Week 50

Dear Zayde,


This week I learned that hair can be cut. I also learned that the reason the world looked like I was viewing it from behind a bunch of yellow strings is because my Mommy was in denial about the fact that hair can be cut. Like trying to put a band-aid on a bursting water pipe, she attempted to keep my bangs out of my face with headbands and barrettes. That's how I learned that headbands are annoying on the head but delicious in the mouth. I also learned how to remove a barrette by carefully sliding it down my scalp until it is safe in my hand and then immediately in my mouth. After a few weeks of this routine, Mommy gave up and took me to see Anna.

Mommy has known Anna for a long time. She taught Anna's son when he was in elementary school, and Anna has been cutting Mommy's hair since then. When my parents got married, Anna made Mommy extra pretty for the big event. I overheard them reminiscing about all this while I sat on Mommy's lap and she sat in a super fun swivel chair. Please correct me if I am mistaken, but the fact that my parents had to become married at some point means that there was a time when they weren't married? A time before me? A time when they didn't even know each other? I can't see how this is possible; perhaps I misunderstood the conversation.

Grandma took pictures as Anna brought her scissors awfully close to my face. They all seemed really excited about what was happening, and I didn't understand the hoopla until Anna was finished, and I realized that I was no longer looking at the world through my bangs. In that moment, everything got a whole lot less annoying. No more head shaking! No more grown-ups brushing my hair across my forehead! No more headbands! I did get a free barrette, adorned with a pink flower, to commemorate the occasion. I let them put it in my hair for a few pictures, but then it was time to be accessory-free. I feel lighter already.

Yesterday, I learned that I have cousins who live in Costa Rica and Colombia. One of them is a little boy as blond as I am. He liked my pink monkey, and everyone was shocked that I let him play with it without a fuss. What they failed to realize is that I used the opportunity to grab his toy cowboy off the table for a quick taste. That's when I learned that "boy" toys are just as yummy as "girl" toys. Savtah let me sit on her lap while I fed myself grapes. There was a lot of other good looking food there, but it was apparently "not for Zelda," a phrase that I increasingly find confusing and bothersome. Across the table, one of my cousins, who is about three years old, let his nanny feed him lunch. She held his fork, and he sat there with his mouth open, like a baby bird. That's when I learned that some kids don't like being in charge of their own meals. As you know, I am not one of those kids.

Speaking of feeding myself, I am learning how to get a spoonful of peanut butter into my mouth without first smearing it elsewhere. Sometimes it's a smooth ride right onto my waiting tongue, but other times the spoon has a mind of its own and ends up in some strange places, like on my hands and cheeks, or in my hair. This week I learned that forks are useful, too. Mommy put a piece of turkey on the end of a fork and let me guide it into my mouth. It was quite a revelation that this process works almost as well as using my hands, but I must admit that I don't see the advantage of this method. If my fingers can do the job, why complicate things with an intermediary tool? When it comes to eating, efficiency is my motto. (Despite what all the food on the ground might imply.) I've been watching adults use silverware at every meal, but I haven't yet figured out the allure. I'm always eager to try new things, however, so I will play this game if Mommy wants me to. Her dinner conversation is getting repetitive, so learning to pick up food with something other than my hands will offer a pleasant distraction from her boring banter about the day's events. Now if only she'd let me use one of those knives, things could get really interesting...


Your little cut-up,
Zelda