Talia is Four!

Dearest Talia,

I'm going to begin this letter to you for your fourth birthday with a short story.

Back in June, we gathered as an extended family to celebrate Zayde's birthday. It was a lovely Shabbat dinner filled with pizza, salad, and pasta, all Zayde's favourites, but with a grandmotherly eye toward making sure the kids were happy. 

Every time you were offered something to eat, you said no. 

"Talia, do you want some pizza?"

 "No," came your emphatic reply.

 "Talia, do you want some pasta?" 

"No," you said, shaking your head. 

None of this was concerning, nor was it anger-inducing. We have all been around long enough to understand the food routines of toddlers. Your Uncle Daniel, in particular, was greatly amused. He relished the negative responses. As a former picky eater himself, I like to think that he was commiserating with you. He kept asking. 

"Talia, do you want some challah?" 

"Nope!" 

"Talia, do you want some salad?"

If looks could reduce a grown man to a puddle, this one from a 3 1/2 year-old was liquifying. 

He set you up like a pro and was ready to pounce.

"Talia, do you want a cupcake and ice cream?"

"NO!" It was the shout of pure determination and purpose.

And then came the look. It was the look of realization and expectation. Caught in a negative web of your own spin.

"YES! I want cupcakes and ice cream." 

Of course, we laughed, and of course, you laughed too. You were never upset. You just wanted what you wanted when you wanted it, and nobody was going to make you do something you didn't want to do.

I have given a lot of thought to that day. It isn't unusual for children your age to say no. It isn't even unusual for them to say no to everything. It is a growth exercise that allows for setting boundaries and limits. We all have things we like and don't like. It could be food choices or fashion. It could be activities or a favourite subject at school. We like some things a lot, and some things we simply tolerate. And then there are those things we find unbearably disagreeable. You couldn't get me to eat eggplant even if you covered it in chocolate syrup, and I know how you feel about broccoli. I think the exact word you used was yucky. As a wise woman once said, "No is a complete sentence."

There is a stigma attached to saying no. Nice girls are the ones who go along to get along. Good girls are agreeable. Being upbeat and positive is the best way to get ahead. 

What utter nonsense.

Sometimes we need to push back. Saying no is one of the fundamental life lessons many women fail to learn. We often take on more than we can handle because we neglect to say no. Many of us find ourselves in difficult situations that could have been solved if only we dared to say no. Talia, I am in awe of your ability to push back. You have taught me a great deal about what feminine strength looks like, and I value that more than you can know. My hope is that you will continue to explore your strengths and things you relish with positivity and intention, all while standing resolute against anything that doesn't meet your standards.

Becoming a four-year-old is really exciting. How can it be that you will be starting JK in the fall at the same school as your sister? How did we both age into that era? I admit to some concern about how being a child of the lockdowns, all that isolation, might affect your socialization skills. I needn't have worried. Watching you thrive and grow throughout your childcare/nursery years has been a wonder. This summer, you went to camp for the first time. There is a photo of you grinning from the bus that made me melt into my socks. There was such unwavering independence apparent in that smile. When we asked you what you did that first day, you proudly exclaimed that you went down the waterslide all by yourself. It was just so matter-of-fact. No wavering. (Of course, being four, you've decided that waterslides aren't necessarily your thing. Maybe when you're five.) You have discovered your own strong voice, and you refuse to be bossed around by anyone, especially Molly. I love watching you have dance parties with your sister, and I love that you perform Let It Go like it is the last song you will ever sing. You emote like a Broadway Belter, and you understand innately that it will never sound perfect unless you are wearing your Elsa costume. 

I adore that you are a staunch and singular cat-lover in a dog-loving family, and I can forgive this mistaken life choice because you are just so emphatic about it. Your deep affection for animals, especially sea creatures, has reignited my own, and I am absolutely determined to find you the perfect dolphin stuffy. I have gifted you with a few fairly mediocre ones, but this quest has absolutely become a lifelong pursuit for me. 

I love that you refuse to perform on command. There is no doubt that you are more than ready for your next school step, but you won't show off your knowledge unless it is your idea. I love that, despite being small in stature, you refuse to let anyone think you are a "little girl." This is an emotion I understand very well. I always hated the word "cute." Cute is for puppies and teddy bears. We are fully formed people. Being petite should never disqualify you from anything. Stand up strong and be loud when it is appropriate. The world may not have been built for us shorties, but we can force it to pay attention.

Talia, you are the next in a long line of strong, opinionated women. This is a good thing. We speak our minds in this family, and we won't be suppressed in our conversations. But it is also important to learn the art of active listening. We need to pay attention to others and understand their perspectives. We can engage in the debates without always having to win. Learning the art of compromise and when it is necessary is a skill that will come with time and growth. You have the luxury of both. 

Happy Birthday, my dear one. Eat that cake with gusto. Dance like you are looking for a unicorn around every corner. Sing loudly and proudly. 

I love you with every fibre of my being.

Love,

Bubby

I Need a Step Stool...Again!

 Does anybody else require a stepstool to climb onto their bed, or is that just me?

The older I've gotten, the higher the bed. What is up with that?

Kids' beds are close to the ground, presumably to cushion any fall or wayward sleepwalking incident that might occur in the wee hours. Other than my brother's childhood bunk beds, I never remember having to jump out of bed and land on two feet with the grace of a gymnastic dismount. But our current bed is so far off the ground, I worry that one roll in the wrong direction could cause catastrophic hip dysplasia. 

Beds have gotten bigger, heavier, and most definitely, higher off the ground.

When we first discussed our current condo refresh, our bedroom was at the centre of our plans. We wanted to make the space more comfortable and definitely homier. At the core of our discussions was the bed. We knew that we needed a new mattress. Ours had a divot in it so deep that we'd meet in the middle of the bed every morning at four. Before we even started to design a new bedroom space, we went mattress shopping. This kind of purchase is awkward at the best of times but in the middle of a global pandemic, it is downright bizarre. We made our way over to Sleep Country because I refused to purchase a mattress on the internet. If that renders me ancient, I will take the hit. I simply could not imagine not trying it out before buying. So there we were, masked at Sleep Country, given our own personal pandemic-friendly pillows, test-driving every mattress in the store. (If your mind is wandering into lurid places right now, just stop. We simulated sleep and nothing else. My God, you people are incredibly base.) 

Mattress chosen, we made arrangements for delivery long before we knew what would be happening with the bedroom redo. And the truth is, we are very happy with it. It is incredibly comfortable and most importantly, it is devoid of divots. But, in our old bed frame, sitting atop of our old and still very serviceable boxspring, it is at least a couple of centimetres higher off the ground. For the normal-sized amongst you, that probably doesn't sound like a huge deal, but for someone who needs every single centimetre to survive comfortably in the world, this raising of the bed is massive. Since we have been confined to the two bedrooms over the last couple of weeks while the painter and contractor have been doing their thing in the main living quarters, I have become acutely aware of how fricking high off the ground our bed is and have taken to using a stepstool to climb aboard. (We don't have other sitting places in our bedroom.) The height always seems worse on the days when my workouts consist of running the stairs in our building. Yes, I am that idiot in the stairwell who is running up and down the fire stairs several times a week to maintain my sanity level. Everybody needs new routines and hobbies right now, right? Well, when my legs are jello-ed from the stairs, climbing onto a bed on stilts is like trying to climb Everest with lo-mein legs. 

A new bed frame is on order but it probably won't be here until the end of January. The problem with refreshing your space during a pandemic is that a lot of other people had the same idea. Much of our new furniture and fixtures won't be coming until the new year. It's not really an issue. It isn't like we are entertaining or anything. But the bed? The bed matters. The bed is the oasis. I'd rather not have to scale it like Spiderman in order to get into it. 

A few photo updates. 

New Wall Colour

No more wasps in the loo