It’s a look.

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It is quite charming to know that Kina thinks college begins in sixth grade, and it is at the same time a little scary to think that by the time she actually is ready for college (if that’s her cup of tea), it will feel to me as though she were still in fifth grade. I’ll miss her a lot, but I’m glad I have plenty to miss.

Haunted! House!

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oh my god she is unfathomably jazzed about this holiday.

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It was a delightful evening in, full of intrigue and tragedy and ice cream and kissy parts.

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The last time Kina met Tilda, they were both less than half the age of Tilda’s younger sister, Cecilia, who did not yet exist. Now that the two sisters live in London, they can finally meet and get to know our esteemed Publisher, who spent a solid two minutes eating my hair at brunch yesterday.

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Is it wrong to say your seven year old child would maybe really enjoy Vegas? The energy is there. Where else can you wear a cape at 9 am and have nobody look askance?

We got new markers to play with today, and she put them through their paces. Not sure these pens would be my daily driver, but the colors are stronger than the Crayola chunky markers I’ve been using for the last four years, and they do really well in the smaller print and for the illustrations. Kina and bond over this kind of detail. Bold! Crisp!

Vegas style!

Out of house and home, as they say.

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Mr. Ortiz’s make-math-fun game is on a wildly different level than I have seen before. Talk about committing to the bit. Don’t sleep on 31!!!

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Kelvin has owned a dry cleaning business at the corner of our block for the last twenty years. I have taken my shirts and winter coats and quilts to him to be cleaned for as long as I have lived here. He was never particularly friendly to me until Kina was born, after which he gradually became Kina’s corner friend. By the time Kina was in school, she would walk into Kelvin’s every morning on her way to drop-off and say hi to him. She’d wave. He’d wave back. During the lockdown, Kina would ride her scooter up and down the ramp in front of Kelvin’s shop. Hello. Hello. When her Panda stuffie started leaking fluff, she took it to him to be re-stuffed—he did it for free, which I wrote about on February 7, 2021.

You should read that post again today.

A couple of weeks ago, Kelvin’s gates didn’t come up in the morning. The next day, there was a note on the gate with a phone number that you were meant to call if you “want to know what happened”. I didn’t call it, because I was afraid to find out what happened. Yesterday, Kina came home and told us that Kelvin had seen her at Walgreens and tapped her on the shoulder. He told her that he was moving.

I leave it to you, reader: is it a dress or a desperate scream?

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You can get your own opinion, but this one is hers.

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Have you ever gone to the beach in October? I highly recommend it, because you are unlikely to find the mysterious fruit of the black walnut tree littered around the surf in the middle of summer—both because the fruit does not fall until October and because other greedy beachgoers are likely to scoop them up and crack them open, rendering them simply useless for chucking at your childhood friend. This is what the beach is for—at least if you ask Marcus Aurelius over here.

The world is extra hard these days. There is so much to be horrified by, and so much that kids shouldn’t have to cope with. this paper serves many purposes, but one stands out lately—I hope it helps you manage, and I hope you (and the kids around you) are okay.

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This sort of hosting runs in the family, by the way. One guess.

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This edition is especially weird but I am here for it. I am also here in a cab in my way back to put Kina to bed—thanks to my deputy editor Laurea for keeping the presses going this week!

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I am about to hop on a plane to fly back to New York and trigger my heart to feel good by giving Kina her welcome-home-Daddy gifts. Hopefully her heart triggers, too.

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The first of a few Mommy-drawn issues here as I take a little trip for work. Here you meet the largest bow in history, and the girl who shocked her entire class with it.

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It feels good to be trusted. It feels good to deserve that trust. It feels good to earn that trust. It feels good to catch her, to feel her back in the palms of my hands. It feels good to hear her giggle at the thrill of not actually hitting the floor. It feels good to know we have this.

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Honestly, as pledges go (and I’m generally not one for pledges), it’s a great one, and there’s nothing that inspires more confidence in the midst of really dark days than hearing a six-year-old recite this with vigor before she goes to bed at night. What can these children not accomplish?

Best!

Curious!

Don’t bust out the boogies unless it’s Thursday. That is sacred boogie time.

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I mean, it’s good to know that you get a solid seven years before you have to worry about whether or not you measure up. (She does.)

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She insists she doesn’t climb on the toilet paper dispenser to chat over the stalls, but I’m not entirely sure I believe her. Still, it sounds like there’s a lot going on in that bathroom—the great equalizer of second grade girls.

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Laurea and her mother have a hard time with goodbyes. They both put on a good face, but I know it’s hard for them—and so does Kina. She’s always at the ready when Lala pulls away, with a hug and a reminder that they’ll see each other soon, which is true, and it helps. The hug, especially.

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First of all, she no longer calls it “Zentals Park”, but she did make a joke about the fact that she used to call it “Zentals Park” yesterday, so the term is in play. Secondly, I was stunned to learn that Kina knows—apparently instinctively—how to row a boat, despite never having rowed a boat in her life. She is better at rowing than at least one other member of her immediate family! I will not say whom!

It was a beautiful day, there in Zentals Park, with her family and all the disco skaters.

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When either of us wins, we both win, and since there are only two players, it’s basically all just winning.

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The second is a record of how much fun Kina had hanging out with Lala while “parents hie off to Chelsea”, which we did. It was fun, really, for all parties. They had pancakes. We had adult conversation. Nice trade.

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The first of two short missives today—a sort of pairing. This first one is a record of Kina dealing with mild separation anxiety as we pack off for a single overnight in a hotel nearby. She’s used to this, but she wanted us to know how long a day is—which is, apparently, pretty long.

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The grandmother has arrived, and she has been met by a child who can now make a calm request for a bit of quiet together. They love each other very much.

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What are stars made of?

They are all like the sun. Hot gases and stuff. Fire.

Smaller?

Even I have to admit that my ANIK tag is extremely poor. Twenty-seven years in New York City and that’s the best I can do? Shameful.

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I have always liked math. My mother likes math, too, and was always my homework partner when it came to numbers. So it is that I have taken up the mantle and am now Kina’s math homework partner, calculating how many “10 cm rulers” it takes to approximate “Jamie’s” height. It’s fun to see how Kina’s mind works, and good practice for me to step back and stay quiet when she’s thinking. Eventually, she reasons through a problem, which is always very impressive—even if the math is simple. I’m excited to work through this year’s problems with her (math and otherwise), because it reminds me of what it feels like to learn: a little stretchy at the edges, and well-paired with some good silence. Thanks, mom.

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To be fair, I have been looking for a little Quality Time with Kina, who is trying on “what if we just don’t hang out with Daddy” for size. Reading with Mommy, school walk with Mommy, bathtime with Mommy; it adds up (for me and Mommy both). So yesterday, after lunch, when I had to go to the bathroom, Kina came along for first dibs—but was surprised to find that I wasn’t just there for a little chat and gossip. Maybe this is how bathrooms work? A respite for reconciliation? A demilitarized zone for working out our stuff? Restrooms: come for the pee, stay for the quality time.

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Thank you, climate emergency, for sparing us for the latter half of Saturday, so that Kina could hop onto the back of my bike and ride with us out to the West Side Fest (first one, I think?) to see a rapping planet Earth, some double-dutch jumprope, a fully-functional letterpress and screen-printing setup, and God’s Finest Face Painter. Toss in a little pasta and a carousel with no line, and you have the makings of Kina’s favorite weekend in recent memory. We watched the sun set over a playground on the Hudson River and had a nice ride home. The end.

I really love this Parade. Bold background, cut-out pizza cat, glitter glue, and random pepperoni everywhere. Enjoy your week.

I once wrote about a coffee shop that Kina refers to as “cheddar cheese and bacon”, because they sell a breakfast sandwich that I’d refer to as a bacon, egg, and cheese—but I can’t, because I really don’t accept cheddar cheese on a traditional bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich. It doesn’t melt properly, it congeals even more poorly after it sort of melts, and it just sort of tastes like acid and salt on a sandwich that, let’s face it, has plenty of salt.

Whenever I have attempted to introduce Kina to a proper bacon, egg, and cheese—which is to say (and I’m not accepting arguments at this time) a sandwich with not-too-overcooked bacon, one egg either fried medium-hard or scrambled (in a pinch), and a single slice of unctuous, gooey, supernaturally-yellow American cheese—my daughter has rebuffed both the sandwich and the father offering it. It is, best I can tell, the fault of the cheese. This is my greatest disappointment as a father.

I’m not entirely sure what cheddar cheese is for, because people who like cheese boards never seem to include a cheddar, and it tends to fail in most cooked applications. A soup, maybe? Some sort of scone? In powdered form, it makes for an outstanding mac and cheese—seen in our third headline today about gentle money. All I know is that cheddar cheese is not designed to melt and has no place on a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich. Maybe it’s good on a cold ham and cheese sandwich; I don’t eat them, but it’s a logical fit.

I cannot, in any language known to me, convey sufficiently to you how completely over this rainy season I am. I just want to stop coughing and be dry, and for my family to stop coughing and be dry.

Out!

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I mean, who really knows?

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I can’t remember the first time I experienced déja vu, and I still couldn’t tell you why it happens, but when I saw the look on Kina’s face yesterday morning as she recalled me standing in the precise position I had been standing in, with the same stuffed unicorn pressed to the same burgundy shirt I had been wearing, I saw in her eyes a look of gentle shock and discovery that gave me an unusual view into how she understands the world. Don’t get me wrong—Kina still discovers a lot every day, but it’s been a while since she discovered her own mind in a way that she could put words to. It could, of course, be the case that there is another Kina in another universe with another dad holding another unicorn, and that this rediscovery is all part of a more complex set of coincidences. I guess that’s for me and Kina to figure out later.

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Have we talked about the peanut allergy? Let’s just say it: There’s a peanut allergy, and it’s gotten to the point that we can now safely question the severity of the allergy, which means lots of boring time spent hopefully not having allergic reactions to peanut powder while sitting at the allergist’s office. So far, so good. Bodies are weird. Allergists are great. We all get by.

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To be clear, she crossed the pool the short way several times and without assistance, making her one of the most accomplished athletes I have ever met. Shower her with praise.

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Nicky and Kina are both getting so much bigger and more moodily teenaged in spirit, but they remain just sweet little kids who are really into movies about rural witches and steampunk castles.

What else is there to say here? It’s just rainy. Sorry about the fart.

This morning was a good morning to have nothing much to do, other than dress up like a flight attendant and complain about the cool autumn breeze.

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Today’s edition is all sneaky vibes. Extremely esneeky.

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If it is Thursday, it must be Saturday.

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I really had Kina pegged as a bouncy ball chair girl, given her history as a bouncer, but this wouldn’t be the first time she surprised me. Neither of us, for the record, would be a boring chair kid.

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She really dodged a bullet there. Could have been eating cafeteria sushi for three years straight.

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When you’re six, there is nothing quite like walking randomly into Tompkins Square Park to find a troupe of amateur actors performing an antifascist musical about the subway. This is why we live here.

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Usually, when we visit Governor’s Island, as we did yesterday with Kina’s friend Runa, we rent a bike for Laurea (who does not own one), and I squire Kina about on the back of my bike—which is built to squire Kina around, after all. Yesterday, though, Kina was insistent that we rent a bike with training wheels so that she could ride next to Runa, who would also rent a bike with training wheels, and they would terrorize the island together.

I balked at first, having seen Kina ride a bicycle only three times in her life—to a rather underwhelming effect, which I know sounds mean, but really, she wasn’t going anywhere fast. But Kina persisted, and so a bike with training wheels was procured for her, and she pedaled off gamely in Runa’s wake.

This quickly evolved. By the time we were snarfing down hot dogs, Kina and Runa were doing long, looping laps of the car-free paths of Governor’s Island on their own—and quickly. By the midafternoon, Kina was riding fast enough that I could pedal at my relatively normal calm pace, as she dodged in front of and behind Runa and her older sister.

Today was not quite fully warm, but it was not at all cold, either, which she seemed to think was fine. Tolerably, mostly warm.

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Mary Kay over here.

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It doesn’t stop, Kina.

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To be fair, it was an excellent haircut.

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