“Magic” coffee

There’s always a lot of debate about the best way to brew coffee: French press, Aero Press, or Chemex? Pour-over vs. drip? Espresso machine? So many options exist, and so many opinions exist. Since I’m a daily tea drinker, coffee is always like a “treat” drink to me, one that I would enjoy with the occasional coffee break with a colleague while at the office, or out and about on a Saturday with Chris. It’s also a “treat” drink to me because it doesn’t seem to matter how much tea I drink, but I rarely get a buzz from it; then, I’ll have one latte late morning and feel a bit wired all the way until dinner time. It’s an interesting feeling, but not one that I necessarily want every day.

When summer time comes around, while I do think about different versions of iced tea, I also look forward to more iced coffee drinks and all the delicious variations of it, with flavor additions and all. And I was excited to see some articles talking about “magic coffee,” which is essentially cold brew coffee, steeped overnight with two magic ingredients: your choice of a sweet spice like ground cinnamon or cardamom (of course, cardamom for me!), and a bit of brown sugar. I halved the amount of sugar (3 Tbsp down to 1.5 Tbsp) but used the recommended one teaspoon of cardamom for 2/3 cup coarsely ground coffee to three cups of water, and once the coffee is strained, poured over ice cubes, and topped with a quick pour of oat milk, it really did taste like magic. Cold brew is delicious, but with these two additional ingredients, this iced coffee really was like magic. I could get used to this all summer long.

Fire truck, ambulance, garbage truck, and siren obsessions

Since Chris’s parents were in town with us, Kaia has been absolutely obsessed with sirens. She likes to listen for the sirens outside our window and while outside. When she hears the sounds, she will immediately go to the window to see if she can see where the sound is coming from. She likes to identify the lights and call out what colors they are; she also likes to name whether it’s a fire truck vs. an ambulance. It’s been really adorable to see her obsession.

The other day, she suddenly yelled out, “I want fire truck! I want fire truck!” She went to her toy corner in the living room and grabbed a few of her larger Hot Wheels cars. But I reminded her that while those were all cars and trucks, they actually were not fire trucks. She does have another truck that’s a real fire truck (and transformer!), I reminded her. I pulled it out from her car box and gave it to her. It was as though she was seeing this fire truck for the very first time, as her face had this look of surprise and excitement. A few seconds later, while holding the fire truck and admiring it, she exclaimed, “Wowowow, FIRE TRUCK! MY FIRE TRUCK!” The next few nights, she’d have to have it in bed with her before she could fall asleep. And randomly throughout the night, she would wake up screaming or crying, asking for her fire truck. So I always had to make sure it was within reach to calm her down.

I love seeing her little toddler obsessions and loves. I know one day she will lose this innocence, but I will soak it up as much as I can, for as long as I can, because it’s just too precious. And another thing she isn’t aware of: Suma and Topa have a very large fire truck, complete with a siren sound, waiting for her in Melbourne when we go back later this year!

Mother’s/Father’s Day promotional email “opt-outs” and triggers

I have one email account that I use almost completely for mailing lists, whether that is news summaries, shopping, food blog reading, and the related. I noticed that this year for the first time, I got a lot of suggestions for different businesses I follow that if I don’t want to see Mother’s or Father’s Day-related emails that I could just do a one-click opt-out for these specific promotions. My social media seemed to be peppered with how “triggering” Mother’s/Father’s Day can be for various reasons, whether it’s because you have a less-than-ideal relationship with your own mother or father, your children, or if you’re struggling to conceive, etc. All of the above can be true for many people, so I understand why businesses are trying to be more empathetic about what promotions they are pushing, and to whom.

I always get annoyed by Mother’s and Father’s Day when I really think about them. But I think the crux of my annoyance is that my relationship with both my parents is quite far from ideal, and it’s certainly not from a lack of trying on my part. I think about all the years when Ed and I tried to do nice things for our parents, and it was met with indifference or open dislike. Sometimes, we got scolded at and told we spent too much money. Once, my mom flat out rejected this cashmere sweater my brother got her and yelled, insisting that he return it because it cost too much money. Ed was so upset at this response, but he obediently returned it. In some cases, we gave gifts that were literally left on a table for months on end, never opened and barely even acknowledged. Even when it happened repeatedly, and you would think after a while we’d get used to it, it still always hurt. These responses, and sometimes lack thereof, always made us feel as though our efforts went unappreciated. NO ONE likes to feel unappreciated for the efforts they make to please another human, particularly partners, spouses, and children.

My parents just don’t appreciate gifts or when people do nice things for them. When people do things like treat them to meals or buy them gifts, my mom immediately feels “guilt,” and compelled to return the favor as soon as humanly possible. It was always infuriating to watch. So I always hate giving them gifts unless they are things they explicitly ask for, like skincare for my mom.

This year for Father’s Day, which was this past Sunday, I decided to go the “safe route” and get my dad something he could easily consume with little effort on his part. So I got him some hibiscus flowers to steep for cold hibiscus tea (it’s good for blood pressure, so I figured that would resonate with him), plus some chai concentrate, to which he’d just have to add his choice of milk. My dad rarely says thank you unless my mom reminds him to because he’s an overgrown child, so I usually have to prompt him with a message like, “Just checking to see you got (name the gift)/wanted to see if (X gift) arrived?”

Eventually he will respond to the text or email. This time, this is what he wrote:

“Hi Yvonne,
I received the hibiscus
Yesterday. Thank you. Whatever happen to the Kaia’ videos? She is very depressed so can you resume sending them?”

The underlying message here is that I am basically fueling my mom’s “depression” by not sending regular videos of their grandchild. This is not the first time my dad has sent me a message like this.

I have very little patience for people like my mother who do nothing to help themselves. My mom is hardly in a dire life situation: she gets a pension check and a social security check in the mail regularly. She doesn’t have to work or support/raise anyone. She has a roof over her head, one that was fully paid off decades ago by her in-laws that has the teeniest property tax known to the average person. She gets regular free, prepared food and produce from Meals on Wheels (how valid this is that she qualifies for this program is another story for another day). She’s in reasonably good health. What exactly is she “depressed” about?

As I’ve learned the hard way with Ed’s ongoing depression, no one person can save another person from the pit that is depression. It really starts with the person in question. When a person who is depressed refuses treatment or therapy, there’s not much that can be done, as sad as it is. I told my dad that if she’s really depressed, then she can seek a psychologist referral from her doctor. My dad simply responded, “She doesn’t want it.” Well, then, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t force it to drink. Nothing I do can “cure” her depression. And if she chooses to have no relationship with her only grandchild by never doing any video/phone calls with her, by not even interacting with her when she’s right in front of her face, then none of that is on me.

“When is Daddy coming?”

It’s been almost a week and a half since Chris left for Australia. To keep in touch with us and to get some contact with Kaia, he’s been calling on FaceTime most nights. She always gets excited, but at the same time, she gets very upset when it’s time to hang up. The other night, she also got to interact with Chris’s mom, and she had a melt down afterwards. That night, she didn’t fall asleep until past 9:30. That was brutal.

This morning when she was eating breakfast, she asked, “When is Daddy coming?” I wondered if she meant, “coming back,” but she did mean to say that she wants Daddy to come. So it made me think about the phrase her former nanny used to always say, and what I also hear the daycare teachers say, “Mommy/Daddy always comes back.” Once upon a time as a baby, she did not understand that when an object gets covered that it’s actually still there, and that you just need to lift the cover or blanket to see it again. As young babies, they also don’t understand that when mommy or daddy leave the room that they are not gone forever, that they will, in fact, come back. And then as she got a little older, “peek-a-boo” becomes exciting because there’s the realization (and developmental milestone) that people/objects that you cannot see, CAN actually still be there. She still loves peekaboo, and I’ll be honest: I love playing it with her, especially when I’m in one room and she’s in another further away.

So it’s hard to confirm, but maybe she does understand when I tell her that Daddy “went to Australia to see Suma, Topa, and Shushu, and that he will be back soon.” First, she would say, “I want to see Suma, Topa, and Shushu,” too! Then she would whine, “I want Da-TEE!”

In just a day, she can change dramatically. She can do new things with her feet and hands. She can jump higher or do a more complex physical move. She can also say more complex sentences and new words and actually understand what they mean – in English and Chinese. Just today, she said a full Chinese sentence that I say a lot, but before, I wasn’t ever 100 percent certain she understood. But she said it in the totally correct context. I was overjoyed. Chris realizes this as he’s away and hears her say new things over FaceTime. I’m lucky to be able to work full time, have a flexible schedule, and witness as many of her moments as possible in her development.

Sun protection awareness for babies and young children

This afternoon, I took Kaia to the playground to get some energy out. She said she wanted to take her scooter, so I put her helmet on and took the scooter out with her. Unfortunately (or fortunately for her…), the fountain was on given it was such a hot day, and she immediately made a beeline for the fountain and completely abandoned her scooter. She still had her helmet on, so it provided a little sun protection, but I was getting a bit concerned with how much sun exposure she’d get given she was soaking.

A neighbor came and met me with her husband and six-month-old daughter. Her daughter turned six months just a few days ago and had gotten her six-month vaccinations. The baby is extremely fair-skinned, and her face, neck, arms, and legs were completely exposed to the sun. I asked her if she had any sunscreen or a hat for the baby. She said she thought it was in the stroller but needed to go check. Her husband was pretty indifferent and responded, “Does she really need sunscreen? I don’t think so.”

I couldn’t believe how much he didn’t seem to know; it was borderline embarrassing for me to hear this. I lightly nudged them that they should get a hat on her and put some sunscreen on. She went to grab the hat and sunscreen and started spraying her baby with it. Before six months of age, it’s strongly recommended to keep babies out of direct sunlight and to keep a hat on them to protect their face and eyes. And from six months onward, sunscreen is highly recommended, along with a face/eye cover. They’re so young — they’re just babies. And the sun can be so damaging for them at such an early age. It’s not even just about serious concerns like skin cancer or sunburn, but just keeping their skin looking young, supple, and healthy. I’m in my late 30s now, and even though I am obsessive about sunscreen application, I’m already seen sun damage on my skin in the form of these stupid freckles, which I hate. Now, I always wear a hat to protect my face. I used to resist it because my head would get hot, but now my vanity has overtaken my distaste for a hot head.

I look at my Kaia Pookie’s face, and I just want her to look sweet, cute, and pore-less forever. I love that she’s been more tolerant with my applying sunblock on her. She still doesn’t love it on her face, especially the rubbing in part, but she doesn’t resist me anymore when I apply it on her arms and legs. It’s all progress in the right direction!

Closeness and vulnerability

Today, Kaia and I went to Brooklyn Heights/Cobble Hill to hang out with a friend we usually catch up with while her husband and Chris are here, but we decided this would be a nice way to catch up with just us. We met at a Palestinian restaurant for lunch, had coffee at a nearby coffee shop after, took Kaia to the playground to run around and get out some energy, then walked around Brooklyn Bridge Park and enjoyed some delicious passion fruit ice cream with apricot jam swirls and pistachios. Even Pooks had a few licks before passing out from an entire afternoon of attempting to fight off a nap.

Since I was in high school, I realized that I’m just better in small group or 1:1 situations, and I enjoy them a lot more. Large groups certainly have their place, but you never truly get to know anyone unless you have some genuine one on one time with them. When you are one on one, it allows both sides to be more vulnerable, to ask harder, more interesting questions. There’s less of a need to posture or pretend that all is rainbows and flowers in your life. And you never truly know anyone unless you are able to be vulnerable around each other and expose things about ourselves that are not necessarily flattering, sometimes embarrassing or stigmatized, and other times even flat out damning (potentially).

But I feel really comfortable with this friend. She’s had a hard life, but she’s open about talking about it and you can tell she’s learned and grown so much from her tough experiences. And it kind of makes me intrigued to ask her more about what’s happened and how she’s handled it. In turn, she’s asked me a lot about things I normally don’t discuss with casual friends, like my family, Ed, and IVF. What was funny was that she projected onto me a bit. She’s never wanted children, and for the longest time, even while dating who is now her husband, she never even wanted to get married. So when I revealed to her that Kaia was conceived via IVF after a year of trying to conceive naturally and failing, she said she was surprised. She had, for some reason, assumed that Kaia was not planned. No, she was very much planned and wanted, I assured her.

As I’ve gotten older, and especially working 100 percent remotely now, it’s been harder to meet and make new friends. While I’ve met people through Kaia’s daycare/school, it’s not really the same because you’re bonded more because of the kids. But it’s been comforting to know that I’ve successfully made at least one friend since being pregnant who can be completely raw and real with me.

The relationships you have (and don’t have) with your parents

Yesterday, my friend came over for dinner, and eventually the topic of our parents came up. While her relationship with her parents is not as fractured as mine is, she definitely has strained relationships with both parents and wish it could be better. In her family, she somehow always gets labeled the “selfish” one who needs to be accommodated, even when she actually bends over backwards to do the exact opposite. And her older sister, in her usual pattern, always plays “victim” and has both parents feeling sorry for her and blaming my friend in the end. It makes no sense, but what does in a dysfunctional family?

I told her that I hadn’t spoken with my mom since end of February after she accused me of being mad at her for not sending money to Kaia (and as for my dad, I haven’t spoken with him over the phone since right before our August 2022 visit with Kaia, when he (figuratively) fell off his rocker and called me a bitch for no legitimate reason). I think it should go without saying that I’ve never had a track record or any record of being a gold digger or seeking out my parents solely for their money. So it’s beyond insulting to think that she’d come up with this crap in her head. It’s just yet another sign to me of how poisoned my mother’s brain has become over the years. She once had so much promise and positivity about the world, but as the years have gone by and bitterness through her experiences has chipped away at her, now she is just a mentally unstable, negativity inducing old woman who chooses to see the worst in everyone. And when there is nothing “bad” to see, she decides, in her head, to fabricate lies about what some given person has said, done, or “thought.”

That just reminded me of my bad memories growing up, being frightened that my mom WAS actually the thought police, policing my thoughts and trying to tell me how to “feel” or even “think.” That was pretty awful, to say the least.

I’ve tried to give my parents nice experiences through vacations that they were never grateful for (and nitpicked over what they spent money on vs. what Chris or I bought for them). I’ve tried buying them nice gifts. I’ve paid for meals for them. I’ve tried spending time with them in various ways when I go back to San Francisco, which they have rejected, complained about, or in one case, where my dad just stormed off and said he didn’t want to go (on a stupid walk, of all things). I said very flattering and gracious things about both of them at my wedding during speeches. I think I’ve tried what I can do to in order to make our relationship better from my side. But it’s not fair for me to do all the work. It takes both sides of a relationship to make it better, and they just keep doing everything in their power to make our relationship worst, whether they are aware of it or not. They have pushed me away, so far that I don’t really think we’ll ever recover.

So, I think back to what my therapist told me two years ago. “It’s okay to mourn the relationship you wish you had, but don’t,” she said. I told my friend this, as well, and she agreed that it was a good thing to hear and be told, and even reminded of. My therapist reminded me of this a few times, and I probably really needed to hear it. Usually, I just brush it off and try to be strong about it. I hate feeling sorry for myself, especially when I know that all around, I’ve lived a very privileged, fun-filled life with rich experiences and good relationships. “Why do you have to say that?” she’d ask me. “So, what… because you have some privileges, you’re not allowed to be sad about what you wish you had or don’t have?” Okay, fair point.

But I have moments of real sadness, especially when I see and hear of other people around my age who have very healthy, loving relationships with their parents. I feel a bit envious and wonder why I got the shit end of the stick when it came to parents. They don’t even have a relationship with my only child, their only grandchild. It’s beyond senseless. And when I think about it really deeply, I just get incensed to the point where I want to bash their faces in.

So, that’s part of what my friend and I talked about last night, and I suppose it’s fitting since Father’s Day is this coming Sunday. I’ll send my dad a gift and probably barely get a response or thank you over text or email, and we’ll all carry on with our separate lives as we always do. I’ve made peace with it because I know in my heart that I’ve done everything in my power to improve our relationship… while they have done absolutely nothing because they continue to live in their own past trauma and lack the emotional maturity to treat their only living child even decently.

Postpartum cooking for neighbors

A neighbor of ours who had their first child about six months after Kaia was born just had her second child a few weeks ago. We bonded over the last few years since we used to go to the gym at the same time and were obsessive about exercise. Plus, we later found out that we both went through IVF to conceive our children. She and her husband had tried naturally to conceive for eight years with no result (I cannot imagine how excruciating that was since every month for a year, I felt annoyed every time I got my period). They took endless tests, and no abnormalities were detected. In year nine, they finally did IVF and were lucky enough to get four genetically tested embryos via one IVF cycle. The first did not “stick,” the second became their first child, a girl; the third also did not stick, and the fourth… is now their newborn son.

I wanted to do something nice for them, so I decided to offer to make them dinner one night. When you are in the newborn fog, and especially with two kids, I’m sure it can be extremely rough. You don’t have the time or energy to cook, so you end up relying on takeout and delivery a bit too much for sustenance. But a home cooked meal is always appreciated and probably healthier for you. So since my friend was already coming over for dinner, I gave my neighbors individual portions of what I made: vegan dal makhani, butter chickpeas, black pepper mushroom fry, pea pulao (rice), corn masala, beet raita with cashew yogurt, mixed green salad with homemade French-style vinaigrette, and vegan lemon olive oil cake. I also gave her a mug of Chinese red date ginger tea and advised her to drink it warm or hot to aid in postpartum recovery. They marveled over the two cookie-sheets worth of food I brought and said how grateful they were for this gesture. “You said you were bringing over dinner, not an entire restaurant!! HOW CAN THERE BE MORE FOOD THAN THIS?” she had exclaimed, when I came with a second tray of food. And surprisingly, our neighbor said she really enjoyed the tea and would like more, which I still have half a jug left of.

When I was younger, I always imagined myself making meals and bringing them over to friends after giving birth as a birthing gift, if you want to call it that. But then I never had any friends who gave birth who lived that close by, so it never happened. I guess this is as close as it’s going to get for me to do something like this for someone, and I’m happy it was well received.

Vegan lemon olive oil cake

Vegan baking is not something I ever imagined really getting into while I was in high school or college. I did bake a few vegan brownie recipes while in college because someone I worked with one summer inspired me with her own veganism. But I always thought of vegan baking as annoying because of all the substitutions that have to be made, and how not intuitive it all is. Eggs are typically used as a binder for cakes, cookies, and pancakes, so what do you use in place of them? The two major options in the realm of vegan baking seem to be a) flax egg (1 Tbsp ground flaxseed to 3 Tbsp water), and 2) aquafaba, which is a term for the bean liquid left in a can of garbanzo beans (chickpeas). How do you get buttery or creamy richness without butter or cream? You can use a rich oil like coconut oil or olive oil, or you can make cashew cream with soaked cashews blended with some water.

Once I started reading about all the alternatives, I realized it actually wasn’t that hard after all. But you can’t really just tweak a recipe and make 1:1 substitutes to make it vegan. You really have to start from scratch. And so I had this vegan lemon olive oil cake bookmarked for ages, but I never made it until today. I got inspired to make it after the non-vegan orange olive oil cake was such a hit at Chris’s mom’s cousin’s place a couple months ago, and I wanted to see how I could make a version of that cake but a) not use as much olive oil and b) not use as many eggs, or any eggs at all, as that recipe I originally used calls for a LOT!). All these ingredients can get really expensive. Plus, we’re living in high inflation times. And for baking, I rarely have heavy cream or cream cheese on hand, so it would be nice to get substitutes that are more pantry-based. This recipe had no egg substitute. I wondered if it would really bind together well or if it would totally fall apart. But I had been following this vegan baking blogger for ages, and she had over 68 5-star reviews, so I figured it had to be a pretty good recipe. I also thought it would turn out well when I saw metric measurements noted on her site. Ever since I got my cheap $10 digital kitchen scale, I don’t think I can go back to regular measuring cups for baking anymore. It’s so exact, and it’s just fun!

So I mixed the batter, added it to my greased, parchment-lined loaf pan, and baked it in the oven for 60 minutes. I let it cool and then unmolded it. Then I took it out and had a small slice, and wow – the edge piece was really crunchy, and the lemon and olive oil flavor really came out beautifully. The crumb was very moist and tight — not even a remote sign of falling apart. I used 10 grams less sugar because it just seemed like a lot of sugar, and the cake was just sweet enough to be called dessert.

I’m planning to share this cake with some neighbors, one of whom just had her second baby. I can’t wait to tell them that this cake is vegan!

Toddlers – they don’t understand why the sidewalk is not the same as the street

Sometimes while walking, Kaia will decide that she doesn’t want to walk anymore and protest walking, so she will literally just stop and sit on the sidewalk — you know, RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE. It doesn’t matter how busy the pedestrian traffic is. She will just stop and sit. Once, she almost stopped and sat within inches of fresh dog poo, and you can imagine how freaked out I was by that. Do you think she even knows what dog poop is?

Twice while walking together, she’s decided she no longer wants to walk and has tried to sit in the middle of the street, while the walking signal is counting down. In those times, I immediately piced her up, tucked her under my arm, and powered towards the other side of the street. I felt like that parent, the one with the screaming, kicking, tantrumming toddler who is just trying to appear calm, cool, and collected in public but whose head is about to implode.

Well, today was a new kind of fun. A few times while on her scooter, Kaia decided she didn’t want to use the scooter OR walk. She wanted to be carried… you know, by ME. So I had the fun job of carrying not just her but also her scooter which doesn’t even have the option of being neatly folded up. So I’d awkwardly carry her in one arm and the scooter in another. She’s only getting heavier, so I cannot carry her the way she wants to be held, so she’d get mad at the weird positioning and start fussing. Today while on our way home after school, she decided to abruptly get off her scooter with only four seconds left on the walking countdown, right in the middle of the street, and SIT RIGHT THERE.

It was rush hour obviously at that time. Tons of cars are waiting for their green light. And me. And Kaia. And the green scooter. But they all, of course, stay still and watch me as I collect my screaming child and her scooter, off the street and to the safety of the sidewalk. Two bikers who were approaching even got off their bikes to ask if I needed help with Kaia and the scooter. It was very kind and generous of them. No one honked at me or said anything. Both drivers as well as bikers and people passing by gave me sympathetic looks.

There are many very sweet, cuddly, heart warming, I-want-to-squeeze-you-so-hard moments I have with Kaia from the moment she was born to her now as an increasingly opinionated and stubborn 2.5-year-old. But this… this was not one of them. This is one of those moments that makes me think, “Oh, dear. What kind of a teenager are you going to be….?!”