[Sera]
Lulu's new word this week is no.
Not in the tantrum sense. She says it with this calm, almost philosophical authority, like a tiny judge handing down rulings from her high chair. No to the green puree. No to the hat with the bear ears. No to being set down when she's decided Silas is her preferred mode of transport.
"No," she announces when I try to wipe oatmeal off her chin, turning her face away with the dignity of someone who's been personally insulted.
"She gets this from you," Mia says from behind the espresso machine, not looking up.
"The stubbornness or the oatmeal resistance?"
"Yes."
It's a Wednesday. Mid-December. The shop smells like pine and cinnamon because Mia went overboard with the holiday display—garland looped around the chalkboard menu, a miniature tree on t
