Category Archives: family

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.

Trader Joe’s strawberry candy belts – a reminder of childhood in a bite

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I was at Trader Joe’s yesterday passing the sample station when I noticed that there was a very familiar candy item on offer: they are calling them sour strawberry candy belts. They are essentially long, wide belt-like strips of gummy candies that are both sweet and sour, coated in white sugar. For old time’s sake, I grabbed a little sample cup and popped a piece into my mouth. Instantly, I was transported to when I was about five years old, eating way too much candy with Ed. I was reminded of the sweet innocence that is youth and just savoring deliciousness and sweetness in a bite or five. Growing up, we lived a short walking distance from two convenience/candy stores, both of which offered large bins of candy like sour power (these sweet-sour candy belts!!) for purchase by the piece. If I can remember correctly, each piece was about 20-25 cents. We just had to tell the guy behind the counter how many pieces we wanted, and he’d fish them out for us using a pair of tongs, slip them into a little plastic bag, and hand it to us once we paid. Ed and I both loved the combo of the sweet and sour. And I have always been a gummy kid, so the texture was always addictive to me. Ed was seven years older than me, so he was always supposed to be the older one who “took care” of me. Occasionally, our mom would let just the two of us go together to one of these candy stores; the trip itself was like a treat. It made me feel really grown up to go to the store, alone with just my brother. And how exciting because it always meant that we’d come home with SOUR POWER!

I savored the sweet, sour, fruity flavor in my mouth for a while, sucking on the candy until it was almost completely dissolved. For a split second, I thought maybe I’d indulge and buy just one pack… and then I decided that it would be like oral suicide. This is likely going to kill my teeth now and cause me to go into early onset dentures. Thirty-nine-year-old me eats almost zero candy today. Back when I was five or six years old, I had zero fears or worries about dental health. Now, I have to think about it all the time; it’s why I am so maniacal about brushing twice a day for at least two minutes, regularly rinsing my mouth out after eating anything, and flossing at least once a day. I’ve even started using a mouth wash a couple times a week. I have sensitive teeth from a misaligned jaw, deal with teeth grinding, plus I wear a retainer AND a mouth guard when I sleep now. And then to add to the cherry on top, I have a LOOSE baby tooth on my bottom right side, thanks to pregnancy hormones weakening a neighboring tooth, resulting in my needing a root canal that ended up destabilizing my baby tooth! It’s only getting weaker and looser by the day. I am predicting that it will fall out before the end of the year. Every time I brush, I can see the gum line around the baby tooth eroding and looking sadder and sadder.

I only have one set of teeth, unlike Kaia. I have to take care of these, otherwise they are going to come at me with a vengeance. And that would be very, very painful (and expensive AF).

Grandparenting in the current era

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The Atlantic recently wrote a piece about how “grandparenting,” or specifically, “grandmothering” is on the rise. When they say this, what they mean is that active parenting by a grandparent, mostly a grandmother, has increased notably in recent times due to the shortage of reliable and affordable childcare, soaring costs of living, and the mandatory need given the soaring cost of living for dual-income households in the U.S. This has made parents of the current generation apply more pressure on their parents to help raise their own children. This is most definitely something I see across a majority of parents of a similar age to me: most of my friends with kids have a parent look after their child(ren) for at least 1-2 days a week, without them there. We have a friend whose in-laws not only pick up their two kids from preschool at 2:50 every weekday, but also take them overnight two nights a week; those same grandparents take the two kids to Michigan during the summer where their other son and his children are — for two months; that is two months that my friend doesn’t see (or have to parent) his own children, time he gets to himself and to himself plus his wife. These grandparents play an active role in their grandchildren’s upbringing, not just having fun with them and getting to know them inside out, but also being a second set of parents to them.

I was thinking about this today as I watched Chris’s parents struggle to wrangle Kaia around, whether it was on the sidewalk, on the street, or in stores. A couple times I told Chris’s dad to walk with Kaia, and as per usual, he would barely hear me, and Kaia would run off on her own without him even noticing. In the end, I’d have to run off after her. In other cases, Chris’s mom struggled to run after her to keep up, and Kaia succeeded at keeping her grandma on her toes. Back when Kaia was in her diapers era, Chris’s dad wouldn’t even want to be in the room when a diaper change was happening; Chris’s mom would only do it if Chris or I wasn’t there. During their very first visit to New York after Kaia was born, when Kaia was about five months old, when I was working from home and Chris was at the office, and they were meant to babysit while our then-nanny was on vacation, Chris’s mom would come into the room when I was working and announce that Kaia needed a diaper change. The implication here was that I needed to stop what I was doing to change her diaper since I was there (who cares that I was actually working… since I was, you know, at home?). Now that Kaia is potty trained (but still isn’t equipped to wipe herself or wash her hands without assistance), neither of them has offered to help with the potty visits, either during our visit to Australia in December, or now. Granted, they aren’t used to being around her all the time, definitely are not used to helping someone during potty time, or seeing exactly how much she loves to run around and be cheeky, but they could in no way keep up with her. I am positive that if they had to look after her for even one day a week on their own, they’d likely leave her in their own house so they wouldn’t have to worry about the threat of getting lost in a store or, in the absolute worst case, the chance of getting hit by a car or bicyclist.

Chris’s mom always used to tell friends, family, and us that if we lived in Melbourne, she would have loved to be a full-time care taker to Kaia once we went back to work after family leave. But the thing is — you can certainly assume you want things in theory, but in practice, it’s never as simple or easy as it seems in your head. In theory, lots of things sound nice. In real life, it’s a completely different story. As we all get older, our physical and mental abilities get more limited. We tire more easily. We have less energy. And frankly, there just may be less stamina to run after a boisterous, rebellious little toddler than you had originally assumed.

“Daddy, clap my butt!” and other fun toddler moments with Kaia Pookie

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We were on the train coming back home from Bensonhurst on Saturday, and Kaia was sitting at the window seat on the train. Then, she decided to stand to see the view (she loves the “view,” even when we’re underground in the tunnel and can see nothing. But she does get very excited when she sees trains passing us and tries to identify which train number/letter it is). Kaia started acting cheeky, as per usual, and wiggled her butt and danced on the seat. And while we’re having mindless chit chat, she suddenly started sticking her butt out very conspicuously and said, “Daddy, clap my butt! Mummy, clap my butt!” And she started clapping her butt with her own hands and giggling hysterically.

There are a lot of things you can get away with as a child of her age in both behavior and speech. If I said the same thing at my current age, it would likely elicit confusion and annoyance. This is one of those moments that not only elicited lots of smiles from surrounding passengers, but it even got a rider sitting in front of Kaia to text her friend to tell her about the “adorable toddler” sitting behind her who was singing and dancing (I just happened to see this when Kaia was leaning over towards this person’s side, and I saw her text message very clearly near Kaia’s face as I gazed over).

Another fun thing that Kaia has been doing with me is we’ve been “eating” each other. Ever since she was a newborn, I’ve been obsessed with her little fingers and little “toesies,” and before she lost a lot of her baby fat, I could not get enough of staring and lightly squeezing the rolls that were her little “wrists” and “ankles.” When I’ve given her a bath or shower, I always say, “Mumma loves Kaia’s toesies! I’m going to eat your toesies.” And then, I say, “Mumma loves this toesie, and this toesie, and this toesie, and this toesie, and this toesie!” after reaching her last toe on a foot. Then, I go onto the next foot and their set of toes. I occasionally say, “Mmmmmm, Kaia’s toesies are yummy! I’m gonna eat your toesies!” To which she always shrieks and giggles with delight. Lately, she’s been answering back: “Mummy! You can’t eat me! I’m not food!” And then I say in response, “Haha, yes, you are! I’m gonna eat you right now!” Then, I nibble her hand or fingers or toes or foot. She goes into her hysterical laughter. But then she tries to eat me. She insists that her mummy is food! So, she’ll take my fingers or even my face and lips and start nibbling away. I love this pretend mummy-and-daughter-eating-each-other session. Yes, it sounds slightly cannibalistic. Yes, I can also see how it can come across as sexual. But either way, it’s done with lots of fun and deep affection.

Today while riding back home from school, Kaia was in a really happy and chipper mood. In her after school program, they are learning lots of nursery rhymes in Chinese, and one of them is the Chinese version of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” She decided to loudly start singing Chinese “Twinkle Twinkle,” and then I joined in and we sang it together. It became apparent very quickly that there were at least four other female riders, all separate, who started taking an interest in looking at and listening to Kaia. All were smiling and some were even humming along. And when Kaia finished the song, they all started clapping and telling Kaia, “Good job!” Kaia did her usual thing: out of nowhere, when she realizes that she has attention, she starts getting “fake shy” and starts burying her head into my stomach or chest. She did this a couple times when people started waving to her and saying hi, and then she started giggling hysterically and waving back to them.

When we first decided to enroll Kaia at her Chinese immersion school downtown in Manhattan Chinatown, a part of me dreaded the daily subway commute. It obviously wasn’t going to be as convenient as anything walking distance from us. But now I realize that this decision was beneficial in so many more ways than just having more exposure to Chinese language and culture: she just loves everything about the subway and people watching. She has more practice walking, running, and going up and down stairs. It’s great for her to be around so many different people and seeing people like this every day. And for me personally, I love observing her on the train and watching her interact with others on the subway. I love these moments of watching her grow and mature and getting comfortable with subway travel. She’s a true New York City baby.

When hosting becomes an excuse to make dessert

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I grew up in a large household, in a duplex where my parents, brother and I lived on the second floor unit. My three cousins and their mom and dad lived on the third floor. Until age 9, my grandma lived in the basement/ground level. We had 9-10 total people to share food with, so whenever I baked anything, whether it was cookies, brownies, or bread, there was always lots of people to share the food with and eat it. There was never a worry about “who is going to eat all this?” or “are we going to have too much sugar/fat?” because when you’ve got at least eight or nine people around, that food is most definitely getting eaten one way or another, and pretty darn quickly.

That all changed once I moved to New York and just had a roommate. We shared food only occasionally, but not always. It’s pretty hard to make food just for one person or meal. I still baked, but when I did, I’d usually share it with her and even my colleagues. The food had to go somewhere, and I would never want to waste the food. And even now with Chris, I can’t bake too much because we probably shouldn’t be eating that much sugar and butter, anyway. We’re also trying to limit Kaia’s refined sugar intake. So whenever I know I am hosting friends or relatives over, whether it’s just for one meal or for an extended duration of time, like with Chris’s parents staying with us on and off for about three weeks, I look at these as opportunities to make dessert: what kind of sweets can I make? What have I been dying to make for the last several months that I haven’t had an excuse to make?

So the short list for now looks like this:

Mango and coconut sago, maybe with coconut milk and juice agar agar jelly

Gulab jamun nut bread/cake

Brown butter chocolate chunk cookies (The Food Lab)

Lemon ricotta cake

Orange blossom almond cake

I was chatting with my friend about this, and she could completely relate. She lives alone, and she sees her brother a lot since he lives nearby. Once, she made cookies and he inhaled the entire batch in a single sitting. When she has friends or family over, it’s also her excuse to experiment with baking, especially since she’s more comfortable cooking and has shied away from baking. Yesterday for Easter brunch, she made egg yolkless tiramisu, which turned out really well, so this has given her more confidence to bake other things. It’s been fun to have a friend who is really into cooking and food and to have them around to share food fun stories (and the nightmares of the last several days) and know that they can empathize and understand your situation from experience.

“They Called Us Exceptional: And Other Lies That Raised Us”

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Since getting pregnant with Kaia, I’ve thought a lot about the concept of intergenerational trauma or inherited trauma. I suppose my generation is the first to acknowledge that such a thing even exists and how toxic it can be. In previous generations, it was all about survival. Now, my generation is being more introspective about why we are the way we are, and how the way we are is largely shaped by how we were raised and what we were told was expected or “normal.”

I’ve read more books in the last several years about complicated parent-adult child relationships, dysfunctional ethnic family dynamics, and child-rearing in general. In the last year, I came across a book recommendation, a memoir entitled, “They Called Us Exceptional: And Other Lies that Raised Us” by Prachi Gupta, an Indian-American journalist who is my age. In her memoir, she details her parents’ journey to the U.S., their path to the “American dream,” and how the model minority myth fractured her family and even potentially even led to her brother’s premature, untimely death.

Prachi is exactly 18 months older than her brother. Her parents told her they had intended always to have two children, and for them to be close in age, because they wanted the two of them to be each other’s best friend; their mom said that they wanted them to take care of each other once they both passed. Prachi and Yush were basically like best friends up until their late teen/early adult years, when their relationship became unsteady due to their diverging views on men vs. women’s roles in society, as well as their family’s dysfunctions.

I really felt for Prachi reading this book; I finished the book within just a few sittings. Even though she specifically discusses the Indian American / desi experience, I could relate a lot to the complexities of the dysfunctions of her family, the verbal and psychological abuse she, her brother, and their mother endured. I could hear the same echoes and pressures of keeping things a secret or “having/losing face” in my own family. And I could especially feel for her in the moment she found out that her little brother was dead. All the things she so eloquently writes about in detailing her emotions around her brother’s life and death feel so eerily familiar, so similar to how I felt with Ed. The only difference was that Yush was a high achieving, outwardly “successful” Asian American, and well, Ed was not. Both were depressed and suffered from different psychological disorders; both felt that they were less than human beings in their on-earth-bodily states. This is a pretty good quote to summarize how she felt about her family in the world:

“I had once thought that I came from a line of Gods, and I had punished myself for failing to be Godlike. But we were not Gods, and I was not the avatar for our family’s unraveling. I was just another product of inherited trauma, unresolved grief, and reactive survival mechanisms, like everyone else who came before me. We were mortals who felt ashamed when we failed to appear omnipotent. Now I see that my job was to release my ancestors from this burden, to allow those who come next the freedom to be ordinary.”

The book ends with her having little to no contact with her parents. The memoir is written as a letter addressing her mother throughout, saying all the things she wish she could say to her, but her mom refuses to listen to. While she yearns to have a close relationship with her mom as she did when she was a child, it cannot happen without the meddling of her abusive, controlling, and mentally ill father.

Even though it’s been a few days since I finished reading the book, I’m still thinking about it a lot. The emotional rawness of it felt so real, so scarily relatable. As a review in The Atlantic wrote, “She explains better than any writer I’ve ever encountered how conflicts that may appear low-stakes—such as an argument over grades or extracurriculars—can tear open an unnavigable gulf.” People always say that certain arguments don’t matter or don’t mean anything — but my general thought is, well, actually, these seemingly little arguments can expose larger fractures that should very likely be addressed before they blow up. I’m happy to see people of color in my generation writing books like this, and also addressing exactly how complex and unpredictable “dysfunction” can look like.

Marriage longevity: what also makes you take your partner for granted

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When I think about relationships, life, and the longevity of relationships, I think a lot about evolution. Yes, a lot about people, perspectives, and relationships remain the same, but what is more interesting to me is how people in long-term partnerships evolve together and somehow still manage to stay together — and actually stay happy together. Plenty of people stay in marriages and long-term partnerships and are miserable. Some stay because of the appearance of being coupled up or for financial reasons. Others stay due to laziness of restarting a new life. But regardless, the ones who remain together and are happy are always the ones I think about.

In the beginning of romantic partnerships, you’re generally trying to be on your best behavior. You don’t fart in the other’s presence. You tread lightly when calling out the other’s foibles or things they are absent minded about. Then as your relationship progresses, you get more comfortable being more honest and blunt with each other. You transition to becoming more open to disagreeing freely with them and arguing. You don’t hesitate to call out their mistakes and flaws, in hopes that they will realize how this impacts you and change… and then you get frustrated because instead of seeing how whatever quality/trait/habit negatively impacts you or your shared space, they double down and get defensive, attacking back. In the beginning, you’re always thanking each other, openly expressing gratitude, greeting each other warmly. Once you get comfortable, maybe even too comfortable, you barely say “thanks” in any noticeable form when they do something thoughtful for you, and you’re lucky if they greet you warmly and even look you in the eye when you enter the home after a while apart. This is what happens as you spend too much time with each other; you naturally just take the other for granted and just expect they will always be there for you — just like you do with your parents or siblings.

So, all of this is funny to me because while Chris has definitely improved with getting constructive feedback from me (I mean, it only took about 13 years…), to this day, he still does not seem to comfortably accept compliments from his wife. He always denies or deflects, says he’s a “regular person,” or sometimes just flat out tells me that I must be out of my mind. Here’s a case in point: I was discussing a story about a friend who is in a relationship that I think is like a slow-moving car crash, and there was nothing I could do to stop or help it. I was expressing that they had no plan. And Chris said to me, some people just follow others blindly and just don’t think or plan for the future at all. And that’s just sad, he said. We’re all adults living in the same world, so why do people do this?

So then I thought about it for a bit, and then I responded, “Well, Fuzzy, I love you. I know that you think through things a lot. So, I’d trust you wherever you took us. If you suddenly decided that you wanted to get up and move to a remote farm somewhere in the middle of France, then I’d be up for it.” Fuck this dumb ass country and these dumb people here!

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” Chris exclaimed in response. “If I get to that point of insanity, you better get a gun and just shoot me in the head!”

Then, he paused, realizing how abrupt his reply was, and said, “That’s a very sweet sentiment. But it’s still insane and would never happen! I would much rather move to Staten Island than move to a fucking farm!”

Welp. It doesn’t seem to matter if I bring up constructive criticism or compliment. Either way, my chosen life partner will not accept it.

“Daddy is SO mad at you!”

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My mom called the other day to tell me that while she and my dad enjoy the videos I send of Kaia, my dad was apparently very mad at me regarding one specific video.

“Your Daddy is SO mad at you!” my mom exclaimed on the phone the other day. “What in the world are you doing giving Kaia a knife to use? She could seriously hurt herself!”

My mom was referring to the video I took of Kaia on Sunday while we were cooking together. I had laid out king oyster mushrooms on my cutting board and was getting ready to cut them. She saw that I was about to start cutting and got really excited, so she dragged out her stepping stool so that she could “help” me. I relented, and I took out her plastic toddler training knives (key word is PLASTIC) and let her cut some of them. She loves being mummy’s little kitchen helper. Yes, she does slow me down a lot, and yes, she doesn’t cut the way I’d like her to cut, but I love watching her focus, and I love seeing her face when she does a decent cut. She has to learn at some point, so I think this is a good time when she actually does want to help and shows interest. She was enjoying being my kitchen helper, constantly looking back up at me for my approval and response, and continued cutting. It’s hard to say “no” to such eager eyes.

I told my mom that they were both being ridiculous, that the knife was meant to be a toddler training knife and was made of plastic. So no matter what Kaia did, there was zero chance she could get hurt.

“It doesn’t matter!” my mom insisted. “She could still hurt herself!”

You could hear the logic in that response. Of course it doesn’t matter… because she doesn’t realize that she’s being called out for being wrong in her assumption, and she’s never wrong in her head, even in senseless moments like this. I told Chris this anecdote, to which he replied, “I’m not going to take advice from someone who has a dead kid and who only has a 50% success rate at raising kids.”

Conversations with mom = empty, nothing exchanges with no substance

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The handful of times I’ve had really interesting, thought-provoking conversations with friends’ parents, Chris’s parents, and even a friend’s grandparents, I have often thought back to the bland, boring conversations I have with my own parents. Sadly, I have become one of those adult children who has parents who barely know her. They don’t understand me or know the “real” me, and I don’t really think they care to really know who I really am. I’ve tried to share and be more open with them, but this has only backfired. So, I’ve stopped doing any substantive sharing. We go about our obligatory relationship where I check in on them, and they check in on me, but we have nothing else that really bonds us other than blood, familial love, and history.

My mom called late last night when I was about to sleep, so I called her back after work today to see how she was doing. The usual inane conversation ensued: she asked whether Chris and my cousin had found new jobs (negative to both, but also, Chris isn’t looking as I’ve said many times before, so why is she still asking this?). She asked if all my closer friends were employed and what jobs they did. I asked her why she felt the need to ask about any of their jobs, as their employment statuses had zero impact on her own life. She responded, “I just want to make sure they all have money to support themselves!” Then, she proceeded to ask about friends who have “only” one child and ask whether another one was on the way (again, not her business). I told her that if any of my friends were pregnant again, I’d eventually learn this, and then she would eventually learn this, but again, it’s none of her business. Her response: “Two is better than one!” She then inquired about another cousin and randomly said, your father thinks he’s arrogant. I plainly said that this cousin absolutely was NOT arrogant, and I had no idea why he’d even think something so stupid. “Well, he could be arrogant because he has a good job!” she said. “What do you know about his job?” I retorted. “You know nothing about his job or company!”

It was just a pointless conversation of meaningless questions that had no answers that she’d deem satisfactory. For my mom, people seem to only be deserving of “status” or “respect” if they are gainfully employed, which is funny to think about since she hasn’t worked since I was in high school. She constantly wants to know what people do for a living, then takes it upon herself to make huge, baseless assumptions about how “good” or “stable” their jobs are and what kind of money they make. It sounds like a pointless, empty exercise, a sign of how superficially she sees the world and judges people in this world.

The truth is that I have no idea what brings “meaning” or “happiness” to my parents’ life. I think about this a lot, especially after every similarly annoying conversation we have like the above. They have empty relationships with the few people they associate with. My mom loves to put on a guise when she’s around her JW friends and acquaintances. She also loves to state that her health is poor when in fact, she’s actually in pretty good shape… but perhaps not in mentally good shape. They only seem to think the world is getting worse and more dangerous and scary. They don’t really do anything that would qualify as a “hobby” to keep their minds and bodies active or occupied. As far as I am concerned, they are an example of how not to be when in my 60s and 70s.

Kaia, her books, and mine

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At three years and three-plus months of age, Kaia still very much loves her books. Time really flies; I’ve already given away a lot of her “baby” baby books via our local buy-nothing group. I’m also starting to put aside another set of books she’s outgrown for my friend, who is due for her first baby in August. I just scored a huge set of older toddler books for her via our buy-nothing group, so she’s been pretty excited to have lots of “new” books to read, including on characters she’s familiar with, like Frozen/Elsa and Peppa Pig. As she’s getting older, she’s been showing more interest in my books, whether it’s my cookbooks, my Kindle, which I’ve explained to her I use for reading, and also the occasional hardcover book I have. Right now, I am currently reading and totally obsessed with Abraham Verghese’s The Covenant of Water, which is quite a behemoth at over 700 pages long. I’ve been using a magnetic bookmark to hold my page. Kaia has been intrigued with both this book as well as the magnetic bookmark and constantly wants to flip the pages and (ugh) remove my bookmark.

Last night, she was struggling to sleep in her own in bed. I had left the book on the couch, where I had planned to do my bedtime reading. When I reappeared after she snuck out of her bed, I noticed that not only was my bookmark missing, but the page where the bookmark was had been torn. Lo and behold, she flashed my bookmark at me with a devilish grin and said, “Look, mummy! Look!” It was as though she was trying to say, “Look what I got! Catch me if you can!”

I struggled to get her back to bed. Chris eventually came over, instilled the fear of God in her, and she finally stayed in her bed. I wasn’t able to read as much as I wanted to last night. But I will admit: it is cute to see that Kaia is not only into her own books, but also her mummy’s.