This whole process of being The Sick Family again has been interesting. A lot is different this time around: We know how the virus works, we are fully-vaccinated, we came prepared with tests and food. Similar, of course, are the tedium, the patience, and the isolation.

Now that Laurea and I are negative, we’re able to go into stores and ride subways and see people (in principle, if not in practice). But Kina is still fully asymptomatic and positive, which means that the person to whom friendship means more than anybody else here cannot see her friends. She trades videos with children she knows, but she spends time with us—the only people guaranteed to have full immunity to the strain of Covid she’s waiting out.

In the onset phase, there was lots of iPad time—the kind of iPad time that would summon the wrath of countless parent bloggers, a fearsome amount of iPad time. In those first couple of days, it seems that Kina watched, in her loft bed, the entirety of a Rapunzel show I did not even know existed.

Gotta love that pockets still inspire this sort of wonder.

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I don’t remember getting this wound up about class assignments as a kid, but the tree names probably help a lot with the drama.

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Over the last few weeks, I have spent literal hours watching Korean ASMR baking videos and memorizing every possible cake baking and decorating technique. The cake I ended up making is a testament to how little you can actually learn from YouTube. Tasted good, though.

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Come for the parental slander, stay for the detailed anonymized list of actual crushes.

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This is all going pretty nicely for the kid, in that she has had our undivided attention for five days now. If it wasn’t for the bit where we actually have Covid, I think I’d tell you that we are enjoying ourselves as well. It was a beautiful weekend outside, but you all missed out on the party here at our house. A party full of forts, movies, baking, and intermittent naps. We have been here before, reader; we know how it’s done.

No Parade today. Kina missed the deadline, despite never leaving the house. I’ll give her a pass. Here’s last week’s, which she finished on Monday.

Wear your masks, people!!!

We’re not exactly writing King Lear over here, folks. Good news for the newsletter folks: I’m negative now. Give the rest of my captives a couple more days. I’ll keep her entertained with tummy farts in the meantime.

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The convalescents will not be taking questions at this time. (We are fine, though, thank you.)

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We are getting by. Thanks for the love. Paxlovid works, but it makes your mouth taste funny.

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As most of you know, this esteemed publication was founded in the wake of our first bout with Covid as a family, to stave off boredom and try to find meaning in it all. This time around, we have boxes of rapid tests and know how to isolate effectively, so the boredom is sequestered, as I am in this room, to me. So far, I’ve received at least four notes and one performance of Beethoven’s 9th symphony to keep me occupied. The paper helps, too.

My case is mild, and I have what I need to get better, thankfully, but the spike in cases is real, folks. Wear your masks and kiss your children—not in that order.

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This is actually something Kina has hated for a while now. It’s just easier for her to think when we aren’t talking, and if something occurs to her in the middle of a story that one of us is telling, we can see the spark rise and extinguish itself, and then we get an earful. The solution might be to stop talking entirely, so that Kina can think of important things to tell us all the time, but that seems somehow impractical in a house (like ours) of constant talkers. I really do feel her pain, and I’ve spent countless hours trying to backtrack through conversations and other friendly encounters to figure out what it was that caught my fancy; truth be told, I hate it. But I’ve come to live with it—and to accept the wispy shape of my own thoughts. It’ll come to me, much as Kina has. Just have to be patient.

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p.s. If you can’t read it, the thing she finally remembered she needed to ask me was, “Was Pokémon alive when you were small?” The answer is no. Sorry for the trouble, Kina.

A real Wonderland is probably something I also wanted when I was six, because it seems like a fun place to be when you’re a kid. As an adult, all I can think about is how stressful it would be to live in constant fear of the local warlord queen.

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The peaceful sleep in one’s own bed upon returning from vacation is almost as good as the vacation itself—especially when you barely slept the night before. Kina took great care to memorialize her latest wake-up time in recent memory, drawing an enormous 7:41 on leftover sketch paper while her parents slept for another 45 minutes. Bliss.

In over three years we have never been late with a Parade, and yet there is no Parade today. Our printing facility apologizes; there is a Parade that we will deliver to you tomorrow. It is “not done yet”. Our regrets.

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After the first three random false alarms on our last night in Maine, this really turned into a sort of cruel joke.

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If you have not dug your hole, have you gone to the beach at all?

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If you think about it, motels are just storage units for highways.

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This afternoon, she just went and finished the 150 piece puzzle on her own. Give this kid a MacArthur grant!

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I don’t make ‘em up, I just transcribe ‘em.

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It got a little boomy at the beach.

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Up in Maine for the next week as we gorge ourselves on ice cream and let the Cousins Coconut bathe with each other.

Kina drew this at a local lobster pound. I basically had to trick her into making this a Parade.