary Lesson a la Piper

I swear I won't write every day, but I've been dying to put in writing some of Piper's most endearing and hilarious mispronunciations. Her Auntie LaLa pointed out that I repeat all of them verbatim when I'm talking to her (instead of trying to correct her pronunciation) and her Auntie Sawah says that's because Piper is the boss of me. It's true, she is, but it's also my attempt to hold onto her toddler-ness. Every parent swears that childhood goes too fast, although you could have fooled me for the first 6 months of Piper's life. It has picked up, however, and she's already started pronouncing words correctly and thereby started the process of breaking my heart. I'm assuming we'll move pretty swiftly into her sneaking out at night to meet boys/girls, stealing the car, experimenting with drugs and alcohol, getting tattooed and my most feared act of rebellion - becoming a Sarah Palin fan - and after all that there will be elementary school to deal with. So with that in mind, I want to remember that at 2 years old she was not only a helluva dancer, a relentless tattletale on her dog siblings, a total Dora the wretched Explorer addict, a tutu lover and painfully loud talker, she also regularly butchered the English language in the cutest ways possible. Oh, and Piper pretty much yells everything, so really scream these out if you're reading aloud. She's also extremely animated and says "OH NO!!!" when she observes anything new - good or bad - so try that too.

Real Word = Piper Word

Water = GoGo Mater (GoGo because Piper's mater must be drunk from a Go Diego Go cup)
Yogurt = Mogurt
Rain = Main
Oatmeal - Momeal
Banana - Mana
Swing = Ming (see what I'm talking about with the Ms???)
Couscous = Cuckoos
Necklaces = Neckasses
Blueberries = Buries
Tomatoes - Mayos
Broccoli = Brocky
Fart = Heart
Dora = DoWA (major emphasis on WA)
Diego = Dago (my apologies to any Italians reading this. She doesn't know it's an ethnic slur)
Thunder = Digger (ok, that one is my fault. I tell her it's a digger - her fav truck - in the sky)
Blankie = Beej (we can blame her friend Maya for that)
Pacifier = Pice
Her dog Leo = Hiyo
Her dog cousin Lucky = Yucky
Her cat Tucson = Tootong Gnocchi Kitty (Gnocchi is the cat from Curious George. No, Tucson doesn't look anything like Gnocchi)
Our neighborhood cat Frank = Prick
Any music = Beatles (her dad's doing)
Bath = DoWA bubbles
Bubbles = DoWA bubbles (I don't get it either)
Any dress or skirt = tutu
Elephant = Emmit
Coughing = Copping
A knock on the door = Pizza (ok, we order a lot of pizza, so what?)
Asking for anything = How 'bout...?
Her thighs = DaDa's chops (again, her dad's doing)

Two years old seems interesting

I never thought I would be the kind of person who wrote a blog about her kid, but like everything else, Piper changed that. I figure we'll have a small audience for this blog - people who already love Piper and want to read everything there is to know about her (my parents, her godmother, and an assortment of her 10 aunts and uncles), people who find me mildly amusing (me, um, maybe my parents, me) and parents who have kids the same age and are reading this to secretly compare their kids' mental development and general demeanor to Piper's. Trust me, I get it and you are in luck, because I am the most neurotic and paranoid parent you're likely to find on a quick Google search. I asked Piper's grandparents on a recent visit if they liked her...and I meant it, not because they act like they don't, but because I think it's a real possibility. Unlike a lot of parents I know who think their kid is perfect, I'm constantly on the lookout for what's wrong with Piper. So far, I'm pretty sure she's in serious trouble because she likes to wash her hands about 40x a day; can only identify the color yellow; can count from 6-11, but adamently refuses to say the number 4 and when asked what comes after 3 says "yellow;" begins almost every word with the letter M; and has questionable shape recognition . And those are just off the top of my head. So, competitive parents, have at it. My most important audience, however, is Piper. I hope that she'll read this one day and realize that even if she still can't identify a square or say that an apple is goddamn RED she'll know that she has always been the most important and inspiring person in her parents' lives. She'll likely resent the fact that I waited more than 2 years into her life to start chronicling it, if she ever forgives me for doing this at all, but I'll admit, I've been exhausted for the last 2 years and she didn't get really interesting until she started talking anyway.