Missing brand-new black Uniqlo turtleneck from Japan is found after one year and three months!

Last year when we were coming back from Japan, we stuffed our car seat case with lots of extra things we had purchased there, which were mostly clothes and snacks. When we came back to New York and unpacked the car seat case, I was surprised to not find the Uniqlo ultra-warm Heat Tech black turtleneck I had purchased. It was brand new, never worn. I turned everything upside down to find it, yet the sweater was no where to be found. I became increasingly annoyed. I kept searching over the course of five days. Chris insisted that if it wasn’t there, it wasn’t there; he had seen me go through things more than four or five times and was pretty sure I had looked at everything. It was the one thing from our trip that was unaccounted for, and it bothered me to no end. I always hate it when I lose anything, even the smallest thing. It’s rarely about the value; for me, it’s about the mere principle of losing something. That sweater retails for about $25 USD in the States, and in Tokyo, I had gotten it for the equivalent of $9-10 USD. But I let go, as in reality, $9-10 isn’t an insane amount of money to lose.

Fast forward to today, and I asked our building porter to bring up our large suitcases in the building basement. I had seen an #ISO (# in search of) post in my local Buy-Nothing group for a car seat case for air travel. Chris confirmed he didn’t want to use ours anymore, so I decided to pass it on to the next Buy-Nothing neighbor. I had generously received ours from another neighbor, who had also only used it for one international trip. I took the car seat case out of the suitcase and fully unzipped it. I remembered the missing black sweater in this moment, and so, for good measure, I thoroughly patted down the inside of the car seat case one last time to ensure nothing was stuck in it. Suddenly, I felt a different cloth texture embedded in a compartment. Then, I turned the case upside down and shook the whole thing vigorously. And out came my black Uniqlo sweater, missing for the last year and three months!! I was so, so happy! I immediately picked it up and put it on, admiring myself wearing it in the mirror. My brand new black sweater was found!!

Sometimes, it’s the little things in life. And I truly do embrace these little things in the daily humdrum that is life. This one surprise find truly made my day today.

To my mom, “work travel” = free meals

Ever since I first started working, my mom always gets excited whenever she hears I go on business trips. For her, all she seems to hear is “free hotel and food,” and so she thinks it’s extremely luxurious to have the privilege of free lodging and meals. While yes, it is very nice and convenient to have your temporary housing and food paid for, it’s not like it’s just a “you take” situation. You are getting free food and housing in exchange for your professional services that you are offering on behalf of your company. It’s very much a transactional expectation.

It has not always been that luxurious, though: at one company I worked at, I only had a $75 per diem, so that was challenging when I went to larger, more expensive cities, especially once you factor in tax and tip. Today at my current company, I have $125/day, which is the highest I’ve had anywhere. It’s a nice and reasonably generous allotment, but again, dinner time tends to be challenging to stay within guidelines if you’re in a larger city.

Sometimes, I feel sad that my mom doesn’t know what it’s like to travel for work. She worked hard her entire life in a white-collar setting, but she never had the opportunity to “move up” out of the equivalent of an admin role. She looks at me going on work trips, and she thinks it’s all fun and games, wining and dining. She doesn’t quite see the “work” part about it; she focuses on the “trip” part of it. At the same time, I also get a little annoyed that all she focuses on is the “free” stuff I get. My mom grew up quite poor, as did my dad. Today, they have far more than they will ever be able to spend on themselves. Yet somehow, they are still obsessive about anything that is either extremely cheap or free; they are like the millionaires who jump at free stuff and hoard everything they humanly can. I can see how that’s the poor person’s mentality, especially with immigrants like my mom, people who had to work very hard to get to their comfortable standard of living today. But in my parents’ situation, they erroneously believe they are still poor or are at risk of being poor any day, so they try to take anything they possibly can that is free or cheap to make their money last even longer. I grapple with what to make of it. I would like for them to be comfortable, to enjoy life, to acknowledge that they have far more than enough and are quite privileged with all that they have (and have earned), but I doubt they ever will.

Wisdom teeth removal and a liquid diet

In the U.S., it’s pretty normal to have your wisdom teeth removed when you’re a teenager or in your early 20s. The logic the dentist tells you (and has you believe is true…) is that your mouth will be overcrowded, that the wisdom teeth growing in later will start pushing up against all your other teeth, and thus they will ruin any orthodontic work (read: braces) that your parents (and their dental insurance) so heavily invested money in. They tell you that wisdom teeth serve no purpose other than to be a nuisance, so they must be removed! However, it seems like wisdom teeth removal is likely a reason why our mouths have gotten smaller over time, which have led to issues such as teeth grinding (bruxism), breathing problems, and a plethora of other issues that only the modern human seems to have experience with.

Chris never had orthodontic work, nor did he have his wisdom teeth removed as a young adult. But alas, this past week, he’s been having a lot of pain back there, so he went to a dental specialist yesterday to get this checked out. He ultimately made the decision to have all four of them removed. Let’s be clear here: removing adult teeth or wisdom teeth is no small feat. It’s not like when you’re a kid, and you’re pulling out a teeny tiny baby tooth with zero roots. Adult tooth roots, and especially wisdom teeth roots, GO DEEP. It’s a surgery, not a simple extraction. They are large, deep, and leave huge holes in your mouth. Those holes can trap food, and they need to be flushed out.

So when Chris came back with four holes in his mouth, plus a little post-surgery care kit, Kaia immediately noticed something was wrong with Daddy. “Daddy, what happen to your mouth?” Kaia said. “Are you hurt? You can’t talk?”

Chris’s mouth was stuffed with gauze getting soaked with blood gradually. He was coming off of numbing medication, and he was very understandably lethargic and slow moving. After procedures like this, it makes sense to have soft or liquid foods, so I suggested he have some oat porridge. I made some, but he said it was too “grainy,” so he had one bowl, and I left the other bowl for myself today. Then, he suggested that I could get him some “thick” soup at Whole Foods. I ended up going to the hot bar and picking up a large container of wild seafood chowder. Unfortunately, he was so uncomfortable eating the solid food pieces that he ended up picking out almost all the salmon and potatoes. Today, he seems a bit better. I made some vegan white bean soup and pureed it for him. But he’s getting cabin fever given he hasn’t been able to go anywhere. Plus, outside of soup, soup, oats, tea, and yogurt with jam, he hasn’t really had much else to eat.

These are the times you really realize how important food is to you (okay, well, us). It’s not only a source of sustenance, but it’s also a source of joy given how lucky we are to have such a vast variety of food available to us. We had ordered Filipino food from a nearby spot on Friday, yet he’s not going to be able to eat any of it given the texture, so Pookster and I will have to eat the rest. Adult wisdom teeth surgery stinks, even if it is necessary.

Family style eating goes awry (in a work setting)

I’ve spent almost 17 years working full time. My happiest times with my colleagues were likely for about two years while at my second company, and about 1.5 years at my last company. Both times, we had a good group of people of different backgrounds, from different parts of the country (and occasionally, world), most of whom loved food (and drink) and were just fun to be around. I didn’t always feel compelled to talk about only work with them. In both situations, I was often known as the “foodie,” so whenever group happy hours or dinners had to be arranged, I was given the responsibility (and privilege) to choose where we would eat/drink, and to make the reservation. Price was rarely an issue, and the company (or vendor) always paid for it. And most of those times, we would share food, and people would leave full and happy… and occasionally tipsy to drunk.

Well, fast forward to today, when I’m on my fifth year with my current company, and my entire team is fully remote. We don’t get to spend much in-person time together. If we have regular “catch-ups,” they are usually on Zoom and inevitably 99 percent about work. We don’t really know each other that well. Though most people know I’m into food and cooking, my manager has been told that he has to stay within really tight budget guidelines for team meals. So he half jokingly told me he doesn’t trust me choosing a restaurant for us, though he has no doubt it would be amazing. Given this, when we’ve had team meals out, he typically will choose a place off the cuff, and it’ll be fairly basic. Other people on the team have made side comments to me that our manager’s taste in food stinks (he is known for his addiction to Coke and eats way too much fast food, particularly chicken wings, burgers, and bad pizza), and that our team meals are rarely things to look forward to because of it. He has plenty of strengths; diversity in or knowledge of food is not one of them.

For this past Wednesday’s team meal, he chose a family-style Italian restaurant right next to our hotel. When I’ve had family-style Italian meals in the past with colleagues, the great thing was that whenever the powers-that-be ordered, we’d always have a good variety of dishes: starters, vegetables, pastas, proteins/plant-based proteins, dessert. I always felt like the meal was well rounded, and we always ate well. This time, however, it wasn’t that well rounded, and I felt limited because of the limited palates of my teammates.

We started with a caesar salad with croutons, which I loved because the caesar dressing was particularly pungent with extra, extra garlic. We got a “Tour of Italy” plate, which was essentially a mixed plate of cold cuts, antipasti, cut baguettes, and cheeses — this was pretty disappointing looking, and I didn’t touch this. Then, for mains we had… pasta. Just pasta. No parmigiano. No vegetables. Nothing else. Our manager chose four pastas: baked ziti (this felt like it was for toddlers with how basic it was; I wouldn’t even order or make this for Kaia), spaghetti bolognese, meatballs with vodka sauce and spaghetti, and carbonara. I insisted from the beginning that we must have clam linguine. The table was silent. No one wanted to eat clam linguine with me other than one other colleague. My boss conceded and said we’d get a smaller portion of the clam linguine just for my one clam-eating colleague and me. One colleague said she had a shellfish allergy. Another said shellfish made her mouth itchy. A third said she’d have some (just one bite; she ended up taking none). A fourth insisted she would try “just a small bite” and didn’t touch it. On a team of eight people, only two of us ate the clam linguine. It was freaking delicious, by far the best pasta on the table. There was so much leftover clam linguine (well, actually, we had so much leftover of ALL the pasta) that would ultimately go into the garbage bin. It always hurts a little to see how much food waste we generate at these team meals. But that is the way with corporate life and corporate dining out in general, sadly. We were served family style, so everyone got a little bit of each pasta (minus the clam linguine, which the two of us served ourselves) on our plates doled out by our server. But almost every single person looked like s/he barely ate half their plate. I had felt bloated most of the day, so I only ate my clam linguine and a bite each of the other pastas.

It feels spoiled and bratty to complain about this, especially given I’m traveling on my company’s dime and won’t be paying for any of my meals during this work trip. But I couldn’t help but feel annoyed at how unadventurous my colleagues were in terms of their palates and what they were willing to eat. I felt like I was the “different” one and slightly being “othered” once again, and in this case, it’s crazy because it’s just clams in pasta we are talking about! It’s like they generally lack curiosity about different foods… and perhaps it could even be extended to say that they lack curiosity about other cultures and the world outside their own bubbles. I mean, how else did we get into the crappy predicament we are in with our current government?

When your toddler tugs at your leg (and heart)

Since my first work trip this year in January when I went to Las Vegas, I decided to start recording short videos of myself to have Chris share with Kaia while I was away. I did the same while in Denver this week, and Chris always says she loves them. Chris also shares videos of Kaia talking about all kinds of things, as well as demanding a “video of mummy.” She was at backup care at her old school today since her current school is closed for parent-teacher conferences today. I got back in time to fully unpack, get dinner ready, and pick her up. She wasn’t expecting me at pickup time, but when she saw me enter the classroom, she wordlessly ran up to me and wrapped her arms around me. Then, she motioned her legs to indicate she wanted me to pick her up. I held her tightly while asking her temporary teacher how her day was, gathered her belongings, and we left.

Pookster didn’t say too much on the way home, but when I asked her if she missed me, she vigorously nodded her head to say yes. And when we got back home to eat dinner together, I had to break the news to her that Chris and I would be going out for a comedy show to see Kumail Nanjiani that evening, so her former teacher/babysitter would be coming to watch her. Unlike last week when she took the news in stride and confidently said she’d show her babysitter her toys and books, this time, she stuck her lower lip out and looked like she was going to cry.

“I don’t WANT mummy to go out and see friends!” Kaia yelled. She always thinks that when Chris and I go out without her, it’s “to see friends.”

Then when the babysitter arrived, Kaia got really upset and started balling. She was sobbing like crazy, demanding endless hugs and kisses from both of us. She kept pulling my leg and saying she wanted to come, too. Chris explained to the babysitter that Kaia hadn’t seen me since Monday morning, and I’d literally just come back about two hours ago. So Pookster only got to see me for less than an hour before I’d leave again. I felt terrible, but there was nothing else to be done. We went out, and Kaia had the evening with the babysitter.

When we got back from our comedy show, the babysitter told us that Kaia eventually calmed down, but she didn’t want to play or read or do anything with her. She lied on our bed for a bit, cuddling “mummy’s sweater.” Then, she demanded the babysitter change her into her pajamas. She got help with peeing in the potty, then went straight to bed alone. I suppose this is Kaia’s way of coping as a three-year-old, when she’s upset she doesn’t get mummy and daddy, but she doesn’t have a say in the matter.

Kaia stayed in her bed until just past 4am, when she walked into our room with her goodie bag and overalls (current obsession, thanks to Ms. Rachel), and tapped my face to wake me up. I pulled her into the bed and under the covers, where she held onto me tighter than she ever has before. It almost felt like she thought that the tighter she held onto me, then I’d never leave her side again. For a while, I just looked at her little face as she peered into my eyes with this huge grin. My baby was so happy to see me and be with me again, and I felt so touched. These are those moments of motherhood where I just feel like I’m going to melt into a pool of joy. These are the moments I look at her and think, wow. I’m just in awe of how someone so small and sweet can fill my heart with such immense love. Kaia Pookie is truly my greatest blessing and joy. I hope she always knows that. I remind her every day before bed.

Later this morning, once Kaia was all ready for school, Chris asked me what time Kaia came over. I told him. “You have to send her back!” he insisted. The last two nights, she apparently didn’t come to the bed at all while I was away. But given it was already past 4am, and given I hadn’t seen her since Monday, I indulged her and enjoyed the moment of snuggling with my sweet baby. Of course, I want to set boundaries with her, but other times, I just want to enjoy the moment and let my Kaia Pookie enjoy her safe place, which is in her parents’ bed, right in between the two people she loves the most.

Fashionista – everywhere in the U.S. except in New York City

I’ve been called a lot of adjectives, positive and negative, over the course of my life. But “fashionable” or “trendy” are not words that I had ever been called until I started working at my last company. When I used to travel to my last company’s headquarters in San Francisco, I would usually be the most dressed up person in a meeting or conference room. I’d walk through a sea of hoodies, Patagonia fleeces, or North Face pullovers. This was also the case while walking on the streets of downtown San Francisco. It’s almost as though no one even attempted to look nice for work and just wanted to give the “I don’t care what I am wearing” vibe off. Everyone just wanted to look like everyone else! It wasn’t even like I was wearing expensive or tailored clothing; I’d just happen to be wearing a dress or a skirt, and everyone would shower me with compliments on how pretty my outfit was. Then, at my current company, we had a team offsite last year in San Francisco. On my team, I was voted one of the most fashionable, which I found laugh-out-loud funny, as that could not be farther from the truth.

I was reminded of this when I went out for coffee yesterday morning in downtown Denver with a colleague. We were at a coffee shop and grabbed our lattes when they were ready. And as we walked out, a woman almost chased me out to tap me on my shoulder.

“Hey! Sorry to bother you, but I absolutely love your boots!” the woman nearly squealed. “Where did you get them from? They are so cute!”

I thanked her for the compliment and told her that they were from Nordstrom and are actually Nordstrom brand, and I’d purchased them last year during a Black Friday sale. Unfortunately, I couldn’t say I got them from some exotic, foreign place custom made and designed, though I’m sure that would have sounded very impressive. She thanked me for letting her know, and my colleague and I went on our merry way back to our workshop.

“No one ever thinks I am fashionable in New York,” I told my colleague from Texas. “I am only ‘fashionable’ when I go to other U.S. cities!”

Uniquely female burdens

Last year when I was in Denver for work, I got an unexpected message from a friend’s friend saying that she and her family had actually moved here from New York, and that she’d like to catch up if possible. Unfortunately at that time, all my evenings were packed with pre-booked work events, so I wasn’t able to get away. It was a bit unexpected, to be frank, that she reached out. While I’d never really considered her a friend while in New York, I did see her from time to time at mutual friends’ events, and we did get along. We’d tried hanging out once before with our partners, but we never did much more than that. So when she reached out, I figured she was having a difficult time transitioning from urban to suburban life, coupled with transitioning into motherhood (her daughter is about six months younger than Kaia). She probably wanted to see a familiar face.

So this time ahead of this trip, I reached out to see if she could meet. We did have a decent amount in common on paper: we both love food, desserts, travel, and now we’re both mothers, so we’d have that to bond over. She immediately accepted and we made plans for dinner, which ended up happening last night. I was really touched; she actually drove almost an hour to see me (Denver traffic can be crazy during rush hour), and we spent three hours discussing marriage, motherhood, work, travel, moving, and life in general. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her, but it felt really good to have a deep chat… and to get away from colleagues for a night.

Sometimes, I think about all the trials and tribulations that women have to go through just to procreate, and I cannot believe that women still want to bear children. This friend had three miscarriages: two happened before her daughter was conceived; the third happened last year, before her current pregnancy. Miscarriages are more common than they are not, but her first one was particularly traumatic. At around 11 weeks of pregnancy, she started bleeding profusely. She drove herself to the hospital, where they confirmed she had miscarried. She was given the option of having a dilation and curettage (D&C) to remove the dead fetal tissue from her uterus, or letting it expel itself naturally. Her father, who is a doctor, advised her against the D&C, and suggested she just go home and let it happen naturally. Well, it just got worse from there: the next two days, everything she sat or lied on was soaked with pools of blood, and she basically laid on her bathroom floor most of that time, experiencing painful contractions for almost 48 hours. These are one of those scary miscarriage stories that no one warns you about, that for some women when they have miscarriages, regardless of whether it’s first trimester or not, they can actually go into labor.

The thought is just beyond sad and excruciating — to go through labor without seeing a living, breathing baby at the end. I think of all the women who have had stillbirths, where they know their fetus is dead, but they still have to go through the labor and “give birth” to a dead baby. The mere thought brings me to tears. And somehow, even after this horrible and painful experience, this friend kept trekking along to try to conceive. She went on to experience a second miscarriage, a viable pregnancy and birth and baby, and then a THIRD miscarriage, and finally a second viable pregnancy, and she’s still here and excited to be pregnant. It just shows how much burden women have to bear, literally on their own, and how resilient we all are. It takes a lot emotionally, mentally, physically, to go through all this stress and loss. It likely raises cortisol levels and puts you on the defensive for everything. In the end, we vacillate between surviving and thriving.

But it sounds like since she’s moved down to the southern suburbs of Denver, she’s been mostly in survival mode. She has no friends here. She works fully remotely. She has a sister and their family who live in a nearby suburb, but that’s it. She misses walking (people drive everywhere here, like in most of the U.S.) and going from store to store to restaurant by foot. She feels isolated and like she does 90 percent-plus of all the child rearing. When she saw me for dinner last night, it was the only time since they’d moved here that she’d actually gone out to dinner, alone without her daughter, to catch up with a friend. While she’s excited for her second baby, she’s terrified what it will mean for the division of labor at home, her marriage, and the effect it will have on her daughter, who is extremely attached to her and who has had an assortment of frustrating health issues since birth.

I hear these stories, and I realize even more how lucky I am. Although IVF was certainly no walk on the beach, I went through just one stimulation cycle. I’ve never had a physically painful miscarriage experience (though I do still mourn my “vanishing twin”). I had a straightforward pregnancy and child birth. I was lucky and privileged to have a healthy, easy-going baby in Kaia Pookie. Kaia Pookie, knock on wood, is still thriving and impressing (while simultaneously infuriating) Chris and me every single day with all she learns and knows. I’m also lucky to have a partner who has done his share and tries to make sure I’m not carrying all the burden of child rearing. At the same time, it makes me sad and angry that women who are as smart, accomplished, well educated, and confident like this friend still allow themselves to be put into situations where they have to bear the brunt of all stereotypical gender roles, such as child rearing and the mental load of maintaining a functional household – much against their own wishes. Are men really that ill equipped for the current century, or are women just so desperate to have heterosexual partners to procreate with that we “settle” in that regard?

Back in the “Mile High City”

For the last three years, I’ve come to Denver once a year in Q1 for work. The last two years, it has been for my company’s annual sales and success kickoff. This year, it’s for my company’s go-to-market value selling workshops. We’ve always been based in downtown Denver for these events, and so it’s given me time to walk around and see what’s here, especially since the last time I was here was in November 2012 with Chris. The first year I came for work in 2023, I walked up and down downtown, and it was like a ghost town. It didn’t matter if it was peak lunch time or around early dinner time/get-off-work time, but I barely saw anyone on the streets. It felt pretty eerie. Last year when I came, there was a bit more life. I definitely wasn’t totally alone, but it was still quiet. This year as I’ve walked the streets in the morning and during lunch time, it actually felt like a semi-busy downtown. I saw lots of people having coffee, at cafes, grabbing lunch with colleagues, coming in and out of office buildings.

I always make sure to do morning workouts while traveling for work and stick with my usual exercise routine as much as possible, so I brought my workout gear. This morning, I went up to the top floor gym, where the hotel had a large, separate yoga room that was flooded with natural light. Although I do a semi-rigorous workout every weekday, which consists about 30-40 minutes of cardio and 30-40 minutes of strength/pilates/barre, here, I could actually feel that I was “mile high.” The last two years, I didn’t feel the altitude, but this year, I was breathing much harder on the treadmill and sweating buckets more than I normally do. Denver is 5,200+ feet above sea level, so it makes sense that my body was working harder than it normally does.

As my colleague said, we should take it all in stride: our workouts are more efficient here! If we workout for 60 minutes at higher altitude, that’s like 120 minutes at sea level, so we’re doing our bodies a favor! I suppose that’s one way to be positive.

My little baby is becoming a little human

It’s crazy to think that today, Kaia is three years, three months old. In just the last few weeks, she’s matured so much. Her sentence structure is getting more and more complex. She uses a lot of “{Insert sentence}, but…” She’s been asking endless “why?” questions. She asks what certain words from Chinese are in English, and then what certain English words are in Chinese (then, if I don’t know the answer she will ask Alexa!). She notices the most subtle, discreet things, such as the tiny little green light that goes with the new fire alarms just installed across the rooms of our apartment. If you try to hide something for her, she immediately calls it out and asks inquisitively, “What’s that?” She also has even more refined preferences: when she chooses her books for bedtime story time, she is specific and says she wants this book first, then that book.

Watching Kaia grow is likely the greatest privilege of my life. She is so freaking smart, so loving and affectionate. She picks up things so quickly, and she’s just so happy (most of the time). Every day I look at her, even when she’s being completely irrational and infuriating, and I just don’t know how I got so lucky with her. I recently spoke with a new friend about her IVF journey — four stimulation cycles, several transfers, and three miscarriages, and my heart swelled hearing her story that IVF did not lead to success for her and her husband. Since they started trying years ago, they’ve also been on the adoption route given they wanted to ideally have their own and adopt. Hopefully, that works out for them. But when I shared my own IVF story with her and talk about Kaia, I told her I’m painfully cognizant that not everyone is as lucky as Chris and I have been with our fertility journey.

I only hope that I can have a healthy, functional, and happy relationship with Kaia as she gets older, and that she truly knows I want everything amazing in life for her.

Opo squash soup – canh bau – a delicious home-style Vietnamese soup

Lately, I’ve been thinking more about traditional Chinese, Vietnamese, and Thai (because I love Thai 🙂 ) meals at home. I think about all the dishes I probably took for granted that my mom, aunt, and grandma would make when I was little, and I’ve gotten some nostalgia for them. A lot of not so glamorous dishes that are considered home-style or home cooking are really what make up the bulk of a traditional Chinese, Vietnamese, or Thai family’s meals, and so I’ve been thinking about how to incorporate those elements into my week to week cooking. Since Kaia was born, I will be honest and say that our at-home meals, unless I’m expecting guests, tend to be a bit disjointed. I will make one Vietnamese dish, then have some Chinese-style dishes made, and then randomly throw in some Instant Pot dal or other quick lentil soup. I haven’t had a lot of time to think through what I want to make, how I will make it, and then how they will all form a semi-cohesively themed meal.

Since I discovered that I can get decently priced and good quality meat at Hong Kong Supermarket in Manhattan Chinatown, I’ve been thinking about all the home-style soups I could make. And one of them was opo squash soup. Opo squash is a common green-colored squash that is used in East/Southeast Asian cooking, and it’s commonly used to flavor soups. When it’s paired with chicken, pork, or shrimp, it takes on a really nice savory, subtly sweet flavor in the broth it’s in. It is hard to describe it accurately, but it’s a very savory, warming, and nourishing flavor that in my mind, sums up Asian style home cooking. I hadn’t had a soup prepared with it for ages, as I know my mom used to make it for us when we were growing up. So when I prepared it on Saturday evening and tasted the finished broth, it took me back to the flavors of my mom’s home cooking back in the day.

So it made me really happy when I showed Kaia the soup, and she immediately loved it. She ended up having three servings of it. I picked out more chicken pieces for her to eat, and she totally devoured them. And surprisingly, she did not hesitate to eat the squash; she probably had just as much squash as she did chicken! Every time she embraces a dish I cook, especially if it’s something that’s more home-style like what I grew up with, I feel like my heart just sings. I’m so happy to give her flavors from her cultures to love and cherish.