Love, Our Daughter, Our Son, Parenthood, Toronto

Today. Tallula.

‘Wake up Mama. Wake up.’ We get up and go see Abees. You are still tired and lay down on his colorful rug from Egypt. You want him to lay down next to you so he does, body arching towards you, arms out reaching and a big smile. He vocalizes and I tell you he’s said ‘Good morning. I love you.’ He smiles. You look right into his eyes and say as clear as you ever have, ‘I love you.’ I tell you to stay with Sebastian while I go get daddy. When daddy and I return your head is laying on Sebastian’s tummy and you are both resting, curled together.


You love to sit on the shelf located on the floor next to the big horse trophy. You pet it softly. But mostly you just like to sit in that tiny space where there is room just for your tiny bottom. I stand back so I can see you and watch for Sebastian to come around on his horse. As Sebastian nears the window, you come running out and up to the window waving wildly, ‘Hi Abees!!! Good job! Hi!!!’ Then you go back to your special spot. Only this time someone who works at the riding place tells me you shouldn’t be sitting there with the dusty trophies because they might break. I’m taken aback. You aren’t even playing with them. I suggest moving them since they are at your level and many other kids’ levels. ‘Well, it hasn’t been a problem before,’ she snaps. I’m starting to feel offended and a little bit angry. It certainly shouldn’t have been a problem now. But I pick you up and even though you protest at first, I convince you that the real horses are much more fun to watch. Although later I realize, you can’t touch them.


As we are leaving someone asks me if our family will take part in the yearly summer fundraiser. I decline. Although there are many reasons we can’t or are choosing not to, I certainly don’t feel our entire family is welcome by all. This isn’t the first time the director has shown her displeasure at your inquisitive nature.


Outside when I’m loading Sebastian into the car you play on the grass near the picnic table and tree. I don’t see you say hi before I see the reaction of Z’s daddy. It’s priceless. He’s smiling so big and he looks at his daughter then back to you and then around. Not really sure where you came from or who you belong to. I am watching from the ‘outside’ and it’s beautiful. He doesn’t know that every Monday you run up to her to say hello. She has a pink helmet like Sebastian’s. Made especially for her smaller head, like Sebastian’s. She doesn’t speak, like Sebastian, either. We see her every week as we leave, she arrives. I love how you accept her as one of your own.

You Tallu. You are our sweet girl.



2 thoughts on “Today. Tallula.”

  1. If only adults could remember the way they also saw people for what they are when they where kids the world would be a better place.


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