Hasses aren't only avocados.

To quote a very wise woman:


“Aidan: Don’t take this the wrong way, but this place could use a little work.


Carrie: I know, but I can’t afford it.


Aidan: You’ve got eight thousand bucks worth of shoes over there.


Carrie: I needed those!”


Of course you need all these shoes, my dear Avocado Jr.  Oh, Pater will blame me and suggest that I am projecting, but he doesn't understand that YOU just can't live without variety.  Sandals, ballet shoes, sneakers, silver shoes (your favourite), pink boots, red slip ons, suede slippers, flip flops and rain boots.  You have them all.  And they're all darn cute.  Pater says your collection of shoes would put Immelda Marcos to shame.  But Pater has the audacity to accuse Mater of buying them for her own pleasure.  As if!  Every young lady should own Baby Havaiana flip flops.  Period.  Pater didn't accept that deep and logical argument and they were returned to the store, so we know who to blame if you're on the beach somewhere, suddenly learn to walk, but a lack of Havaianas leaves you flopping around on the sand.

According to http://www.babycentre.ca/ (our bible in rearing you) it's a good idea to let you go barefoot whenever it's safe. Apparently you'll enjoy the sensation of various surfaces (soft sand, lush carpet, cool tile) beneath your feet, and a barefoot base will help you build strength and coordination in you legs and feet, too.  That piece of advice was clearly written by a man.  You, Avocado Jnr, will be learning the wisdom of Mrs Gump, mother of Forrest, who said you can tell an awful lot about a person from the kind of shoes they wear.  First impressions last and shoes form a vital part of that first impression so you need to get it right.  And learning how to do that does not happen overnight - a proper shoe collection takes years to perfect. 

What Pater doesn't understand is that your shoe collection serves so many purposes - not only do the shoes do wonders for your outfit, they help keep your socks on (and ask any mater, socks don't stay on by themselves), they are fabulous tools to teach you to count (by twos, of course) and they help you learn different colours (starting with certain red soled shoes...).  Shoes equal education and that's why Mater has started your education at such an early age.  But, my dear Avocado Jr., while you do love your shoes, please let your first words be "mater" and "pater" and not "Christian Louboutin".

With good packing, an avocado can be shipped from Australia to France in six weeks and arrive in good condition. To ensure the same for you, Avocado Jnr, we (read: I) had to pack a car seat, a stroller and snap 'n go, a playmat, a bather, a bouncer, clothes for warm weather, clothes for cold weather, swimming clothes, cute clothes, beach clothes and several pacifiers. And then I had to do the same again to ensure Pater arrived in equally good condition. Pacifiers and all...

So, my darling Avocado Jnr, in the past two weeks you've flown in a plane, met your British grandmother, had your first Canadian Winter Vacation (i.e. gone to Florida) and swam in the water. Oh and if all that wasn't enough, you managed to turn over from your front onto your back. Twice. Each time without Pater being there to film or photograph it. Truly an accomplishment.

Every time we look at you we're astounded by how big you are. The clothes you once drowned in, are now too tight on you. You can now sit on Pater's arm without lolling around like a, well, um, a new born baby. Truly you have turned into a giant Avocado Hass. Perhaps we should rename you Avocado Anaheim or Avocado Fuerte which dwarf the smaller Hass specie?

But far from being proud of your rapid growth, I got worried. Are you growing too quickly? The words of friends with older kids began ringing in my ears:

"Enjoy them while you can, it won't last forever"

"They grow up so fast"

"Before you know it she'll be leaving home"

How long will it be before you're too big for me to pick up and hold? You now bathe in a seat in the bath but how long before you outgrow that? Any minute now you're going turn to me and hiss those words every Pater dreads, "Dad, go away, you're embarassing me!"

But just before I passed out from anxiety, Mater came to the rescue and showed me some recent photos and a video that showed you're just not that big. I'm relieved; you may be bigger than when you were born three months ago but you're still my little Hass Avocado.

Avocado Jnr and her cousin (older by a year)

Avocado Jnr and Ursula the Bear

Avocado Jnr on Grandma Toronto's sofa

It has been some time since I've posted, but during my absence you, Avocado Jr, have been growing and smiling and laughing and cooing. You're just amazing! But, as you grow and continue to change, it's interesting to watch people's immediate reaction to meeting you. Without fail, the first question is: "Who does she look like?"

So where are you in your life now? Well you just passed the six week stage. Not a huge milestone but just recently you've begun recognising us and watching us as we move about. You've started copying our facial expressions (hence all our huge goofy grins; don't worry, we're not clinical morons). And you finally enjoy your swing set. I even tried you on super speed last night but the stress was too much for me so I brought it down to a more sedate speed. King Louie watch out, you have some competition!

"Many of you will remember my father as a joker who never let a pun slip away unnoticed. To some he was the buddy you shmoozed with at the Y, a kiddish club devotee and a lover of fine single malts. Others will remember his mischievous, sparkling eyes or his cheeky smile. Some people here today will remember him as a walking dictionary, a poker buddy, a learning partner, a family man, a dear friend and more.

To me, though, he was dad and I was his little girl.

So many memories have flooded my mind over the past two days – and I would like to share some of those with you:

As a young girl, he would put me to bed at night and dazzle me with his vivid storytelling. He used to lie with me in bed and make up different stories every night, but I would always beg him to tell me a specific one: about a made-up character named Zene, not realizing it was a cute play on his name. It was always my favourite.

He also had unconventional choices of songs to sing to his children; instead of the typical nursery rhymes, he would sing all of us American patriotic tunes. He was so proud of his American roots and boy if anyone famous came out of Scranton, Pennsylvania, he made sure everyone knew about it. Even once I was grown up, he loved recounting whole poems he knew by heart from childhood.

Sundays for me and my dad were special when I was a child. They were reserved for what we liked to call “kids days” - when my dad and I would go out, just the two of us, somewhere fun. The zoo, apple picking, a movie, it didn't matter. Even for his birthdays, he didn't want anything and was so happy when I would hand him an IOU for a kids day in lieu of a gift.

He taught me how to play bridge, tennis and he sure played a mean game of eye spy. He was my chief editor of school and university essays, often correcting them to a level beyond some of my teachers' understanding. Even as I wrote this, my instinct was that I should send it to him to correct my grammar or find better words than the ones I am using.

His interest in my life didn't stop with university. Even when I started work and later when my husband joined the family, a shabbos at my parents was not complete without him inquiring in depth about both our work and latest projects.

My memories of my father are incomplete if they don't include my mother. The two of them were inseparable. If any of us called one of them, we always got both of them on the phone. My father was lost without her, she was his pillar and his strength. They were devoted to each other through thick and thin. Hardly surprising when you consider that their engagement happened a week and a half after they first met. This coming Tuesday they would have celebrated their 41st anniversary. 41 years together spent living a torah life, raising three kids and 8 grandchildren, playing bridge, dancing, traveling, playing tennis, laughing and loving each other.

More recently, my memories of my father include the time he spent with me and my husband. Right away he welcomed my husband into the family and aside from a few limey jokes and comments on how he mispronounces words, my father treated him like a son. In turn, my husband loved having a fellow economist and bad joker to spar with. They were also co-conspirators in sunbathing and whisky drinking when my mom and I weren't around. I know he really loved him, sometimes I questioned if he loved him more than he loved me!

When a tragedy such as this falls on a family, it is only natural to react with questions and regrets. Why now? Why him? Why us? In an attempt to find comfort I have been thinking of the positive signs in recent events.

After we were married a little over two years ago, we decided to live in Israel for our first year of marriage. Towards the end of the year, we debated back and forth whether to stay in Jerusalem or return to Toronto. We decided to come back and it was only because of this decision that I was able to spend the last year with my father. For that alone I give thanks to God.

I also see the Hand of God in the events of last week. My mother was meant to take one of her grandsons to a hockey game this last Thursday night but a sequence of events prevented this from happening so my father took him instead. This let him have one last visit with my sister's kids, that he wouldn't otherwise have had, when he drove to their house to pick up his grandson.

But my thanks don't end there. Looking back, we firmly believe that my dad's time was probably up when he suffered a massive heart attack in January this year. The combination of God's Will and my mother's heroic devotion pulled him back from the brink. And why? In order to give him ten more months in which he could enjoy another Father's Day, another birthday, more family parties, chagim, more time with his friends and even a final win at his weekly poker game. But most of all, we firmly believe he was given ten more months so that he could meet our daughter. On the morning of my father's triple bypass in January this year I found out I was pregnant and I told him my good news as he went into surgery. He later said it was this news that gave him the strength to survive such a harrowing operation. My father passed away exactly 4 weeks after she was born and we are eternally grateful for those four weeks. In that time he came over both with my mother and on his own, not to see us, but to hold his newest granddaughter. Both of us commented only last week that grandfather and granddaughter obviously shared a special bond. His eyes sparkled when he held her. Even when she pooped on one of his favourite yellow sweaters. We're happy that he got to know her even though it was for such a brief time. My daughter will not remember meeting him but we will make sure she grows up knowing stories about her grandpa and hearing that he was a wonderful grandfather, a loving father, a devoted husband, a committed family man, a strong Jew and a great friend to all who knew him.

I love you dad and will miss you everyday of my life."

Thankfully the second attempt was a lot more successful.

You also made your First Apperance in the Crib. Mater's not sure what's more amazing, your ability to stare at your mobile for hours on end, or our ability to stare at you (staring at your mobile) for hours on end. I say "our". The truth is that after a couple of minutes, Pater's trigger finger got itchy and he "had to capture the moment"...

You also went on your First Walk. Not much to report on that "First" other than that Mater was very happy to get out and see people and shops again. For reasons unknown to Mater, Pater told everyone he knows to buy shares in Starbucks, Banana Republic, ToyRUs and several other stores...

Also on your sixth day in this world, Pater discovered that his camera can take black & white photos, and sepia photos. Oh the joy. Oh the rapture. In one day, Pater changed a diaper and discovered another reason to takes lots of photos. God probably didn't have this much fun when He created Man! Tomorrow Pater will have to rest after all that excitement.