We delayed our departure by a few days so Piper could spend her 14th birthday at home. We still like to tell the story of her almost being named “Cheese” over her requested dinner of steak and Caesar salad. I had a dream while I was pregnant that Dwayne missed this birth, too (No, I will not stop bringing that up, Dwayne) and in retaliation, I named her Cheese. After a third trimester of “the baby is coming” drills, Dwayne was in bed with me when the contractions started, and now she is called one-who-pipes instead of one-who-is-stinky-and-delicious. Piper exemplifies everything I want in an adult and a few of the things I want in a teen I’m supposed to be raising. She went from a kid who likes arts and crafts to a genuine artist and crafter. The pink platypus is what she crocheted right before we left so she’d have a friend on the trip, and the top is something she experimented with one weekend. She is perfectly horrid to Wes until he is struggling and then she is the first to patiently take care of him. I think what I enjoy most about Piper is her clever banter and dry sense of humor—and our mutual appreciation of musicals. I brought this girl to life and love her to death. I present to you, 14 year old Piper.
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