saturday vignettes with piper

There is nothing like watching your child roundly ignore you until finally she deigns to look up from what she's doing. And she doesn't use a direct look. Oh no. She drops chin to chest, slowly raising her face and eyes up her shoulder to look at you with all the eloquence of a sly and practiced "yes? you wanted something?" response. And any intentioned parental enforcement disappears into the laughter she knew she would produce.

Piper occasionally helps around the house now; we ask her to pick something up and put it away, and she is often willing to do so. Until she is not willing. Then she turns up her pretty nose, points her eyeballs at the ceiling fan, and prances past.

She has the funniest pronunciation glitches, too. She often adds a "t" on the end of her words for emphasis.

"Up-t!"
"Done-t!"
"Down-t!"

And my favorites to hear, the words with the "f" sound:

"Phfroouit" (LOVE that one)
"Phfrog"
"Phfrower"

Yesterday, she re-christened a Koala bear for Adam - "Kawadika beahr."

She loves to sing along with pretty music, and she's learned the words (uncoached!) to Ariel's Part of Your World (Piper's input in bold):

"Look at this stuff, isn't it neat, wouldn't you think my collection's com-Pete, wouldn't you think I'm the girl, the girl who has every-Tink?"

She's nowhere near the melody yet, but she has the sweetest little voice, and she always makes sure to look properly wistful at the end of the song, gazing beautifully out the car window, wishing, I think, to be "part of that woooooord." Whatever world that is.

We went to the park the other night, and she loved finding the freedom to run almost as far as she wanted on the grass. I think my favorite position of hers is the one she took when Pete would go after her: an immediate sit-crouch, pulling her knees up to her chest, and then burying her head, as if she could make herself small enough that he'd walk right past and she could get away.

We're still trying to transition her to her own bed. But now, instead of hollering at us when she wakes up in her own room at night, she simply sneaks quietly back into our room and climbs into our bed. We keep waking up and wondering how she got there. I'm thinking Benadryl might come in handy at some point...

I'm writing these down while I can still remember them. And I'm writing them for the grandmothers and aunts who love the stories (stewies, Pip would say). I'm writing them down so I remember that raising a toddler is not all tired and uncertain and discouraging.

As I said, I learn slowly.