Category Archives: family

Unexpected tears when watching the field trip bus unload the children

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On Thursday when the field trip bus was delayed coming back from the Melville farm, I stood at the other location of Kaia’s school several blocks down with the other parents and waited for the kids to arrive. As bus arrived and parked, all the parents got into a commotion in regards to where the bus would park and when they could actually collect their children. But our school had a pretty careful system: they had all the teachers get off first and arrange themselves by class. Then, they slowly asked each child to get off the bus; the child was then received by hand by another teacher to stand by their appropriate class group. When all the students were in their respective class groups and the teachers were all present, they then walked them, class by class, to the front of the school where us parents stood, and then each lead teacher or admin would release kids by class one by one.

As I saw all the kids get off the bus, I suddenly felt like my heart was heavy. My baby is 3.5 years old now, turning four this December, yet she’s already gone on three field trips with her summer camp! This means that she’s had three fun-filled experiences involving school bus transportation without me. And of course, she will have even more of this fun and learning-filled experiences without me in the future. I wasn’t able to be there to witness her excitements and little joys and new discoveries. Her teachers and classmates were, though. And as the groups approached the school building, I could see Kaia spotting me from the crowd and poking her head out as much as possible to give me a cheeky smile to let me know she knew her mummy was there waiting for her to take her home. There was just something about all this orderly off-boarding the bus and obediently walking in lines that made me feel sad, resulting in my eyes welling up with tears. My baby’s growing up so quickly, and there’s nothing I can do to pause or stop it even for a second. It was like just yesterday I pushed her out of my uterus and was struggling with breastfeeding her. Yet now, she’s already going on field trips in Long Island and acting like a real student in a real school.

I guess that’s another thing about motherhood: so many emotions all the time like a roller coaster, and like a really good roller coaster, you cannot always see all the twists, turns ahead of time. Sometimes it’s the littlest things that catch you off guard that make you cry your eyes out or feel like your baby is growing up just a little too fast for your liking.

When he doesn’t visit for a long time.

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For years after Ed’s passing, whenever the date of his death anniversary or his birthday would come, I’d get this sneaking feeling that he’d come visit me. It might be in my dreams. He might come to me in some other form, whether it’s through a message sent from someone, a ray of light through the window, or a gust of wind on a street. But when it would happen, I’d know it was him. Or at least, I’d think it was him. But most of all, I always longed to see him in my dreams because that would actually feel the most real. I tend to have extremely vivid dreams, so oftentimes when I am dreaming, it legitimately feels like it’s really happening. But as the years have gone on, I realize that this delusional thought that he will “visit” really is just that — a desired delusion of mine. And as each year passes, it makes me more and more sad. As each year passes, I get older and older, further away from the age I was when my brother died, further away from knowing what it was like to really know him and love him in the flesh.

In some ways, Ed was a really easy person to love. He was eager to please. He showed love and affection easily and eagerly. He is like the youngest, most innocent children of the world with their simple desires: he just wanted love, presence, and attention. If you gave him that, or even a smidgen of a semblance of that, he’d love you forever and always treat you well. But in other ways, he was a difficult person to love, and an especially hard person to get to know. Because of his depression and anxiety, it was hard to have a really deeply felt, thoughtful conversation with him that went beyond the surface. He also didn’t want to share that much with too many people because he was scared of being judged or misunderstood (frankly, that is for good reason because people in general really suck). It was almost impossible to have a continuous, free-flowing conversation with him. But it wasn’t because he didn’t want to; it was likely more that he didn’t know how to given his lack of socialization coupled with his depression and anxiety.

I’m about a half year away from turning 40. If life worked out the way it should have, Ed would be turning 46 in about a month. I was looking at the newly whitened hairs on my head yesterday morning, thinking about how today, I likely have more white hairs on my head than Ed did at 33 going on 34 before he died. Ed had a far more stressful and turbulent life than I did. He deserved more than what he got.

Every day, I think about all the privilege I have. Most of it is due to luck and just being born in a certain place to a certain family at a certain time. A little bit of it is due to my own hard work and diligence. Even though Ed and I were born into the same exact family in the same house, frankly I had more privilege than he did. I was the second born with less pressure. I was also born a girl, and as research has shown, families tend to almost always raise girls with more love, tenderness, and affection. I was also born 6.5 years after he was at a time when our parents’ financial situation was a lot more stable. When I got into my twenties, I started thinking about how unfair all that was: Ed never asked for any of that to be the case, yet he got the shit end of the stick. And I started feeling guilty for being treated better and being more respected by our parents. Why should I have ever been treated well at his expense? It never made any sense to me. To this day, it still fills me with fury, a deep seated anger that will likely never go away. I wish Ed had had just a tiny bit more privilege than he did so that he could’ve been treated a little better than he was — not just by our parents, but by society as a whole.

I wonder if Ed could talk to me now, what he’d say to me. I’m sure he’d be thrilled about Kaia, growing like a little weed both in size and in personality. He would likely marvel at the apartment in which I live and also gasp at how much I’m spending on said apartment. He’d applaud anything seemingly “indulgent” I’ve done for myself, as he always used to critique me for being “too cheap” with myself and never buying myself nice things or experiences. Funnily enough, he’d probably tell me he was happy that I got my laser treatments because sometimes, when you want something, you “don’t think about it so much and just do it.” He’d admire all the travel experiences I’ve had and tell me how brave I am to go to all these places. He would also probably tell me that he was happy and grateful I found the “right person” in Chris.

It still feels strange. Sometimes, I hear about people talking about their siblings even today, and I get this sad feeling because I know I can never talk about my own sibling and our experiences in the present tense. It’s like a different kind of loss now.

12 years since you left us.

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Dear Ed,

I can’t believe it’s been 12 years since you left us today. I feel like I say that pretty much every year, but I actually do really mean it. Our cousin Russell actually messaged me this morning to acknowledge this. Russell has his own problems, but I know he loved you very much and still misses and thinks about you all the time. Each year that passes feels like a bigger gap between us. But it also makes me realize how quickly time flies the older I get (I can definitely say I have more white hairs right now than I did a year ago today). Sometimes, the day of your death is crystal clear in my head, while other days, it’s fuzzy and as though it was made up and never actually happened. I still remember how numb I felt when I found out you were missing. Even though I was walking around and doing things, it felt like my eyesight had become cloudy, like I wasn’t really walking but instead was floating just above the ground. My entire body felt weightless and extremely heavy at the same time. Nothing felt real. And then, just like that… you were confirmed gone, dead, passed away — a corpse in a refrigerator at the Marin County Morgue. Sometimes, it still doesn’t even feel real now that you’re gone.

I always wish I could have told you more, shared more about myself and my thoughts with you. I wish I could have been there for you more. I wish I could have really listened to more of what you had to say. But it was hard. I wasn’t physically always there. And even when I was, it was hard to talk to you. You had a large grey cloud looming above you all the time. It made our conversations non-continuous, choppy, never able to get past a certain point. We could never peel the outer layers of the onion away to get to the core of anything. You had a mental block that I couldn’t quite see or understand. I’m sorry I never told you all I wanted to say. And I’m sorry I never let you tell me all you wanted to say.

It’s funny, though. Now that you’re gone, out of nowhere, I think about the most random things to share with you that I think you’d find interest or amusement in. None of these things are particularly meaningful or deep or interesting or things I’d expect anyone to remember beyond the moment, but they’re more “in the moment” things that I think you’d appreciate. One of the latest things that happened that I thought would make you smile was when I wore a top with chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry ice cream cones on it. Kaia always gets excited when she sees food she likes in print or on clothing. So she pointed out that the shirt was new (to her) and that it had ice cream. I asked her to tell me what the flavors were, and she said from left to right, they were chocolate (brown), cherimoya (white), and strawberry (pink). And I just giggled because I thought it was so adorable… as we just came back from South America, where we ate a lot of cherimoya, so now, at least temporarily, Kaia associates “white” with “cherimoya” instead of the expected vanilla flavor.

My friends share about their kids and their siblings spending time with them. One of my friends lives a block away from her dad, who is caring for his granddaughter during the work week (so my friend’s niece). She goes over there frequently to spend time with her niece. And even though it has nothing to do with me or you or Kaia, a part of me feels envious. I wish that you could spend quality time and have sweet moments with Kaia. But that is never going to happen. A lot of amazing things were robbed from you, Ed. And for that, a large part of me will always be resentful on your behalf.

It’s July 2025 now, so a year and a half since the safety net was installed at the Golden Gate Bridge. We’re planning to go back to San Francisco next month. Maybe this visit, I may actually feel ready to go see it. I want to see this barrier that is saving lives… just not yours.

We haven’t forgotten you, Ed. We’ll never forget. Twelve years later, and I still haven’t forgotten you. I also haven’t stopped missing you. I love you. You may never read this, but I love you; I really do. And in her heart, I know Kaia loves you, too, and wishes she could have a real relationship in flesh and blood with you, too.

Rest in love, my sweet big brother.

Showering at night vs. day vs. TWICE a day

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Before I started morning workouts, I always showered at night. This logically makes sense: you go out all day and get dirty from being out and about. And then you clean yourself before getting into bed. That keeps your bed cleaner and means you go to sleep clean. Yes, you sweat at night, but that’s a different type of “dirt.” Showering at night means that you wash away all the external dirt off you.

Then, my showering schedule completely had to change once I started working out in the morning. It’s crazy to think about it now, but I started this in early 2013, so that’s over 12 years of morning workouts for me! There was no way I was going without a shower after sweating buckets during an AM workout. I don’t think my colleagues would have appreciated that, nor would I have wanted to go around cloaked in my own sweat all day at work. So I’d shower after my morning workout and head off to the office. And at night, because I absolutely hate the idea of showering twice in a day (that’s a real first-world luxury I just could not bring myself to do unless it were totally, totally necessary), I would just forgo a shower and sleep… with all of the outside world I was exposed to dirtying my bedsheets. I didn’t love this idea, but again, I wasn’t going to shower twice a day. So if I wore sandals and had my bare feet exposed, I would always wash my feet (I suppose this is a very “Asian” practice) after coming home to prevent outside dirt on my feet from dirtying my floors or bed.

So today, it was extremely hot in New York. I was at the co-working space working today and did both drop-off and pickup for Kaia. As soon as I got back home, I knew I had to have a (second) shower. I was dripping in sweat and sticky all over. I hopped into the shower, quickly washed myself, put on my PJs, and we all had dinner together. I always feel a bit precious and uppity when I do a second shower in a day, but with heat like we’re having in New York this week (it’s going to hit 100 F!), this would be unavoidable unless I want to skip my morning workout (not happening).

I like warm weather. But i am not a fan of sweltering, 90s+ F heat and humidity. This two-showers-a-day-thing hopefully is just temporary.

“Sumi and Topey” leave New York, and Kaia gets sad and wants to go with them

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After a few weeks of on and off grandparents time, it’s time for “Suma” and “Topa,” also known as “Sumi and Topey,” also known as Chris’s parents, to leave. They are leaving for the Europe leg of their round-the-world trip. I told Kaia this morning that they would be leaving, and she immediately grew pensive. She then declared, as she pointed to our bed, “That means you’ll be sleeping in that bed because they aren’t here!”

As we got closer to the time they had to leave, Kaia became visibly sad. She kept insisting she didn’t want them to go, and that she wanted to go with them. She said she wanted to go to Italy (where they are going next) and Melbourne with them. She even tried to put on her jacket and shoes to go with them. As the cab got packed up and they left, Kaia cried for a long time. Chris tried to comfort her and hold her, but she just kept crying. Finally, he consoled her with some Peppa Pig screen time, which of course, got her to immediately stop crying. She was fixated on the Peppa and George fight, apparently. Later on, she still kept saying she wanted to go to Melbourne with them.

My heart always aches in these situations. I really love seeing Chris’s parents get along so well with Kaia, and I love that she has a deep attachment to both of them. I myself also feel pretty sad when Chris’s parents leave. Even though I always get questions about how crowded and packed our apartment must feel, I genuinely don’t mind it at all. I do not say that to seem like a good sport or to create some facade of a perfect in-laws relationship; I truly mean it. I always look forward to their visits every year, and I look forward to seeing them when we go back to Melbourne in December. I don’t really care about giving up my bed for them since our sofa bed is actually quite comfortable. We have two bathrooms now, which makes the whole morning/evening routine a lot smoother. Unlike what Chris says about his parents, I think they are very “go-with-the-flow.” Even when we lived in our shoebox apartment on the Upper East Side and shared the space with them, I found it fun and enjoyable. They never once complained and always made the best of the experiences; they made it seem like an adventure since they’re so used to having a lot of space. At the end of the day, neither of them really came all this way to be a tourist in New York City; they came to spend time with their son and his wife, and now their granddaughter. I’ve always loved preparing food for them, and they are always happy to eat it (with the occasional complaint about being “stuffed to the gills” from his mom…) and make it very clear that they appreciate my efforts and skills. If there is one thing you cannot fault, it’s someone’s ability to always show appreciation for others. Chris’s parents never fail in this regard, even in the simplest things done for them (e.g…. when you place in the bathroom… a NEW SOAP BAR). It’s also nice to change up our usual routine and have other family and loved ones in our home. It’s more lively and more fun.

I also am briefly reminded in recent years of how my parents never visit, but it’s not like I romanticize what their visits could be like. They are not adaptable. They are absolutely not “go with the flow.” They complain about almost everything, see fault in everything, and rarely show outward appreciation for anything done for them. They zero in on the things they do for me and how I apparently have not shown appreciation towards them. It’s a game of, “How can we gaslight our child the most?” That’s not the kind of game I enjoy.

In the back of my mind, though, I still wish I had a better relationship with my parents. I wish I could be more open and honest with them. I wish I had their emotional support. I wish they could be close to Kaia the way that Chris’s parents are to her. But it’s a wish that will never be granted. They don’t want to make the effort, and well, I cannot sacrifice my sense of self and sanity and give them that much more time with her. “It is what it is,” as Chris always says. And lots of truths are sad and hurt.

Injured hamstring, the importance of exercise, and increasing stubbornness and “fixed mindset” as we age

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Since college, I’ve regularly exercised. I was not very targeted about what I did, but I always did some kind of physical activity regularly. Once I started working full time after college, I got a gym membership and went to the gym for a rigorous workout anywhere from 3-5 times per week. I dabbled in different exercise and yoga studios. But it wasn’t until I was 27 when I started being more regimented about when I went to the gym (early morning on weekdays before work), and more regular about what types of exercise I did. And then, it wasn’t until two years ago when I weaned off breastfeeding that I started listening to my body in terms of what I liked and did not like (I generally dislike HIIT workouts), and found what really worked for me (low impact, pilates, barre, light weights) versus what other people (e.g. trainers, exercise guides) said would work for me (heavy weights, HIIT). This is a long winded way of saying: it took me a long time (so, my entire adult life for the last 21 years?!) to get comfortable with what kind of exercise I’d like that would work for me: fitness has most definitely been a journey and not a destination.

I exercise because I know it’s good for me, and it also makes me feel really good. I am always more alert and focused after exercise. I sleep better when I have worked out that day. I feel more agile, flexible, and nimble when I’ve worked out. I can feel a huge difference in my body when a few days have passed and I haven’t done any rigorous workout; it’s actually one thing I really look forward to when we get back from a long trip away. In the long term, I know exercise has helped my overall health; regular physical activity helps combat the inevitable loss of bone density and muscle mass as we all age. And given I am turning 40 next January, I am very cognizant of the fact that once I get there, I’ll begin to lose bone minerals faster than I can create new bone minerals, and thus, my bones will eventually become more porous and brittle.

What concerns me, though, is how inactive my in-laws and my dad are. My dad is turning 77 this year; Chris’s dad turns 72 tomorrow. Chris’s mom is just a few years behind his dad. My dad is basically glued to his computer most days, watching endless YouTube videos and leading this extremely sedentary, sloth like lifestyle. I used to suggest exercise, then I stopped when I realized he was never going to change or listen to anything I said. My in-laws seem repelled by exercise; it’s almost like they are allergic to it or something. The mere mention of the gym, and Chris’s dad’s face goes a little off, as though he has smelled something foul. Chris’s mom finally got semi-coerced into a gym membership by Chris’s brother over a year ago; after an initial consultation there, she says she goes about three times a week. Chris’s dad has bristled at the fact that the gym isn’t cheap, but why should it be, especially given where they live? Plus, spending on the gym is spending on health. They are both happy to spend money on prescription drugs or over-the-counter drugs and vitamins/supplements, but they do not see that spending money on a gym membership is an investment in one’s health. Regarding the gym workouts, I have observed Chris’s mom while at our building gym during their visits: she barely does anything that would really challenge her, which would lead to change in her body or weight. Chris’s mom has insisted for years that exercise “just doesn’t work for her,” as in, it doesn’t help her lose weight, even though she’s never given herself a good, hard look in the mirror and realized that she’s simply not challenging herself enough when exercising. As they always say, “no pain, no gain.” I’m sure it can sound hurtful when Chris or I have said or hinted at this; this is where having an unbiased third party, like a trainer, would be ideal, because they’re only going to say it like it is. They have zero reason to say things to hurt you; they were hired to get you to a better place. I used to give suggestions when Chris’s mom would complain about weight and eating so much (especially with us, because I’m not really about to starve them while they are with us), but then I finally stopped last year when I realized she was doing little to nothing to be honest with herself and actually take action to improve what she keeps complaining about. Now, I just listen or ignore it and say little to nothing in response.

Last week, I injured my hamstring during exercise. I am not sure what I did wrong, but I do know that my left hamstring and IT band were burning when I walked up to 76th Street and back last week. I figured it was time to rest and recover. Later that evening, when I was doing a hamstring stretch, lying on the floor with a towel to lightly pull my foot down, Chris’s dad came over to ask what I was doing. I told him I hurt my hamstring while exercising, and he looks at me, puzzled. “Oh, you injured it during exercise? Then, why exercise at all?”

I explained in the shortest and calmest way possible that injuries happen all the time, but that was not a reason to stop exercising. That’s like saying, oh, you should never try anything if you fail, because in that case, what’s the point? There is a risk in almost everything and anything you do. But just because something may hurt or be unpleasant doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it. Plus, hello, concerns around bone density and muscle mass loss, especially for them because they have both led very inactive lives?!

After a while, I just don’t think these conversations are even worth having. While we are all getting older, they are in their late sixties and early seventies, showing no signs of adapting a growth mindset anytime soon. They are unlikely to change their ways with exercise or anything in that realm. So I just smile and nod when they say these ridiculous things about how “exercise doesn’t work” or that they don’t have time to exercise or question whether a gym membership is worth the money because it’s clear nothing I will say will either agree with them or change them. So while I don’t think Chris’s parents and mine have a lot in common, what they all most certainly have in common is that they are all very, very much fixed in their ways. I wonder if I will be that way when I am my late sixties/early seventies, where Kaia is lecturing me about something she thinks I should do for my health but have neglected… I hope I can get to be that age where it could even be a possibility.

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.

Newport visit, rabbits, and dandelions at the Cliff Walk

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The last time we came to Newport, it was just weeks after Ed had died. I was walking around like a zombie, seeing him and signs of him almost everywhere I went. I remember when we struggled to find parking somewhere, we eventually found it on a street called Edward Street. I also felt like I was hallucinating and thought I was hearing his voice or seeing his face in places where he obviously was not.

It’s a very different visit this time with Chris’s parents and Kaia. After having coffee at a cute France-summer-house-style coffee shop and eating lunch at a popular brunch spot, we dropped Chris’s parents off at The Breakers (the Vanderbilt summer mansion) and we explored the town. We walked through and around the exterior of the International Tennis Hall of Fame. I learned about court tennis and how only bougie people seem to know and play it now, and rarely given the rarity of the court tennis court’s existence (this is most definitely the definition of “if you know, you KNOW”). And Kaia saw wild rabbits running around the grounds and stooped and sat to watch them, waiting for them to come back out (spoiler alert: they did not come back out). Kaia was carrying her pink bunny, Irene, as a comfort stuffed animal on this trip. She was running around with Irene, and when I suggested to Kaia that she show the other bunnies her own bunny Irene, she actually smiled and did just that: she sat down on the ground by the grass where the rabbits were and stuck Irene out to show the bunnies. And then she waved to the rabbits to come out. I couldn’t help but laugh and admire how adorable this whole sight was.

After Chris’s parents were done with their mansion visit, we walked along the famous Cliff Walk. Kaia enjoyed running around and picking dandelions, occasionally plucking off their petals and letting them fly away. This was her very first time picking flowers, even if they were weeds, and she really seemed to enjoy it. I picked them with her and we shared our dandelion bouquets. She tried to add grass to them, and well, I had to veto those additions.

Parenting littles goes so quickly. We always grumble at all the annoying parts of parenting, like dealing with the tantrums, the messy eating, the potty training, the bedtime routine and how long it takes. But what I hope to remember most about this period of raising Kaia and watching her grow are these little moments: Kaia proudly showing her pink Irene to the two wild rabbits and grinning ear to ear; Kaia discovering dandelions and that you can pick flowers, and then happily looking all over the grassy paths to search for and pluck them; Kaia greedily grabbing all the clams and so daintily pulling them out from the shells and shoving them in her mouth. These are the moments I would bottle up and want to save forever and never forget.

Long weekend with the in-laws to Rhode Island, with an important stop in New Haven on the way

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One of the things I loved about the East Coast when I first moved here was how easy it was to state hop. Depending on where you are, it could take an hour or even less to get to another state. It could take 20 minutes to take the PATH train from Manhattan into Hoboken or Jersey City. It could take a couple hours by car, train, or bus to get from Massachusetts to New Hampshire or Rhode Island. Maine can be done as a day trip from many places in Massachusetts. California is a large and long state; it wasn’t as easy to do that living there. So all these small states in the northeastern part of the U.S. always fascinated me. I tried to take advantage and see as much as I could of the northeast, while also lamenting that so many people who live here have zero curiosity about neighboring states and people.

At this point, Chris’s parents have most likely seen more of New York City than most New Yorkers. They have definitely seen more of the U.S. than most Americans. They take side trips on their own through the U.S. when they come visit us, but they also get taken on side trips, sometime via road, other times via plane, by us. In recent years with Kaia, we’ve always done a road trip and rented a car. This year, Chris decided on Rhode Island. So it will be our first time back in the smallest state of the country since August 2013.

On our way there, we stopped in New Haven, Connecticut, for some apizza. Little do many people outside of Connecticut know, but New Haven is oftentimes thought of as the pizza or “apizza” capital of the United States (New Yorkers and Jersey people most definitely debate this). New Haven style pizza consists of thin-crust, coal-fired Neopolitan pizza. And one of my most favorite pizzas in all the world is most definitely the white clam pizza: it’s pizza with oregano, grated cheese, chopped garlic, fresh littleneck clams. It does not have tomato sauce, which is why it’s called a “white pie,” and it’s just freaking perfect. Littleneck clams with garlic and cheese is like a menage a trois that dreams are made of. Our first time to New Haven was in November 2020 during the pandemic. We did a day trip to New Haven and went to the three most well known New Haven style pizza joints: Frank Pepe, Sally’s Apizza, and Modern Apizza. We went to Modern last in that visit, which meant that we had already had so much pizza that we didn’t quite appreciate it as much, so we went to Modern as our only pizza stop on this visit. We got the white clam pizza with a small margherita, and amongst the five of us, we left satisfied, yet not stuffed. The pizza was even more delicious than I remember it, with a crust so crunchy yet chewy that I could easily have just eaten the pizza topping-less, and I still would have been happy.

We spent the evening in Fox Point in Providence, where we ate at Dune Brothers Seafood, their first location that has indoor seating (though tiny). I had whole scup fish (porgy!) for the first time and enjoyed it – the fattiness and texture almost reminded me of bluefish (though no one on the internet seems to agree with my assessment). Kaia devoured the littleneck clams appetizer all by herself; she’s most definitely a clam loving baby and enjoys the thrill of opening the clams and pulling them out of the shells. But what was the even bigger highlight of dinner was the indulgent lobster roll Chris and I shared. I always prefer Connecticut style lobster roll (always warm, dunked in butter, on a toasted bun) over Maine style (chilled lobster meat, dressed in mayo with crunchy greens). This lobster roll was stuffed to the brim with huge chunks of both claw AND tail meat, warmed in butter along with various tasty spices; it was likely one of my all-time favorite lobster rolls next to Neptune Oyster in Boston. Though Neptune makes what is likely the best lobster roll in all of the US, I will never go back there because to this day, I remember it as of the very worst dining experiences of my life. I still remember being so angry about how rude the service was that I actually tipped them 11 percent (WHICH I NEVER DO).

And if that was not enough eating, down the street from Dune Brothers was this cute Aleppo Sweets Cafe I had on my list. They won a best new restaurants award in Providence in 2019 and look to be family owned. Though they have a full menu for lunch and dinner, we just went for after dinner caffeinated drinks and desserts. This place is clearly popular with locals because almost everyone around us walking down the street behind us also went into this place! We had a good start to our visit when Kaia ran into the florist shop next door (which I think are owned by the same people). The florist there was so kind that he gave her a fresh, long-stemmed iris, which captivated Kaia; she was so obsessed with her new fresh flower! We sat down at a table and enjoyed Arabic coffee, very strong ginger-cardamom-mint tea in a beautiful and large copper tea pot (brought back from Syria, and funnily enough, NOT for sale, as Chris’s dad liked it so much he asked if he could buy one!), and four different types of baklava and Syrian semolina cake. We loved the ambiance, furniture, decor, and the tea and coffee ware a lot, but the sweets were very surprising. They were stuffed to the brim with pistachios, but the shocking thing about them was that they were not too sweet. And I don’t think in my entire life I have ever described any baklava as “not too sweet,” or really, they were “just sweet enough.” They weren’t swimming or soaked to the brim in sugar. They didn’t make my teeth hurt like some of the Greek or Turkish spots we’ve had them from in Astoria or Bay Ridge. I subsequently read that this characteristic of being “not too sweet” is a defining trait of Syrian baklava and desserts. I am tempted to figure out how to recreate this Syrian harisa semolina cake at home and ensure it’s “just sweet enough.” It was so delicious and lightly spiced with cinnamon and vanilla. We shared four different types, so each of us had a bite each of the desserts, and amazingly, I think I could have had more bites and not felt overly sweetened or stuffed. I still cannot believe how long we talked about the copper tea pot…

There’s so much good food and culture all over the U.S. that it would be quite a shame (and loss) to just stay in one part or place forever and not experience all this richness and fun.

The melted microwave cover

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Whenever there are other people over, and when Kaia is around, it’s pretty much inevitable that at some point, accidents are going to happen. When Chris’s parents came back from their side trip to Asheville, North Carolina, yesterday, I had prepared some steamed scallops with glass noodles. I had the steamer setup on the main front right burner and the sauce to pour over the scallops on the left burner. Both burners were on; the sauce was on simmer, while the steamer setup was on medium-high. When I shut the steamer setup off, I took the saucepan with the scallop sauce off the left burner, but I forgot to shut the flame off. I had originally left it on because I wanted to makes sure the sauce was still hot when I poured it over the scallops and noodles. Chris has this habit (which I hate) of resting the silicone and plastic microwave cover on one of the burners whenever he finishes microwaving things. I always either tell him to move it, or more often, I just remove it from the top of the burner. He almost never cooks, and he has little awareness of which burner(s) I may have used, so it’s always a potentially dangerous situation even if the burners are off due to residual heat.

Well, that dangerous situation actually happened on Tuesday evening. The microwave cover was left on the still-on-simmer left side burner, and suddenly, I saw smoke rising into the air and smelled something plasticky burning. Alarmed, I rose and immediately went to the stove to find out that alas, the microwave cover was melting atop the still-on left burner. I shut it off and blasted the fan on. Chris spent some time scraping off the melted plastic/silicone and opened as many windows as he could to get that burning smell out.

Things like this rarely happen with us because we take pretty good care of our things. Before Kaia, we also pretty much never lost any of our items. But at least the microwave cover is cheap and easily and quickly replaced. The moral of the story is: two wrongs never make a right, especially when it comes to fire.