New pre-Californian tradition involves Kina doing somersaults independently among the modernist ghosts of Idlewild
One of the greatest luxuries of our current lifestyle is being able to stay in an airport hotel the night before a morning flight to California, and Kina thinks this is totally normal and wonderful.
Baked pasta eaten after extreme trampolining; 8 y/o insists on Kuromi theme
And so ends our esteemed publisher’s extended annual birthday, on a rope swing before a full tray of baked pasta and all the Kuromi decorations sold on earth.
“I feel a little taller,” says newly-awakened 8-year-old
I am breaking all the rules by skipping over the four issues I have forgotten to send, but it is Kina’s birthday, and the fiscal repercussions of not sending the publisher’s birthday edition on time are quite severe. I am so so so so so so proud of her. I expect you are, too.
She chunks down three filipino bbq skewers before taking a bite of stuffing and then asks to be excused
I am extremely proud of the increasing time-consuming pork BBQ skewers I made on Thursday (which included making my own banana ketchup, which was recently banned in the U.S., “because of some stupid additive,” as Laurea pointed out). The skewers were the star of the show, especially if the diner is Kina. I put about the same amount of work in for the stuffing and got considerably more lukewarm feedback from our house critic, which tells me something about how she values tradition.
She vacillates between begging to leave and chasing psychedelic butterflies
For the seven of you who asked me in Instagram, Luna Luna is actually pretty neat and also good for kids, even if you can’t ride the Basquiat ferris wheel.
Kina and Runa try independence on for size, bend rules re landscaping
It was curious when Kina strolled up to me on Saturday and asked specifically to be allowed to walk alone through the park with her friend Runa. We’ve been talking a lot about independence lately (see also last week’s Sunday Kina about taking the trash out on her own) and I know Kina is fascinated to see teenaged girls walking around in packs. This felt important to her—and not so terribly different from letting her play unsupervised in a large playground.
And so, keeping in mind that this was a fairly well-contained park with few distractions, sharp objects, or large untended chasms, I let her go, with no particular constraints, other than not to leave the park—nothing but, “Go. Fine. I’ll be here.”
I should not have been surprised by the mild sense of panic that followed this heroic act of confident parenting, not knowing exactly where Kina was or what she was up to, so I distracted myself with talking to Runa’s dad (who does not, he reminded me after first seeing this edition, have bangs) about the inner life of our daughters until they returned, some ten minutes later.
Publisher agrees to let parents go on a date as long as she receives surprise overnight gift of “Blue Raspberry Hubba Bubba—or regular”
This is the intersection of past storylines about the tooth fairy and parental dates. It is also a reminder of the origin of this newspaper—a space for me (and you) to pay attention to something that is nourishing and small and curious. I hope that is working.
Congenital giggler pushes back on unjust ballet giggle ban
I walked into the ballet studio to pick Kina up, and all the little girls were just shouting “POTATO” at each other and guffawing, as they were born to do.
A stunning referendum on family turns in late voting
I did have to press her on whether “friends” should also come above “pasta”, but it wasn’t a hard fight. That said, I’m not sure there’s anything else on earth that rises to the level of pasta.
Kid unexpectedly takes responsibility for empty pizza boxes, agrees to carry them to garbage cans 3 stories down as long as Daddy says “I love you” from window
In the actual newspaper version of this headline, the story would continue on to say that Kina later went downstairs to fetch a package of toothbrushes from the package table in the lobby. Laurea and I have never been prouder, and Kina didn’t even get attacked by rats!
So, in the days leading up to the election, I got really distracted and sloppy about sending the daily edition(s), and I had it all planned out that I would send them twice a day until election day, when things would be great and exciting and I would be so happy and also responsible. Neither of those things panned out, so! Here’s three wonderfully sweet editions of The Daily Kina from before this extremely [waves maniacally everywhere] week.
Kina Eviscerates Yet Another Croissant, Squeezing Its Delicate, Flaky Innards Into a Dense Orb That She Gnaws on Like a Demented Weasel
It is charming in a way, but it generates a lot of crumbs
To be fair, it’s for solving a math problem, but at least we have one.
The strategy was about figuring out how many shelves are in a mystery bookcase, and if Kina is half as good at strategizing against the decline of democracy as she is about division, I would say we’re gonna be fine.
I don’t know what else to do. The last time this happened was a month before she was born, and we were so afraid. I think this time we are ready, maybe more familiar, but no less afraid. I’m showing up for her.
I’m working through all this. A lot of you are, too. Be liberal with the hugs.
Blissful if perhaps less oblivious than the last time we did this
I’m skipping a few backlogs here that I will catch up on in the next couple of days, because I am right now in a cab home from my news job making sure that people can see election results, and I am anxious. I know that these moments have meaning and movement and surprises, but I do not need the surprises any more than the rest of you do. I am frankly a bit tired of surprises. Mostly what keeps me tethered is the day to day of life with my family and being in touch with friends and standing around in playgrounds and the certainty that is my neighborhood, which has moved in slow and plodding and mostly nourishing ways over the twenty-two years that I have lived there. The changes that last, I think, change slowly. The stuff that matters takes time. It grows, like a child, and the only thing you can do is pay attention to it and nudge it gradually in the right direction. The surprises, when they are sad, do not matter. The person matters, and the person takes time.
Wherever we land, remember that your country is the people you love, who love you, who won’t stop bouncing on the bed and asking about Nevada.
By her logic, they know her already and must have forgotten
She visited my office one time, but she figures that people were impressed enough that they must have forgotten to reach out to see if she wanted to participate.
