I renamed the Roomba recently because V has been on a Moana kick and it seemed appropriate. It has made the notifications entertaining.

V: “I’m a wayfinder!”

M: “Is your bike kind of like your boat?”

V: “No. Boats don’t have wheels. Bikes have wheels. So bikes are not like boats.”

M: “So when are you going to be hungry?”

V: “I’m gonna be hungry in, like, 7 minutes.”

V: “Are you making a castle?”

M: “Kind of. What would you think about me making you a castle?”

V: “I think it’s a little tricky, but very creative.”

S: “I called it [lasagna] ‘basanya’ too when I was her age.”

V: “I call it ‘soup pizza!’”

We’ve been making plans to go back to the US for the kids’ preschool years at least, to get them in English preschools and spend some time closer to the other side of the family. The recurring news of school shootings like yesterday’s is one of the main things that gives us pause.

I can try to reassure myself that millions of kids go to American schools every day without getting shot—but the fact that I have to is not OK.

V: “Are you gonna take your purse?”

S: “I’m gonna take my black computer bag.”

V: “That’s definitely your purse.”

V, tucking herself into a pile of duvets and blankets under the Christmas tree: “This is where I sleep now.”

“We’re waiting outside the store if you can’t keep your mouth off the Christmas decorations.”

S: “Put the dinosaurs back in the bin.”

V: “This is not a dinosaur.”

S: (Sigh) “OK, put the dinosaurs and the pterosaur back in the bin.”