Introduction to The soggy, soggy grass of spring
In which Papa Zesser is reminded by a frustrated Mama Raven of the primary purpose of this blog: To serve as a record for my daughter, of my daughter’s first years on planet Earth. To capture her milestones and setbacks, her triumphs and tribulations (if any).
In other words, to provide for her a little light on those years that none of us are lucky enough to remember come that years we might want to.
Well actually, the reminder is the proximate cause of this new Letter to My Daughter, but not what it’s about.
For that, you’ll need to read more.
No means no!
I’m sure most of us have unpleasant (or worse) memories of aunts or uncles who insisted on smothering us with unwelcome hugs and kisses when we were small. And too many of us had parents who insisted that we not “be mean” to that relative.
Recently, Baobao has been, playfully, saying No! to me. What’s a Papa to do?
In which Papa Zesser looks back — has it only been 36 hours?!? — on a moment of loving kindness from his 17 month-old daughter.
Do toddler’s have empathy?
In which Papa Zesser looks back with pleasure and relief two whole days later, when Baobao decided that – yes! – she would have a second helping, please! (And a third, and … well, find out for yourself!
In which Papa Zesser looks with wonder on his ever-changing daughter, two days after she passed her 17 month anniversary.
And also, contemplates with some discomfort, the new presence of advertising on this website.
Also: videos! Read more …
As a bad year for most of us in North America comes to a close (but a year which, I have to confess, was one of much joy for me personally) , I find myself posting a letter quite different from that I had hoped to write you on New Year’s Eve.
That was supposed to be a photo-rich retrospective, but I’m afraid it will have to wait. Meanwhile, I’ll reflect not on your general development but on a specific part of it. Namely, your penchant for correcting your parents’ mistakes.
Darling child, I dub thee Bésébodé!.
In which Papa Zesser realizes that, to Baobao, he is already becoming a repetitive bore. Who knew a 15 month-old toddler could master the fine art of sarcasm? Read more …
In which Papa Zesser finally finishes another letter, and marvels at Baobao’s ability to understand complex sentences. Can she also be reasoned with? Read more …
In which Papa Zesser writes to Baobao about our Thanksgiving return to Park Mont-Morissette near Maniwaki, Quebec, which was where we were when we were the night before we were certain that Mama Raven was carrying her.
Read Baobao’s mail!
In which Papa Zesser pens a letter of confession to his darling daughter.
First comes the cellphone as pacifier — whatever will be next? Read more …