Sometimes, after a long, tiring and stressful day I would like to have a glass of wine. I’m not much of a wine drinker, but I think about it. Thursday was one of those days. It was a long day with a lot thrown in, and it was well after 9:00 pm when I finally settled down at home. But I didn’t have a glass of wine. I put my kids to bed, and as I cuddled 15-month-old Nessa to sleep, the song Kisses Sweeter than Wine came into my head.
Kisses Sweeter than Wine is a love song, written by the folk music group, the Weavers, in 1950. The singer describes meeting the love his life, how he kissed her, married her, they had children and grandchildren. But I wasn’t thinking about the lyrics of that song last night. Instead I was thinking about the song title and how true it is: kisses can be sweeter than wine.
The kisses I am referring to are the bedtime kisses I give to and receive from my children every night. Bedtime is hectic in my house. Some nights it’s a downright mad house. Matthew can’t bear to miss even a minute of any Blue Jays’ game, Julia won’t be in her bedroom alone, and if the big kids are up then Nessa sees night time as an opportunity to entertain everyone.
But when they finally settle down, the lights go out and everything is quiet I can relax. I cuddle up with Nessa in her glider chair in her bedroom, I put on classical music like the Brandenburg Concerto on the iPad and she drifts off to sleep. I can’t help myself, and I have to kiss her forehead and cheeks. Those are kisses sweeter than wine.
I kiss each one of my kids good night when they go to bed, and if I miss bedtime for any number of reasons, then I make sure that before I go to bed I kiss them all. I would turn down a good glass of wine any day just to receive some sweet wet kisses from my children.
Last night I particularly enjoyed my bedtime cuddle with Nessa, who quickly fell asleep in my arms. I put her in her crib and walked over to Julia to say goodnight to her. Julia was in that state between wakefulness and sleep. She held out her arms to me. I bent down to hug her and she planted a big wet kiss on my cheek. It made my day. I promise you, kisses are sweeter than wine.
It’s Sports Wednesday today, and I have been thinking about the playoffs. More specifically, I have been thinking about baseball playoffs, and it makes me kind of depressed this year. Depending on the sport you love, the specific weeks each year leading up to the playoffs are exciting and special, especially if your team is in the hunt.
If you are a hockey fan, late March and early April can be stressful. Same thing if you follow the NBA. For football fans in the United States, December is a key month. If you are a fan of the Canadian Football League (CFL) that feeling of playoffs fever starts to rev up in October.
I love sports, and as I have written before, I am a huge baseball fan. Over the winter, I count down the days until spring training begins. I like to watch as many games during the regular season as I can. For me, each game is exciting.
But as every day passes during the long baseball season, which runs, from April 2 to October 1 in 2017, my excitement grows. I remember listening and watching the Blue Jays’ first game of the season, back on April 3 in Baltimore. The play-by-play team was already talking about the playoffs. It’s on our minds from the moment the first pitch is thrown.
If your team wins the first few games of the season and sits in first place, you start to dream about the playoffs. Could my team make it all the way, you ask yourself. Will my favourite player win the batting title? My favourite pitcher got a shut-out in his first game, so could he be up for the Cy Young Award this year?
As the season rolls on, from spring into summer, we all start to discuss the prospects of our favourite team making the playoffs. If you are a super-fan or an encyclopedia of statistics, you start to calculate the various scenarios that will either put your team or keep your team in the playoff hunt.
When we hit September, there is a special feeling in the air for baseball fans. Playoffs fever is in the air. A single pitch or at-bat can change everything. One loss or one win can be the difference between playing golf in October or going to the World Series.
That is, if your team has playoffs prospects. I was lucky the last couple of seasons, in 2015 and 2016, when my Blue Jays were deep in the playoff hunt. Our family didn’t miss a game. When I watched each day my heart beat so fast that I couldn’t sit still. I was torn because I didn’t want to miss a moment of the game, but if the Blue Jays were on the brink of losing a game I just couldn’t watch.
It was stressful, but oh was it exhilarating.
Matthew and Nessa dressed up and cheered on the Blue Jays in 2016 during their playoff runNessa became a huge baseball fan!
But not this year. The Blue Jays have had a rough season. This September they are focused on finishing off strong and looking ahead to next year. I will still watch they play and cheer them on, but that playoffs fever is just not there.
I am looking around at the other baseball teams in contention, and my mind quickly switches to the National League. Go Cubs Go!
I walked into an elevator in a large office tower yesterday. There were about half a dozen people with me on this short trip down multiple flights. I looked around me and observed everyone’s behaviour. It was so interesting to watch the various stances and activities undertaken by the group around me. It got me thinking: what’s your elevator behaviour?
There were mirrors all over the elevator I rode in yesterday. It didn’t have just a mirrored door. The whole elevator – the door, walls and even the ceiling had mirrors. So, the first thing I did when I walked in: I looked at myself. I didn’t mean to, but where else was I going to look?
You see, no one wants to make eye contact on an elevator. It’s uncomfortable. I noticed that unless people were looking at their smartphones (more on that in a moment), they looked everywhere except at other people. They got a good look at their feet, their hands and definitely the ceiling. But the body language was clear and uncomfortable: we were all thinking, just get me down to the ground floor and out so I don’t have to look at the guy beside me.
Have you ever ridden on a very full elevator? I like my personal space, and when it’s packed, there is no personal space. I don’t need to smell what the guy beside me had for breakfast that morning or the body odour of the person behind me. If I can feel the breath on my cheek of the person to my left and touch a bit too much skin of the person on my right then I am not a happy person.
What do you do when you are alone? Do you talk to yourself? Do you look around? Maybe you just stand there and watch the numbers light up as you travel through the floors? I personally watch the floor numbers and doors and hope it doesn’t stop. I do not like to share my elevator with other people.
But what do you do if that dreaded event happens? You are standing there, happily, alone in an elevator, and it stops, and the door opens. On walks a group of people, all chattering loudly. They discuss where they want to go for lunch or the boss they all dislike or who was kicked off The Bachelor the night before (which is awful if I haven’t watched the previous night’s episode yet!).
So, let’s get to what most of us do when we wait for an elevator, when we ride one and when we get off – we look at our smartphones. We are addicted to our smartphones. We look at them when we are bored and have nothing else to. Or we pull them out of our pockets when we are uncomfortable and have to do something other than look up at the people around us.
What do you check first when you pull out that smartphone on an elevator? I looked around me yesterday on the elevator and tried to see if people were on Facebook, checking email or if they flicked on Angry Birds (do people still play that game?). But did it really matter what they were looking at? The fact is, everyone around me found an escape from the uncomfortable nature of an elevator in their smartphone. Maybe it made the ride go faster.
Whatever your behaviour is on an elevator, I hope you always get to your destination – whether it is up or down – safely. I have been stuck on an elevator a couple of times, and that was awful. So, what is your elevator behaviour? Leave me a comment here, post to Facebook or Tweet me @AliciaRichler.
Hurricanes happen every year during the dying days of summer. The warm waters of the Atlantic Ocean help build up rain clouds that first form into a tropical disturbance, growing into a tropical depression then tropical storm and finally, if the sustained wind speeds reach at least 119 km/hr, a hurricane.
This swirling storm travels from east to west over the Atlantic Ocean. It gains strength as it picks up more and more warm water. The forces associated with hurricanes are dangerous. The combination of high wind and tremendous rain can be destructive and deadly.
I will admit that I am fascinated by hurricanes. I respect their power and am in awe of how they form, travel and eventually die out. They are not to be fooled with, and a powerful hurricane will win against humans and animals every day.
2017 has been a particularly bad hurricane season, and right now there are three hurricanes simultaneously battering communities along the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. Irma, Jose and Katya are not to be messed with. Irma in particular is one of the largest and strongest hurricanes ever recorded. It has been described as a weather event that can cause catastrophic damage to everything along its path.
How do we know so much about these hurricanes and the horrific destruction they have caused? We live in a time of instant news, where we can follow a storm’s every move on TV, radio, our computers, smartphones and tablets. We don’t need to go a movie theatre or pick up a book when a massive hurricane happens – we just follow the unfolding story live.
Admit it – how many of us are glued to your televisions or various websites as we follow the path of Hurricane Irma? We are concerned for the well-being of the millions of people who have been affected by Irma. Countless people have lost everything or will lose everything as the storm rages through their town. It is terrible, and I hope everyone comes through safely.
While we are all worried about the people directly affected by this and other hurricanes, it is not the only reason we are following Irma’s every move. As I stated above, I, and I know many of you too, are simply fascinated by massive hurricanes. I don’t quite know how to put it into the right words, but I can’t stop watching.
I have become addicted to CNN in the last couple of days, and I can’t turn it off. It is ironic that their reporters stand in the middle of the hurricane, remind people to stay indoors or stay away from the water – as they themselves are outside, being blown over. I watched one reporter stand in the middle of the street in Miami Beach on Sunday, warning people about flying objects. She had to duck and run as a sign came crashing down beside her!
If it’s not safe for people like you and me to be outside, what are reporters (and producers and camera men and women) doing out there? It’s not safe for them either! And yet I keep watching.
CNN knows I am watching and knows that I, and you, want to watch. The better their coverage, the more people will watch. Maybe it’s just human nature.
Hurricane Irma is making her way up through Florida and through the United States. She will eventually break up and become a part of history. Jose and Katya will eventually break apart too. There may be more hurricanes this year that will follow them and cause more destruction.
Hurricanes are terrifying and fascinating. They are dangerous and awe-inspiring. And we must take them seriously.
If you happen to be traveling along a road in Canada this month you may come across a big group of cyclists, dressed in bright red jerseys, with the logo National Kids Cancer Ride plastered across their chests. They are hard to miss. They are a loud, boisterous, tight-knit unit. And they are a special group of people. They are cycling across Canada with one goal: to raise awareness and funds for childhood cancer.
For almost five years, when I was Director of the Sears Canada Charitable Foundation, I had the privilege to work with the very special people at the Coast to Coast Against Cancer Foundation to plan and implement events like the National Kids Cancer Ride (NKCR). As they state on their website, on social media, print and in person, Coast to Coast has a vision of a world Beyond Kids Cancer. They are proud that “100% of receiptable donations are invested in improving the survival rate and quality of life of children and their families impacted by cancer.”
The National Kids Cancer Ride is one of Coast to Coast’s flagship events. September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. Every September, for the past ten years, dozens of cyclists and dedicated volunteers dip their wheels (and feet!) in the Pacific Ocean in British Columbia, and over a period of 18 days they cycle across Canada and dip their wheels in the Atlantic Ocean in Nova Scotia.
They cycle in rain and even sometimes snow. Whether it’s hot or freezing cold, they are out there on the roads. They stop in communities of all sizes and share stories about children and their families impacted by this devastating disease.
Over 10,000 Canadian children are living with or beyond cancer right now, and each year about 1,700 children will be diagnosed. Cancer kills more children each year than every other childhood disease combined. And with this in mind, childhood cancer still receives a much smaller percent of attention and funding than adult cancer. That’s not fair.
So, to help these children, and their families, for the past ten years, dozens and dozens of amazing people have put their lives on hold for a few weeks in September, hopped on bicycles and ridden across Canada. They have raised – and donated – over $10 million – and they have changed lives.
I joined the Riders on the road a number of times and saw some beautiful parts of our country. We met some of the most kind and generous people as we stopped in small towns across Canada. My life was forever affected by the brave children I met who were living with or beyond cancer. I hugged parents who lost their children to this terrible disease.
The cyclists and volunteers I met and traveled with across Canada have become lifelong friends. They are dedicated, keen, wonderful people. They may be cycling through your community over the next couple of weeks. If you see them, wave hello, give them a high five, or better yet, hand them $5, $20, $50, or more. It will change a child’s life, I promise.
Please click here to make a donation to the National Kids Cancer Ride.
Waiting to cheer on some riders a few years ago with my volunteer buddies in British Columbia
No one should feel sorry for me after you read the title of today’s blog post. I feel fortunate that I can pursue my love of travel and know that many people don’t have the opportunity to see the world like I do. But the process of booking travel, or more specifically airline tickets, is not pleasant. It causes me tremendous stress every step of the way.
I feel great excitement every time David and I start to discuss our next trip. We have been traveling together for over 20 years and have visited some amazing places. I quite enjoy the process to research flights and dates and airlines. The evolution of the internet into a space where I can sit on my couch and find almost anything has been quite helpful to me.
Years ago, I had to contact a travel agent or the airline directly and was at their mercy to learn information or find a good deal. Now I can do my research on my own at my leisure. I always challenge myself to find a good itinerary and fair price, and I am capable of spending hours in front of my computer, scouring the internet to find the best fit for me and my family.
My problem is that while I love the chase I don’t necessarily like to pull the trigger of booking travel. Travel is expensive, and for the most part, airlines are not easygoing about changes or refunds. I find it tremendously stressful to click that final button that says “confirm your purchase now” or “click here to finalize your booking.”
With airlines, booking travel seems so final, and it bothers me that I have no control over my purchase once I have made it. If I buy a sweater online and don’t like it then I send it back. I can book a hotel on the internet, and If I change my mind I can cancel with no penalty usually up to 24 hours before the scheduled check-in date. I can buy a new iPhone from Apple, load it and use it and have 15 days to decide if I want to keep it or return it for a full refund.
Some airlines give customers up to 24 hours to change their minds, but for the most part clicking “purchase” is quite final. And unless I am willing to spend hundreds of dollars more for a flexible fare, it can cost me two or three hundred dollars to make a change like a different date or time.
If I want to secure a good price I usually need to make my ticket purchase months in advance. With three young children and a busy schedule it’s hard to make a decision like this so much before we want to travel. If my plans change then it’s either tough luck or pay up.
How did airlines get this kind of power?
I faced this stress last night as David and I sat in front of my computer to check prices and dates for our trip to Israel next spring. We also prefer to travel on a European airline and spend a few days in a different city on our way home from Israel. We like to visit our family and friends in Israel as often as we can, and it’s been a few years since our last trip. Our niece is also joining us for the upcoming trip, so it means booking six tickets (the baby goes on my lap but I still have to pay a small fee for a ticket for her).
I found a great price weeks ago and was too nervous to pull the trigger and make this big purchase. Then I was scared to check prices again the last few weeks in case my great price had disappeared. But last night I dared to check and found an even better deal. While my hands shook as I followed each successive step on the British Airways website, I finally pressed that final button and made the purchase. My gosh it was stressful.
But now the fun part of booking travel begins. Once the stressful part of the airline ticket purchase is over I can focus on the search for a great deal on rental cars in Israel, a few nights of hotels in London and many day trips. I guess the stress is worth it.
Are you ready for Sports Wednesday? Are you exhausted, like I am, this morning? As a big baseball fan, I try my best to watch or listen to as many Blue Jay games as I can each season. Quick, efficient games are fun sometimes, but as I love the sport so much, the longer, more drawn out games are great too. And then there’s the games that go into extra innings. Like last night’s game.
I remember Matthew mentioned to me last night, somewhere just after 9:00 pm, that the Blue Jays game versus the Boston Red Sox was moving along rather quickly. It was already the 7th inning, I believe. Well that was the kiss of death. The Jays were up 2-0, and I knew that meant they would lose their lead and head into extra innings that night.
I was right.
I won’t get into the actual mess of the bottom of the 9th, where the Blue Jays lost yet another lead at the end of the game. A score of 2-2 at the end of nine innings means extra innings. It could be one more inning, or in the case of last night’s game, ten more innings!
You see, my problem is that I don’t have a strategy in place to watch extra innings in baseball. They are unpredictable by their very nature. Most sports use a set amount of time when the game is tied at the end of regulation. They play five minutes of sudden death in hockey, followed by the dreaded shoot-out. Basketball plays for five minutes, and if they are still tied, they do another five minutes. And so on. It’s rare that they are tied for too many of these five-minute periods.
But baseball? Well, they play on and on, with no time constraint. If the visiting team scores in the top half of the inning then the home team still has a chance. If the home team ties things up, well, they go to the next inning. But if no one scores, they keep playing.
That’s what happened last night. With everyone asleep in my house I made myself comfortable on the couch, ready for a few extra innings of baseball. Then it was 11:00 pm, and it was still going. And I was tired. I still had to make school lunches. Okay, I figured, I would do those then maybe the game would be over.
Nope. I puttered around the house a bit more and by 11:30 pm decided to head to bed and “listen” to the game on the TV in my bedroom. The Blue Jays had so many opportunities to score, and they never did. By midnight I was falling in and out of sleep, trying so hard to follow the game during shorter and shorter periods of wakefulness.
I remember hearing Buck Martinez say, “we are headed to the 16th inning” and couldn’t believe it was still going. Then I fell asleep. I don’t remember the 17th or 18th innings, but I do kind of recall that the Red Sox got a double in the 19th inning, after 1:00 am. I just knew, I just felt it, that this was it. Hanley Ramirez walked up to the plate and hit a single, which scored the game-winning run. He did it six hours after the game began.
The Blue Jays lost 3-2, early this morning, in 19 innings. I don’t know whether I love or hate extra innings. There is something exciting about them, that keeps you on the edge of your seat, or at least it does for the first few innings. The stress on fans can be rough. Will their team win? Will they lose again? Or will the game go on so long that all we worry about is how exhausted we will be the next day. I was at that point by the 16th inning, when sleep started to take over.
So today I’m tired, and my team lost. I don’t know if I like extra innings.
My sister texted and called me this morning with the simple message, “Happy Mother’s Day.” She was jumping for joy as she sent off her three adorable and active young boys to their first day of school. I sent two of mine off today, and I will admit, I was probably more excited than they were about the start of a new school year. Admit it, parents, you were too.
The day that many children head forward to school across North America is exciting, wonderful, terrifying, happy and sad all rolled up into one. The day after Labour Day is a sure sign that summer is coming to a close and that summer vacation is definitely over. But the end of one chapter is the start of another.
The final couple of weeks (or more in some cases) can be challenging for parents, as many of us balance childcare with a demanding and busy career. Routines and bedtimes are out the window, kids have too much free time, the house becomes messy and no one behaves. I was ready for the first day of school last week.
My kids did not wake up early, eager and excited for the day ahead, today. I had to rouse them from a deep sleep this morning, and they meandered downstairs more like zombies than kids about to embark on their first day of a new school year. The baby was perky and was definitely ready to have the house back to herself.
Lunches and school bags were loaded, breakfast was consumed and off we went, the whole family, to drop off the two big kids for their first day of school. Matthew has hit the age when he is embarrassed to show affection towards his father in public and asked me to drop him off in his classroom. Julia hung on to my hand like we were stuck together with Gorilla Glue.
The school hallways were packed with parents, teachers and students, all trying to find their way to their classrooms. It was hard to move more than a few steps without stopping to say hello to a friend or trip over a toddler. The mood was definitely boisterous.
It can be overwhelming for a child of any age to walk into his or her new classroom on the first day of school. My children go to a small, wonderful school, in downtown Toronto, called Paul Penna Downtown Jewish Day School (more about this great school in a future post), where there is one class per grade. I often call it a village in the middle of a huge city. All the children know each other, all the teachers know all the children and many of the parents know each other too.
Walking into Paul Penna every morning is like coming home to a big family. There is something comfortable and comforting, and I think my children know that. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t have those first day jitters when they entered their classrooms this morning.
Who am I sitting with? Where is my desk? Will my friends greet me warmly? Will my teacher like me? Where do I put all my stuff? So many questions cross the minds of children on their first day of school. That leap into a new classroom, in a new grade, can definitely be jarring. I believe that after a few minutes, for my children at least, once they hugged their friends, found their desk and put their stuff away most of the nerves disappeared.
My kids will be home in a couple of hours from their first day of school. I am looking forward to hearing about their day and getting them ready for their second day of school. A new school year has begun, hurray! Happy Mother’s (and Father’s) Day!
My kids would not cooperate for a photo this morning and this one and the headline were the best I could do.
Over the Labour Day weekend my family spent a wonderful few days at my uncle’s cottage in Minden Hills in Ontario. But this post is not about enjoying a cottage or Labour Day weekend. This post is about French Fries.
What does a visit to a cottage in the countryside have to do with French Fries, you wonder? Everything, I say. You see, I love French Fries. I don’t just love any variety. They have to come from good potatoes and must be cooked with care. Let me explain.
If I had my way, a well-balanced meal would be French Fries and ice cream, my two loves. My ice cream post will come another day, as today is all about the fried potato.
People around the world love to fry and eat potatoes. I believe both the Belgians and the French claim to have invented this delicacy, which has roots all the way back to the 17th century. Fries, frites, chips, whatever you want to call them, I am not the only person to love this fried goodness.
The best way, in my opinion, to eat French Fries, is from a truck or stand that lives on the side of a road or highway. Chip wagon. Shack. Fry stand. Whatever you want to call it, this is where to find the best eats. I am not a fan of the places that make a variety of foods and claim to have great fries but, in reality, have bags of pre-cut potatoes in a vast freezer in the back. I don’t care how much oil you use to fry them up, those are not French Fries.
My first favourite fry shack on the side of the road belonged to “Fry Guy.” To this day, I don’t know his name, but wow did he make them well. He built a small shed beside a gas station on the way up to our family’s country house, and it was hard for us to pass that place without stopping for a snack. Fry Guy was a retired history teacher who had a knack for making great fries and great conversation. His shack wasn’t so clean and he was eventually shut down. Maybe it was the dirt that made his food taste so good?
Fry Guy was replaced by Fry Girls, and up the road we also discovered Fry People. And I have tried so many more, most of whom were not honoured by a special name from me.
A look at the Fry Girls shackA partially eaten serving of Fry Girls fries earlier this summerFry Girls fries are often demolished quickly
So, what makes a roadside French Fry just so tasty and enticing to the palette? First of all, as I mentioned above, it has to start with a good potato. Then the potato must be hand cut, with the skin left on. It has to be fried in very hot oil, to make it soft in the inside and crispy on the outside. A bit of salt to finish it off is key.
I believe all good fry stands follow this basic formula, and of course they all make it theirs in their own way. For example, in Quebec, I enjoy frites, which are much thinner and stringier. I find them, for the most part, much greasier, but that’s okay. Also, in Quebec, frites are typically served in a paper bag. My favourite frites stand is on highway 329, deep in the Laurentians, between the towns of Ste Agathe and Saint Donat. Yum. Yes, I enjoyed my fill a couple of weeks ago while we visited the area.
They were served in a paper bag but I admit I dumped my frites into a box so I could eat them faster
I found a fry stand this past weekend on the way to my uncle’s cottage that I simply adored. The Queen of Fries Chip Truck is located in the village of Norland, and I give them permission to include the word “Queen” in their name. The potatoes they use are local, they are hand cut, with skin on, and their oil was super-hot to produce a perfectly cooked fry. We devoured the family size.
David ordering at Queen of Fries this weekend
No matter how many French Fries I eat I can never get my fill. Which is why I am on a quest to find the best French Fries. Maybe I need to go on a road trip across Canada, or North America, or do I have to jump over to Europe? I could travel for days, weeks or maybe even months, testing out the best there is from Vancouver Island to Eastern Newfoundland, from Northern Ontario down into Texas. Or maybe a hop over to the back roads in England, over the Channel and through French and Belgian villages?
Tell me where your favourite French Fries, frites or chips place is, no matter where you live. I hope to visit them all. Post me a note on Facebook, leave a comment here, or Tweet me @AliciaRichler. This is going to be fun!
This is what I like to see by the side of the road
While on a walk in our neighbourhood earlier this week, my daughter, Julia, suddenly announced to me that she has decided what she wants to be when she grows up. She said, “Mommy, I am going to be an inventor, and also a police woman.” She smiled at me and skipped along the sidewalk and didn’t say anything more about it.
The following day, in the car, Julia brought up the subject again. She told me she definitely wants to be an inventor. She said she already has a whole bunch of things she wants to invent, like a special kind of stroller and a time machine. Julia is very sure of herself and possesses a special kind of confidence and charisma that I lack. She is a little girl, who loves to play with her dolls and swing in the park. But she is also sophisticated and shows me hints of the woman she will be one day.
Julia made me think about what I wanted to be when I grew up and how my ambitions changed over the years. There are many children who know early on what they want to be when they grow up and actually do follow through. There are many children who don’t think about this at a young age but eventually find their way to success. Then there’s people like me.
When I was Julia’s age, I decided I wanted to be a doctor. I had no idea what it meant to study at medical school or be an actual physician, but through most of my childhood and teenage years I was sure of my future. As I have written in previous posts, I eventually realized that a career in medicine was not for me and switched to a career path centred on writing and communications. I have jumped around that path for many years, but at age 41, I now know I made the right choice.
It must be very hard for children and youth today to make a decision about what they want to be when they grow up. There is no job security and people are retiring at a later age and holding on to those precious few jobs. Many young people are seeing their dreams crushed when they can’t find a job or make any money with the career of their choice.
But that doesn’t mean we should not encourage our children to dream and to dream big. I remember many years ago, when my parents asked me, my brother and sister what we wanted to be when we grew up. My brother was into Lego at the time (okay he still is but that’s for another day) and answered he wanted to be an architect. I stated that I wanted to be a doctor. Then my sister, who was quite young at the time, announced that her dream was to be a cocktail waitress.
This became a family joke for a long time, but I give my parents credit. At the time, they didn’t laugh at my little sister or put her down. They simply told her, in a very sweet way, to follow her dream. My sister did not become a cocktail waitress, but she did grow up to be a successful and much admired entrepreneur who runs her own business, helps other people grow their businesses, is a busy mother to three young boys and an incredible athlete.
When Julia told me she wanted to be an inventor and a police woman I smiled at her and simply told her to follow her dream. Sure, it sounds a bit silly, but I want my daughter to be whatever she wants to be when she grows up. I want all three of my kids to be whatever they want to be when they grow up.
Little Nessa is only 15 months old, and her dream, at this point in her life, is to grow up and be just like her big brother and sister. Her pediatrician, by coincidence, shares her name. The staff are always amused when Nessa’s name is called, when Dr. Nessa treats Baby Nessa. When at the doctor this week, Dr. Nessa joked with me that she paused for a moment when Baby Nessa’s name was called. I laughed and looked at my baby and said to her, “You are not Dr. Nessa, you are just Baby Nessa.” Then it was my turn to pause, and I looked at my little baby and said to her, “But one day, you can be Dr. Nessa if that’s what you wish.”
What do you want to be when you grow up? My advice, whatever you wish.
