Some Kinyisms (that's pronounced "KEEN-yisms," as in the contracted form of "Kinya-isms")

Of all my kids, Kinya is the one of whom I can say categorically that I never know what's going to come out of the kid's mouth next. This is a bad thing when we're not getting along, but we're getting along very well at the moment, and when she's happy, she keeps me pretty consistently cracked up.

For example, she informed me the other day that she has decided that my old Honda Civic will, upon her acquisition of a driver's license, become her car exclusively.

"Oh, you think so, do you?" I chuckled.

"Yes!" she said adamantly.

"Well," I said, grinning indulgently, "you tell yourself that if it makes you happy."

But it seems that she already has well-laid plans, for she fired back, in that characteristic Russo-Texan accent of hers, "Yes! Because I will paint it pink, and then I will paint flowers on it, and then [triumphantly] we will see if you will drive it!"

She was pretty happy a couple of days ago when Wal-Mart finally got its frozen food restocked, and I was able to take her grocery shopping. She happily loaded up the cart with frozen pizza, orange juice, chicken, milk, and other staples, and then she handled the unloading and post-bagging reloading of the grocery cart while I took care of the debit card logistics. We got home and started putting the groceries away, and suddenly to my surprise I saw three caramel-covered apples that I didn't remember seeing make their way into the cart.

"Kinya," I inquired, in my best portentious-papa tones, "did you buy caramel apples today?"

"No, Papa," she answered instantly and cheerfully -- "you did."

As I told somebody the other day, the world would be a poorer place if it didn't have Kinya in it -- but I'm not sure the world would be able to handle more than one of 'em.