There’s never been any question of Momo’s paternity, but just in case there ever had been, we got some definitive proof that Momo is Kev’s daughter, without a doubt. She followed it up with a request for ‘sprinkles’, which is her word for the mix of seaweed, bonito, and sesame seeds we put on our rice.

Rice, of course, is always Japanese sticky rice – we rarely have any other kind, and it goes with everything from hot dogs to stew to lasagna, like most other mixed-race families I know. I grew up in a white, meat-and-potatoes sort of family, so it’s the little things like this about being in a family like ours that make me smile. She moves freely between snippets of Canadian, Japanese, and Hawaiian culture, like biraciality is just the background radiation of her life, and it’s very cool to watch.