Category Archives: Confusion

Unreliable childcare = situation normal in the U.S.

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Back in August, over a month before I confirmed and booked a restaurant for my 40th birthday dinner party coming up this Saturday, I reached out to our main babysitter who lives a block away to ask if she’d be able to babysit Kaia that night. She agreed and blocked it out on her calendar. And despite the fact that she confirmed she could come all the way back in August, I had this weird feeling in the back of my mind that something, somehow, would come up closer to January 17, and she would end up cancelling.

Unfortunately, my gut feeling was correct. I typically reach out to our chosen babysitter about a week ahead of the date they are scheduled to come to ensure they can still make it — just as a reminder. I texted her on Sunday and did not get a response until Monday morning, when she told me she could no longer come because her grandmother had died. It wasn’t clear what the timeline was for her grandmother’s passing, which is obviously sad, but all I knew was that I needed to find a replacement ASAP. And with less than a week’s notice, it would be a real challenge to find a replacement.

I immediately reached out to our #2 babysitter. She couldn’t make it because of her son’s basketball game. A third babysitter through Chris confirmed she also could not make it. I asked babysitter #2 if she could recommend anyone she trusted. She said that she had a 26-year-old daughter who has three kids of her own (and thus childcare experience) who she could ask if she would be free. She immediately found out she was, sent me her number, and we texted back and forth to confirm her pay rate, time, our address, and agreed to have her come.

Ideally, we’d have a babysitter come who knew Kaia, who Kaia knew. But in this case, we ran out of options. The three babysitters we usually cycle through were all unavailable. We have no backup care options through my work; Chris doesn’t work anymore, so his work benefit is long gone. We have no grandparents nearby. So we’re constantly at the whim of babysitters who can easily flake on us at any time, with zero notice. And then we’re stuck. In these moments, I get frustrated that reliable, trustworthy, affordable childcare is such a challenge and impossibility here. It feels like a no-win situation. And then I can’t help but get annoyed by people I know who do have able bodied, mentally sound grandparents nearby who can help (for free), yet they still complain about their free childcare all the time. No one is ever satisfied with what they have.

“The beach took my sandal away”

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We discovered in Boracay that during the day, it’s generally low tide and the waters are calm and serene. At night, though, high tide arrives, and the waves can come all the way to the steps of businesses (that is REALLY far in if you knew how small the current was during the day!). As with most islands, typhoon alerts are very much a real thing to be cognizant of and concerned about.

Yesterday early evening, Chris was having a massage while Kaia and I played in the water and built sand castles at White Beach. But given we’re so close to the equator, the sun set relatively early, so people started leaving the beach. We eventually left the beach and spent some time walking on the streets to find a restaurant. The place I originally chose had a wait, so we had to find somewhere else. After further browsing, I ended up choosing a restaurant to meet Chris at that would be most convenient if accessed by going to the beach first. What I wasn’t prepared for, especially in the dark, was how far in the tide would be. Luckily Kaia and I both were wearing waterproof sandals, so we were able to walk through the shallow waves easily. But I did feel a little uneasy, wondering if one of her sandals would just disappear with the force of a wave. We met Chris at the restaurant and had a quick dinner.

But after dinner, there was no escaping going back into the water in the dark. There wasn’t a way for us to get back to the hotel via the street; none of the businesses would let us go through their businesses to get to the street (okay, so maybe not everyone here is hospitable). So we had no choice but to walk at the edge of the waves to get back. This time, Chris held Kaia’s hand and walked through the waves. And a few minutes in, Kaia yelled out that she didn’t have a sandal on anymore. We turned on our phone flashlights and tried to see if a wave would bring her sandal back in, but to no avail; the waves had swept away her sandal forever! She ended up having to walk barefoot on one foot for the distance back to the hotel. It wasn’t a long distance, but it was still very annoying. And we were obviously very unhappy to be that family who had their kid lose a single shoe! I was even more mad about this because I just gifted her these sandals right before this trip, and so she’d only been wearing them for a few weeks. I cannot even count the number of times I’ve seen a single flip flop, a single sandal, a single shoe, lying around on the streets of New York, in playgrounds, parks, and at beaches. Each time I see these, I’ve given a sad look at what was lost that I could see, but its rightful owner would unlikely ever see again.

Now, we have to get her new sandal replacements for this trip while here so that she could continue to enjoy what limited time we still have at the beach. We really liked these sandals a lot, and they matched with everything she wore. I felt guilty for not securing the strap more tightly before we left the restaurant (I always tried to strap it on tighter, but she’d yell and say she didn’t like it, and eventually loosen it).

When we got back to the hotel and cleaned up, she gave me this long, glum look and said, “The beach took my sandal away.”

And that’s the story of how White Beach took my baby’s sandal away.

The road to paradise is not always paradise

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Before we arrived in Boracay, I was skimming reviews of our resort hotel we’d booked for our three-night stay there. One reviewer wrote, “If you’re here (in Boracay), you know you’ve made it in life.”

So, I’ve “made it in life” if I’ve come here, huh? Well, I don’t think you get that feeling at all when you are en route to the island of Boracay. The entire experience felt rushed, chaotic, and crowded. It did not feel like I was in the lap of luxury — I can assure you that.

First, we landed in Caticlan Airport. From Caticlan Airport, you have to take a shuttle to a boat to another shuttle/van to get to your hotel; Grab does not exist here. Boat transport is required to get from the airport to the island of Boracay. At the jetty port, you also have to pay tourist/nature conservation fees, and so ideally, you’d want all of these fees plus transport costs covered in one go. Chris rushed out to book our transport to the hotel while Kaia and I waited for our one checked roller bag. We got our bag and eventually came out to a shuttle van, which was going to whisk us off to a jetty port. At the jetty port, we had to wait until our group name was called before they’d load as many of us (and our luggage!) as they could onto the boat. Kaia complained multiple times: “Why is it taking so long?” By this time, it was past dusk, so everything was quite dark. It was hard to see clearly, but you could tell right away that the water was not calm when we were walking towards the boat. So we all crammed ourselves like sardines into these small boats and hoped for the best despite the trashing waters and limited visibility. We finally made to Boracay Island, where we all offloaded from an unsteady boat, got into yet another shuttle van, and then finally got dropped off at our respective hotels after what felt like an endless journey.

Chris remarked that this is how it feels in transit to nearly every tropical island resort that he’s aware of. Throughout the entire journey from mid afternoon to evening, I kept thinking about that online reviewer saying that “we’ve made it in life” since we’re here. I kept chuckling in my head over the irony of that statement. Welp, I always thought “making it in life” would mean never having to be pushed into a jam-packed van or boat and then being rushed from point to point. And I’m positive that reviewer had the same miserable, frantic transfer experience to the hotel we did!

By the time we made it to our hotel, none of us had any desire to go anywhere for food. So Kaia and I showered while Chris went out to a nearby mall and got some chicken inasal for us. And thankfully, that meal was very satisfying and tasty — exactly what we needed after a chaotic transport experience to “paradise.”

Security in Australia and New Zealand vs. the U.S.

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I’ve only ever lived in the U.S. across three different cities. i had only one flight before 9/11, which means that the idea of not going through a security checkpoint before reaching an airport gate is a pretty foreign or unknown concept to me. When we went to Thursday night’s Wankernomics show at Hamer Hall, which is the largest indoor venue at the Arts Centre Melbourne, I felt a little bit weird entering the concert hall and not going through any kind of security whatsoever. There was no line to get in. There were no metal detectors or security guards to pat you down or go through your purses and bags. There were people selling refreshments at the food stands, and of course employees checking tickets when you entered the actual performance area. But that was it.

Chris went to go buy some drinks for us, and I just stood there in amazement, watching dozens and dozens of people entering this huge concert hall — chatting, laughing, eating, sipping drinks — completely carefree. They have no idea how lucky they are to just assume that they will be safe, that there’s no reason to have a metal detector or a security check to enter the facility, that no one could come in with a deadly weapon. I even commented on this to Chris, and he kind of chuckled and just said, “Yeah, we’re not in the U.S. There aren’t guns here.”

It also made me think of doing domestic flights within Australia. Every time we’ve done this, I always have to remind myself that I don’t need to obsess about liquid bottles being under 100ml, which also means that if we are traveling to a popular wine region, we can actually buy and bring back to Melbourne a bottle of wine or two, all in our carry-on luggage. There are no liquid limits. When we enter the airport in Australia for domestic travel, there is a security check, but in New Zealand, you can just walk on in to the gate, and you’re pretty much all set to just show your boarding pass and walk on the plane! People just wait right at the gate to greet their loved ones! That is like the U.S. pre-9/11!

Everyone’s “normal” is very different. My “normal” of going to a U.S. airport for a domestic flight is very different vs. an Australian or New Zealander boarding a domestic flight in their respective countries. My experience of entering a major performing arts venue will also be very different than theirs. I kind of laughed in my head at my surprise/shock of going through Hamer Hall and not dealing with security… because it made me realize how American I am, how I just assume that society in general is low-trust, and that doing a metal detector/security check should probably just be done. But that experience is the only experience I’ve known to date (since the Wankernomics performance is the only show I’ve been to outside of the U.S. that I can recall), and once again, you know what you know, and you don”t know what you are not yet exposed to.

Vir Das in “Hey Stranger” at the Claire Tow Theater, Lincoln Center

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Oftentimes, when people think of the Lincoln Center, they think of huge theaters like David Geffen Hall or David Koch Theater. But there are smaller theaters within Lincoln Center that perhaps have less name recognition that are fun, classy, and intimate, with a seating layout that ensures you are pretty close to the performers and would have zero reason to squint to see them. Vir Das, one of our favorite comedians from Mumbai, is here doing his “Hey Stranger” show at the Claire Tow Theater at the Lincoln Center. He’s the first Indian performer to star in a show at Lincoln Center, so this was a pretty big deal. We went with my friend and her husband to see his show last night, and it was ninety minutes of near-crying laughing, but also with lots of serious moments spread throughout.

One personal thing he revealed during the show was that given the topics he covers in his comedy, he’s more and more not welcome home in India by the government, so he feels like he has no choice but to leave. And the U.S. has offered him a green card. Many people would see this as incredible, but for him, he’s quite torn. Moving to and living in America would mean… he’d ultimately become a different person. His comedy would not be the same. His identity would change. And he wasn’t sure he would like it that much. And we all know he’d end up being grouped with other brown comedians like Hasan Minhaj or Russell Peters, who are definitely talented in their own right, but their comedy is not the same as his. His jokes are what they are because he’s not in America living an American life. He can be critical about America from an outsider’s lens. And his comedy is all that much smarter for it because he has a bird’s eye view of how crazy and insane this place really is. Where you call “home” really defines us in ways we may not fully be aware, but he’s thinking about it long and hard now.

I honestly don’t want him to move here because I love what he says and produces just as he is, where is is from. He provides an intelligent, authentic voice that would not be the same if he lived here. But hey, what does my opinion matter? I’m just another fan of his living life in the U.S. He has his livelihood to consider, and he also has to pay bills and try his best to stay out of jail just for simply having opinions and speaking. Being a comic is hard, and he’s showing exactly how hard it is to do that job while living in India and having Indian citizenship.

San Francisco Columbarium – changing hands, charging higher prices, and reducing quality of service

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Back in July 2013 when Ed passed, the San Francisco Columbarium was owned by the Neptune Society. About a year later, it changed hands and got acquired by Dignity Memorial, the primary brand of Service Corporation International (SCI), which is North America’s largest provider of funeral, cremation, and cemetery services. They own over 2,000 locations across the U.S. and Canada. I never realized it changed ownership. My parents took care of all of Ed’s arrangements plus their future arrangements ahead of time. I wasn’t even aware of the change of ownership until today when we visited Ed.

Over the years, the service has been really strange and inconsistent. They used to provide a decent coffee/tea machine in the main lobby. That has been taken away. They also had a really practical and logical digital directory where you could look up a loved one to see exactly where and in which hall their niche was located. All of these things have been removed. There was a period when they actually closed as early as 3pm (WHAT!) on random days of the week, and we were rudely greeted by a locked and chained up gate when we tried to drive in. Today when we visited, the main door to the Hall of Olympians, where Ed is, was locked. The sign on the front said to sign in at the front desk before getting admitted. It made no sense to me. We did enter through a side door that was closed but unlocked, and an employee was walking around from the main office and asked us to keep it closed for security purposes. But, there’s no ventilation or air conditioning inside, so I started sweating almost immediately upon entering; it wasn’t even that hot outside, as it was likely 69 or 70 F when we arrived, but inside that hall felt like a sauna. Chris insisted to the employee that the door at least be kept open during our short visit, so the worker relented and said it was okay just while we were there.

This annoyed me for a few reasons. Clearly, vandalism was a concern here, but the security guard who used to walk in and around the Columbarium in previous years was gone. So this led us to the conclusion that they probably stopped paying for security services (because they want to cut costs) and instead wanted to keep all the doors locked. That’s extremely unwelcoming and creates an uncomfortable visitation experience for families and loved ones of people who are interred here. My parents paid over $20K for this niche, and the service has declined over all these years to the point where it feels like we’re getting ripped off. Yet there’s nothing we can do about it.

One of the workers who helped me cut flowers to put into Ed’s little vase made it pretty obvious she hated working here and wasn’t treated well. “But no one else would hire me,” she lamented in a bitter tone. Before she expressed this, she said that it was tolerable to work here, “If you do every little thing correctly and follow all the rules and make no mistakes.” Ouch.

In general, I have always hated the death industry. It’s a necessary one (sort of), but one that preys on the grieving, on the vulnerable mental states of those who have lost… and many who have lost too soon, like us with Ed. This whole experience was pretty infuriating. The only thing that made me feel better was when Kaia kept peering into Ed’s niche and waving to him. When I told her it was eventually time to go, she said “bye bye” one last time… walked away, but then ran back twice to look closely at her JiuJiu before finally taking my hand and walking out with me.

I don’t know when I will first have a real conversation about Kaia’s JiuJiu with her. I am sure that at some point in the next couple of years, she will ask, and I’ll have to figure out the right, age-appropriate way to explain this. But regardless of how the topic gets brought up or which way the conversation goes, I have a feeling that she will respond with empathy and love. She is not even four years old yet, but I can see my Kaia Pookie seems to care deeply and have concern for others, even those she has not even met.

Mandoline sliced something other than zucchini today

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Today was Father’s Day, and I thought it would be a good occasion to put together a cohesive meal. Most of the time when I am making food, I am thinking in singular dishes or about how many vegetables I need to prepare. Since Kaia was born, the only times I’ve really prepared a cohesive menu are when we’ve had guests over. But I really do want to change that because I prefer it when dishes are supposed to go together. So today, I made kimchi soondubu jigae (Korean kimchi soft tofu soup) with pork ribs, japchae (Korean glass noodles with vegetables), bindaetteok (Korean kimchi mung bean pancakes), rice, and three different types of banchan: soy bean sprout salad, marinated spinach, and zucchini.

For the zucchini banchan, I decided to whip out the mandoline Chris got me during the pandemic. Honestly, I haven’t used it too many times because I am a little terrified of it. I have a mandoline section on my box grater, but I’d only ever used it a few times and didn’t really trust it (it seemed too dull, which would beg for more pressure, which is dangerous!).

The few times I’ve used the mandoline setting, I was very deliberate with each slice. I watched each cut go through. I was always determined to never get cut by it… Until today, when I finally got cut by it. I was talking to Chris. Kaia was making a ruckus nearby, and I was very clearly distracted. I kept slicing the zucchini until it got way too close to my fingers, and SLICE! A huge section of the side of my right thumb got cut off. The blood was literally getting everywhere. I was dripping blood and leaving small puddles on the counter and floor. It took almost an hour and endless tissue, gauze, and paper towels to stop the bleeding, along with applying pressure and ice. I’d never cut myself this deeply before.

Luckily, I don’t think I cut any nerve or tendon, but it’s been pretty uncomfortable. The few times I’ve knocked myself in that spot, it hurts like hell. I’ve been doing my best to not use my right thumb, which is obviously hard. But it’s so painful when something even taps it. I have a feeling this will be the worst kitchen wound I have had to date. My friend, who also cooks often, was marveling that this was just my first mandoline cut (it’s a VERY common kitchen injury!). She even educated me on “finger condoms” (today, I learned…) and how I may want to get some to protect myself from similar injuries in the future.

Next time, when I am brave enough to take out the mandoline again, I will not talk to anyone or have my child near me. I will need to be 120 percent focused. Wounds like these are not fun at all, and even typing this feels odd because I am trying to avoid using a thumb to type…

Chris’s dad’s interesting… palate

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Chris’s dad loves to eat. He is one of those people who is impressed by very little in terms of culinary skills and ability. Give him a piece of multigrain toast with butter, and he will likely eat it all up, with a fork and knife (yes, really), and then thank you profusely for it. “This is superb!” he will declare in his Queen’s English accent.

The other day, I toasted some of our favorite olive bread from Il Fornaretto Bakery in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. I topped them with some of my Le Bordier smoked salt butter that I had vacuum-sealed and brought back from France last November (it was being stored long term in our freezer). I explained when I put the bread on the dining table what kind of bread this was and where it was from. Chris’s mom heard me and nodded while eating. Chris’s dad supposedly heard me. Then a couple bites in, he said, “Yvonne, this bread is delightful. Are these raisins or dates in here?”

So, the first thing to note is that, no, he wasn’t listening or paying attention. His dad, while well meaning, is usually more interested in talking than listening (I guess the apples don’t fall that far from the tree with his sons…). He asked a question that I had already answered before the plate of toasts even hit the table. The second thing to note is that… how can someone confuse the flavor of something very savory and salty (OLIVES) for something that is as sweet as dates or raisins….? I could easily get over the fact that he wasn’t listening to me because I’m kind of used to him asking questions to things that were already discussed or answered, but the confusion about savory flavors vs. sweets is particularly crazy to me.

So, Chris’s dad does, in fact, love to eat. He just… has no idea what he’s eating the majority of the time. That reminded me of the time a few years back when Chris’s mom had marinated some chicken and left it on the counter while doing another household chore, planning to return to the chicken to cook it. A while later, Chris’s dad came into the kitchen feeling hungry and looked at the bowl of chicken as though it was left out to eat. So, he dug in. And he served himself a nice helping of raw, marinating chicken. Yum.

The ice cream date that did not go as planned

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Since we have now reached Daylight Savings Time for the year, and as the weather is slowly but surely getting warmer (or so we hope), I thought about how cute it would be if I took Kaia on brief little snack or dessert outings in Chinatown before we head back up to the Upper West Side. It would be a surprise, and given it would include food, she would surely be happy. So when I picked her up from school yesterday, I told her that I was going to give her a surprise. Of course, she lit up right away and got really excited. She eagerly held my hand and walked happily as we crossed Chrystie Street, went across the little park, and popped into an ice cream shop.

I chose Smoove Ice Cream, an Asian-owned ice cream shop with Asian flavors, since it was just over a block away, so it wouldn’t be too far from the train station. I let Kaia look at all the ice cream flavors and let her choose one. Of the ones she pointed at, she decided on lychee rose. We did a split scoop, so the second flavor I chose was black sesame. We got the split scoop in a cup and shared it in the small seating area that Smoove had. She was super happy, sing-songy, speaking all the Chinese I wanted her to speak. Then, when the ice cream was all finished, she got sad and ran up to the counter again with her empty cup. I told her that we were all done and that it was time to go home. She brought her empty cup up to the counter… so she could get MORE ice cream in it. She didn’t understand that this wasn’t like being at school or home — she couldn’t just ask for “more” and get it (without paying for it!).

I told her that we were done eating ice cream, and that it was time to go home. She yelled and said she wanted more and would not stop. So the worker behind the counter felt sympathetic and offered a sample spoon of whatever she wanted. Kaia asked for strawberry, so he gave her a massive sample sized scoop. As we walked out of the shop with it, she nibbled on it bit by bit, but of course, it was melting… and then, like a slow-motion crash, the big blob of pink ice cream slid down, and straight onto the ground. And the biggest melt down ensued. She immediately burst into tears and stomped her feet over and over. She tried to run back to the ice cream shop to ask for more, but I blocked her from walking back. Kaia refused to walk and just kept crying and screaming. I had to carry her into the subway and onto the train. She cried the whole way home until we exited the station.

Well, that was not how I envisioned our impromptu ice cream date going. But alas, things don’t always go as you’d imagine with a toddler, do they?

Travel insurance with credit card – the debacle comes to a conclusion

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It’s been almost two months since I was at the Mount Sinai West emergency room, on the day I was actually supposed to leave for our Thanksgiving European trip. Chris had to cancel and rebook train tickets. He also had to cancel hotel reservations, make new ones, and also change our outbound flight to Paris. It wasn’t fun for him, and just the flight change itself was extremely costly. But he realized that the credit card we used to book the original flight had travel insurance on it for trip cancellation/interruption, so I took photos of all my ER and Urgent Care forms and sent them in for consideration for our itinerary change costs due to my sudden illness.

You would think that given I was not only in the emergency room, but I also had extremely detailed documentation, that this would have been a smooth process that would have gotten approved relatively swiftly. Unfortunately, it was anything but. First, the contact details to file the travel insurance claim were not clear, likely by design. It’s not on Mastercard’s website. You have to call Mastercard, then get re-routed to a specific agent, who can then share the secret website you have to login to in order to submit all your claim details and proof forms. Then once you submit all of that, you wait. And wait. And then, for the first 8-10 days, I got no feedback. I simply saw “pending” as the status of my claim every time I logged into the portal. When I finally got in contact with the claims agent (a third party works for Mastercard to handle travel insurance), she grilled me about the time we left the apartment, when we would have needed to leave for the airport, what time I was admitted into Urgent Care and then ER, when I started having symptoms, etc. It felt extremely unempathetic, like she was simply looking for reasons to deny my claim. Chris copied and pasted literal paragraphs from their travel insurance policy stating why this was, in fact, applicable. I was shocked: wasn’t it clear that this was a very serious case, especially given all the details in the Urgent Care and ER forms? All of the forms had time stamps on them, so I wasn’t even sure why she was further grilling me. Did she even read any of the forms I submitted at all??

The claim was initially denied, as they originally said that my trip wasn’t cancelled, that we still went, so there was “nothing to claim” or get reimbursed for. I had to call them nearly every business day we were away in Australia, have at least 6-8 email back and forth communications with them, endless voice messages playing phone tag, and then finally a very annoying and painful phone call in the middle of the night, Australia time, to explain to them: what the hell else did they need to understand that I was genuinely sick, that I was in the ER for something that could have easily resulted in pneumonia or death, and that as a result of all that chaos, my outbound flight needed to be changed…?! It was clear that the claims agent barely read any of the documentation I sent. She may not have even opened them as far as I was concerned. I had to literally open each document, one by one, and point out to her where the time stamps or remarks around my illness were (e.g. “On the ER form, page 1, in the bottom left hand corner. do you see the time stamp that says ‘3:49pm’?”). It felt like I was instructing a small child instead of an adult. She finally realized after having her hand held by me that yes, this was a legitimate claim, and yes, it should be reimbursed. She reopened the claim for me as a “claim determination dispute,” then told me that at this point, the only reason it would be denied is if the manager thought I had some “pre-existing condition” back when the flight was booked. The flight was booked in July. You cannot have a pre-existing condition for a peritonsillar abscess; that’s just medically impossible and could easily be disproven. Plus, no one would have an abscess in their throat from July all the way to November!

I finally got an email notification last week that the claim dispute was accepted. I got my requested payment back today. While it was closure (and some much needed money back), it made me angry to think about how insurance works in this country. Insurance feels like it exists simply to exist and get money out of you. Then when you actually do need to use it, the insurance companies will do everything in their power to withhold money from you or even make you pay.

Not everyone would be as persistent as I was to get my money back. I made sure to call and email almost every day for over a month. Most people just let these things go. I’m sure they count on that happening. But no, I’m not getting screwed by all these stupid insurance companies as long as I can help it.