Giving away breast pumps and supplies – the end of a (motherhood) era

This week, I took a look at my closets and decided that now was the time to finally give away my two breast pumps, their associated supplies, and my maternity clothes that don’t fit right now that I’m no longer pregnant. It was a weird feeling. At first, it felt uncomfortable, but when I packed them up and brought them downstairs to our security desk to facilitate pickup from eager members of our local Buy-Nothing group, I got over it. I always hoped to have another child, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that Chris won’t budge on his ridiculous “one-child policy,” and that unless I divorce him and miraculously meet someone else suitable ASAP, I’m probably not having another kid. So there’s no reason to keep extra stuff in our space for something that is a highly unlikely future.

It’s like a semi-official closed door to that stage of my life: recovering from child birth, breast feeding and pumping, and all the anger, frustration, tears, and hope that came with it. It’s a little funny to think about exactly how much time and energy I devoted to breastfeeding: the 1,430 hours over 14 months that I recorded having my nipples connected to a breast pump doesn’t even capture all the time that I spent researching, reading, testing, discussing, measuring, storing, and cleaning all my supplies. And THAT does not even include all the head space time I spent actually thinking and obsessing over it all. While there was a lot of pain and frustration during this phase, I also had a lot of highs and times when I’d stare into the fridge and be amazed at all the full breast milk bottles lined up. I remember the nanny phrasing my milk production and all the effort obsessively extended into feeding my baby. And for a few moments, I’d just look at all the bottles and smile, proud that my body was finally capable of producing so much milk… more milk than I thought I’d produce when that idiot lactation consultant at the pediatrician’s office insisted (with no evidence) that I had low milk supply. I’d daydream about potentially freezing the milk and using it for things like diaper rash or even in Kaia’s solid foods, like oatmeal or smoothies. It seems very far away now even though it was just over a year and a half ago when I weaned. That’s what motherhood is, though: lots of highs and lows that are quickly forgotten once you move into the next stage of your child’s development.

It’s okay, though. Although I do miss a lot of those moments in Kaia’s development and my own motherhood journey, I love her stage right now. I love that we can communicate in two languages, that she can surprise me with new things she can do and say every single day. I love how affectionate she is. I hope she is always this affectionate. I hope she always knows how much I love her.

After bedtime stories each night, I always say the exact same lines to her: “You are the best thing that has ever happened to… mummy. Mama loves Kaia more than… anything. Mama is grateful for Kaia… every day.” I also tell her in Chinese that I will always love her, no matter what. In the last two weeks, when I have said this to her before bed, she finishes my sentences with the last word. And it warms my heart. The very first time this happened, I teared up and just squeezed her and laughed, which elicited big smiles and giggles from her. I always said it her entire life, but I wasn’t sure if it was registering with her or if she understood me. But this just made my day the first time she did it. I just love my baby so much and am so grateful I have her.

11 years.

Dear Ed,

Can you believe it — somehow, I’ve managed to get through 11 years without you earth side. Eleven years ago, I had no idea what life would be like today, without you, but alas, here we are.

Some things are still the same and have not changed: our parents are still miserable and still not treating their only living child very well. They have zero relationship with their one grandchild, your niece. But they seem to think this is all okay, and that they must be doing exemplary work!

Kaia is here, though. Even during her “terrible twos” tantrums and whining, I still look at her and see her as my life’s greatest gift and blessing. She makes me unbelievably happy and gives me hope for the future. She is adorable, smart, cheeky, and very opinionated. I still can’t believe that at age 2.5, she has opinions on what she wears! If you were here, you’d likely spoil her rotten with all her favorite dresses. She far prefers dresses to shorts and t-shirts this summer. She especially loves the big twirly skirts and tutus.

I told you, but I skipped going home last year because I didn’t want to deal with our parents’ drama and constant anger and resentment. This year, I am going back to San Francisco for a work offsite and extended it to the two surrounding weekends. I still haven’t spoken with our parents about the visit. I’ve only texted them because I really cannot stomach listening to our mom speak. I already know she’s going to be rude and nasty when I eventually have to call. Part of me is just wondering what it would be like if I went home for nine days and just didn’t have any contact with them at all. It might actually be glorious, but I’d eventually feel guilt and cave in. Our mom accused me of not calling her as often (this was back in February) because she said she “knew” the reason: it’s because she didn’t send money to Kaia. It was unbelievable — completely false, and just filled with venom. She doesn’t understand how poisonous her brain is. And since then, I have refused to call her. She is never going to understand that she cannot just say and do awful things to me and expect zero consequences. I first texted our dad to let him know we were coming back. He simply responded, “Aren’t you supposed to notify mom?” Typical, emotionally immature, idiotic response. What else did we expect, anyway?

Luckily, as I reflect back on the last eleven years, I realize that I have grown emotionally in terms of how I deal with our parents: I am better able to compartmentalize my anger against them. I don’t let it seep into all my thoughts throughout the day and before I go to bed the way I used to. Isn’t that amazing – I have grown! So when I don’t have to or want to think about them, I just don’t, and I feel completely fine, of sound mind, and healthy. But when I do think of them, I just wish they didn’t exist, as sad as that is to say. They have caused so much anger, sadness, and disappointment in our lives, not to mention damage, that I’ve had to spend most of my life trying to get back on course and fixing it all.

And then, there’s you: they try to go on with their lives as though you never existed. And that angers me. Granted, they treated you horribly when you were here, so it’s not like they would venerate you after death, but come on — deal with the fact that you had two kids, and one of them died by suicide. They are emotionally and psychologically incapable of accepting that they make mistakes and taking responsibility for them.

So while we are connected by family and blood, you and I are also connected by our wounds. As the great Japanese writer Haruki Murakami once wrote: “One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds. Pain linked to pain, fragility to fragility. There is no silence without a cry of grief, no forgiveness without bloodshed, no acceptance without a passage through acute loss. That is what lies at the root of true harmony.” But Kaia Pookie gives me hope for the future… not for them, but for the future. When I look at her face, especially her nose, I see you. And I know I have to do right by you and try to be the best mother I can be to your niece. I at least owe you that much.

I miss you. I hope you are doing well wherever you are up there. I thought about you when I watched the Snoopy show on the plane ride back from Buenos Aires. In my mind, you and Snoopy/Peanuts/Charlie Brown are forever interconnected. Can you believe I am in my 39th year of life? Chris very nicely reminded me a couple times this past week that I am “middle aged.” It’s strange, though. When I thought about aging when I was a teen, I never thought that I’d be aging without you. You’re supposed to be turning 45 this year. But that will never happen. I am still aging, though. These stupid sun spots on my face keep reminding me of my aging process. I do not like them and am considering getting them removed. But that is a story for another day for you. I thought a lot about death when we were doing our will and estate planning earlier this year. And I thought a lot about what I hope Kaia will remember about me once I’m gone. I try hard to be good to her and to be a good human so that I can be a good role model to her. Anyway, as far as I am concerned, while I may be in my late 30s, I feel quite spritely and know that my health is that of someone much younger. And I suppose in my head, I’ll always feel a bit like a child — not sure if that is a good or a bad thing, or maybe a little of A and B.

See you on the other side… and I do hope that the other side is quite far from today. I need to see Kaia Pookie grow up and become her own person. Wait for me patiently, will you?

With all my love,

Yvonne

The Snoopy Show on Apple TV+

On the flight back from Buenos Aires to New York, I was pleasantly surprised to find that there were Bluey episodes available to watch. Five episodes were available, and given they were only about seven minutes long each, I watched all of them. Funnily enough, even though we have been reading Bluey books and listening to the theme song on repeat for Kaia, I’d actually never watched a single episode prior to this flight. Based on the books, I already thought the premise of Bluey was sweet. After having read several books of Bluey to Kaia, I knew I would like the general stories and themes. There’s definitely gentle parenting happening here, where parents are gentle and kind with their children, democratic, but still firm. And at the end of the night, the ending is very real for today: once both Bluey and Bingo are asleep, both Chili and Bandit (the parents) plop themselves on their couches; one gets on his phone, and the other gets on her iPad. Yes, that is what you do when you have a “break” from parenting today, as any parent of young children today can attest to!

After I was done, and after Kaia had fallen asleep, I decided to skim through what else was available for kids to watch. And that was when I stumbled upon The Snoopy Show on Apple TV+. I didn’t know this existed, and since I was feeling a bit nostalgic, I decided to watch one episode, which was called “Happiness is a Dancing Dog.” It was almost half an hour long, so it was quite a commitment for me for a cartoon TV show. Assuming all of this is based on Charles Schulz’s original Peanuts comic strip, I actually learned a few things about Charlie Brown and friends that I didn’t know before: I didn’t realize that Snoopy was chosen by Charlie Brown as the last dog in a litter. Apparently, all the other dogs seemed to have a bolder personality than Snoopy, which was why no dog buyers wanted him. He seemed a bit timid and out of it. Charlie Brown was experiencing a lot of sadness, which is what prompted him to get a dog… which ended up being Snoopy. And with Charlie Brown, Snoopy really lit up. He took charge. He performed many acts of love and service for Charlie Brown to get him out of his rut. And so, it’s no wonder that Charlie Brown and Snoopy loved each other and became inseparable.

As I was watching this, I remembered the big Macy’s Snoopy Ed got me for Christmas in 2006. I actually went into the archives of this blog to discover I wrote about this back in December 2015, nine years after this happened. I had originally asked Ed if he could buy one for my friend, as she had tried to buy one, but they were sold out at her nearest Macy’s. At the time, Ed worked at Macy’s in Stonestown (it’s still hard to believe that Macy’s no longer exists at Stonestown Galleria in San Francisco!), so he had easy access to whatever stock came in first. He not only helped me get my friend a Snoopy, but he secretly got me the same one for Christmas that year. That was the kind of person Ed always was: generous, always eager to please. He always insisted that I stop denying myself “things” that I wanted and just get them. Why not? he said, if it makes you happy?

I think about Ed a lot whenever I see Peanuts or anything Snoopy related. I suppose it’s because, similar to Peanuts, I think Ed was often misunderstood. A lot of people look at the surface level of Peanuts and they think it’s just some kiddie cartoon strip with no meaning or purpose. But that could not be farther from the case. If it really were just that, there is no way that Peanuts could possibly be as timeless as it is and as loved today as it was back in the 1950s. Peanuts comic strips had a lot of very complex ideas conveyed in just a few words that were quite philosophical and psychological. It addressed important and deep concepts like love, death, depression (yes, really), and… what else really is out there in the world? And I think that it had a lot of important messages to its viewers or readers, messages that could easily get overlooked if you didn’t think about it enough; the types of messages that can seem trite, but when delivered effectively and smartly through a comic strip, really do come through — messages like, never stop trying! Know your value and worth! Think about “big” questions and the bigger world and universe around you! Embrace your imagination! Even those who are wise still need security and support (hello, Linus and his security blanket)! And… enjoy the simple things.

After I finished watching this Snoopy episode, I turned off the TV. Who would appreciate knowing about this show? Of course, Ed would. And in my sleepy state, I thought for a second, I’m going to tell Ed about this! And then, once again, I caught myself and remembered… once again, that he isn’t here for me to tell.

So, I’ll just have to write him a letter and tell him in my dreams.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When is Daddy coming?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suma and Topa, coming then going

It’s been a fun several weeks with Suma and Topa visiting. Kaia has loved having extra affectionate family close by every day, especially being able to have extra people to hug, kiss, pick her up, and play hide-and-seek with. Though she is surely becoming a little person with her distinct desires and opinions, she has loved having all the extra attention of her paternal grandparents. She has back and forth conversations with them and shows them things she can do that will “impress” them. I love watching Kaia shriek with delight and giggle endlessly when she successfully finds Topa during their repeat games of hide-and-seek. We’ve also found new cognitive abilities of Kaia during this visit, such as the fact that she’s actually able to understand when we ask her to fake an emotion, whether it’s laughing or crying. Then, she wants each of us to fake cry and asks us, one by one, to cry. It’s the cutest and most hilarious thing. Before these moments over the last couple of days, I wasn’t even sure her brain at this stage had developed enough to understand that, but clearly it has.

In addition to enjoying watching them all interact, it’s also been fun to spend time with Chris’s parents. I always tell my friends and anyone who will listen how lucky and fortunate I am to have a good relationship with my in-laws. They always appreciate the littlest things I do and are always thanking me and expressing gratitude. It’s taken a lot of adjusting to be used to it and accept it, but I do appreciate that they appreciate me.

Here’s something small and funny that happened in the last day: I was organizing some things in our bedroom (they sleep in our bed when they visit, and we sleep on the sofa bed in our living room), and I noticed that the tissue box was empty. So, I promptly replaced it with a new one from our closet. When they returned home for the day, Chris’s dad noticed it had been replaced, and he came up to me and thanked me for replacing the tissue box. I laughed and said that was silly — no need to thank me; I just wish he had told me it was empty sooner so that I could’ve replaced it earlier, as I had no idea it was all done. He said it really wasn’t a big deal; since he had been under the weather, he had just been collecting extra napkins from restaurants they’d been to and been using those!! It was completely ridiculous: replacing the tissue box or toilet paper is just a normal, household maintenance thing to do, guests or no guests. And it would be particularly embarrassing for me, as a host, to not replace tissue boxes for guests and instead expect them to use externally sourced tissues! His dad had expressed worry that he didn’t want to “deplete our supplies,” but I said that was completely crazy; these things were bought to be used!

But that’s what I mean when I say that Chris’s parents are always so appreciative and thankful, even for the smallest (and seemingly most ridiculous) things. They are truly good humans, always trying to do the right thing. It’s refreshing to be around; Chris and his brother have no idea how good they have it. They are leaving us for the next legs of their trip, heading to Malaga, Spain, then Verona, Italy, before heading back home to Melbourne. So we had to explain to Kaia before her nap that Suma and Topa were leaving, and she’d see them in a few months. She kind of/sort of understood they were leaving, as she kept insisting on hugs from them. But then, when she woke up from her nap, she acted as though nothing had happened or changed.

I’m always sad when they leave, especially now that Kaia is here. Because I know that a lot of time will pass before they are all able to enjoy each other again. But I suppose distance can make the heart grow fonder.

British-style baked beans at home for Topa’s 71st birthday

Since my college days, I’ve always been fascinated by recipes for dishes that we typically eat store-bought, whether it’s from a package at the supermarket or from a bakery. I like seeing recipes for things like Oreos, pop tarts, and even Goldfish crackers because they’re just nostalgic: they evoke a sense of childhood and, well, pure youthful ignorance of what kind of crap goes into the food you consume and ultimately put into your body. Why am I saying this? Well, if you are aware of the food industry, you will know that packaged food items that are shelf stable and meant to last a while, such as Oreos and pop tarts, are shelf stable because of all the preservatives and artificial ingredients that are added to it. And no, those things are typically not great for your health. So it’s always fun to see homemade “upgrades” of these foods.

I did not grow up with baked beans. During the times when I did have them, they were typically a side to barbecue, usually ribs or brisket. Chris’s dad’s daily breakfast while he’s back home in Melbourne is tinned British-style baked beans, usually out of a Cole’s brand can, mixed with some sambal oelek sauce for some heat, on top of toasted multigrain bread. That’s a very British breakfast, one that is 99.9999% of the time always from a can for Brits. So when I saw that Serious Eats posted a recipe for British-style baked beans, I thought it would be a nice treat for his birthday, to have fully homemade baked beans made from my Rancho Gordo eye of the goat heirloom beans.

I soaked the heirloom beans for four hours (for heirloom beans, they say to never soak them more than six hours). Then, I rinsed and simmered them for another three hours. Finally, I made the sauce, which is a base of diced tomatoes, apple cider vinegar, onions, fish sauce (as a sub for Worcestershire sauce, which I never have), garlic, brown sugar, bay leaves, and thyme. I blitzed it in my blender and added it to the pot of beans, then simmered it down until the sauce became a thick glaze. And the flavor was most definitely an elevated version of the canned British-style beans; it had this interesting, savory, sweet, tangy flavor, with a nice bite from the velvety eye of the goat beans. The flavor was complex, but still reminiscent of the tinned beans. I was pretty pleased with my final result.

British-style baked beans are nowhere as sweet as American-style baked beans. I even reduced the sugar in the Serious Eats recipe a bit to ensure they weren’t too sweet. And I think they came out perfectly. This recipe is definitely a keeper.

Mother’s Day 2024 at home

Mother’s Day is one of those heavily commercialized holidays in the U.S. that businesses absolutely love. They love that people are willing to shell out extra money on things like overpriced (and over salted and buttered) meals, hand bags, flowers, and jewelry on the one day of the year they need to at least show that they care (even if they don’t) about their mothers. So in the weeks preceding Mother’s Day, you will constantly see ads everywhere outside and online for Mother’s Day sales and specials. If you don’t know Mother’s Day is approaching, then you truly must be living in a cave.

I’ve never liked all that hoopla because my general thought was always: mothers and fathers don’t need a day of appreciation; they need a lifetime of appreciation, expressed in small and large ways constantly. If Mother’s Day is the only day you choose to express appreciation for your mother (or the mother of your children), you probably deserve to die a slow and painful death.

Chris’s parents arrived on a very delayed flight back from San Antonio this morning, so I decided to prepare brunch at home for all of us. I made asparagus, goat cheese, and bacon frittata, vegan caesar salad with chopped walnuts and crispy chickpeas, and vegan chocolate chunk banana bread sweetened just with ripe bananas and ground dates. Chris fried some thick cut bacon from Paulus Farm Market that we picked up in Pennsylvania last weekend, and then toasted some thick slices of olive bread from Il Fornaretto Bakery. It was a tasty meal.

A few of my friends messaged to wish me a happy Mother’s Day and asked what I did. I told them I made brunch for the family, including Chris’s parents. And some responded, “You’re not supposed to be cooking on Mother’s Day! Leave that to Chris!”

He insisted he made the bacon and bread. He definitely did not make the bread. But my response here is: I love cooking, and thus cooking makes me happy. Plus, I’m a control freak, so honestly I’m not sure I would want Chris making me a frittata. Some things, if you want them to happen, you really just need to do yourself.

As for what Pookster did for me for Mother’s Day? She prepared a Happy Mother’s Day sign for me with her hand print on it in green paint at school. And at 6:30 this morning, I had an abrupt awakening when she decided to jump on top of my stomach while I was half asleep. Yes, it WAS a happy Mother’s Day from her!

In-laws and their quirks: on steaming vs. ironing clothes

Every time Chris’s parents come visit, I can inevitably expect the same usual exchanges and things to happen: Chris’s dad will do a full recount of their entire journey to get to us, including details about the lounges (and alcohol) they enjoyed, the food in flight and overall inflight service, movies he had watched, and how comfortable his seat/bed were. He will talk about the ride to our apartment from the airport and whether he had any chit chat with the Uber or taxi driver.

Chris’s mom will marvel over any food I had prepared for them and eagerly ask if she can help with the food or cleanup. She will then try her best to wash and clean up as many things as possible. And eventually, she will ask me if I have an iron… to which my answer is always… “No, but we have a steamer!”

Then, she will say her usual comments about how a steamer is okay, but it’s not enough. While a steamer is able to get out wrinkles, it isn’t able to iron on those nice lines/pleats that she likes on her pants (to which my Gen Y brain would immediately think, “Who cares or even sees your dumb lines on your pants? DO YOU EVEN SEE THEM WHEN YOU WALK?”

When we moved into this building, somehow, I could not locate where my iron went. So I discovered the magic of a small travel-sized steamer and have never gone back. It is quick to heat up, it de-wrinkles in seconds, and it’s light and easy to clean up and put away. I realized that none of my clothes ever required an iron or any “lines,” and all my summer clothes that required heat would be cured by a steamer. So I’m fully in Camp Steamer over Camp Iron.

So, every year, I chuckle to myself whenever Chris’s mom asks me about an iron. Because I always know the face she will make when I offer my steamer…