Kina is really into sending people messages and letters these days—or at least she’s really into the idea of messages. I’ll be sitting in the living room, and she’ll walk up and start dictating a note to me—something encouraging for her babysitter, the doctor, one of my siblings, or herself in the future. It could be that these little recitations are things I should actually write down and send—none of them are anything less than heartbreakingly sweet, and her doctor probably would say “Awwww” in response. Have you gotten any mail lately that told you how much you were loved? Has a toddler told you to be nice to others in a text message recently? These feel like useful shafts of light in the darkness. I’ll try not to keep them to myself.
Before the lockdown, Kina took three dance classes. She liked the teacher, seemed to enjoy the class, and is clearly right in the Dance Fanatic demographic. In early March, they announced a group recital for June of this year and took orders for pink tutus, which we purchased—as all first-time dance parents must. Fast forward to May, which had us sitting outside the dance studio to retrieve a package containing her tutu and a vague promise to revisit the recital plan in late June. Fast forward to July, when Kina asked what the tutu was. Fast forward to this morning, when she insisted on wearing “the costume” around the house, twirling and leaping to “Baby Shark”. I expected her to want to wear the thing all day, but she backtracked after a while when the sequins started to annoy her. In May, I think I would have been really sad to see this morning’s dance play out, but today I’m just happy she could wear “the costume” at all, and that we have a kid who’s happy and into leaping. “Lucky to be here,” is all I kept thinking.
Went in hard on the portrait today with two things I have real trouble drawing: Open eyes and open mouths. Gotta be bad to get good.
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