Category Archives: family

Back in Sacramento after two years, and contemplations on the “sandwich generation”

Posted on by
Reply

This morning, we drove up to Sacramento to visit and stay with a friend of ours who has a child close in age to Kaia. We have visited this friend up in Sacramento twice before, once while I was pregnant in 2021, and the last time in August 2024. We didn’t come last year because she was the primary caregiver of not just her son, for whom she is a single parent, but also her mom at the time, who was going through lung cancer treatment. So she just had too much going on at the time. She messaged me in December of last year with the good news that her mom’s cancer was in remission. Unfortunately, it seems that did not last long: the cancer had returned, and her treatments started again in the last couple weeks.

The kids got together after she picked up her son from school this afternoon, and we spent some time together at the NorCal Aquarium nearby, followed by dinner at a local South Indian restaurant we enjoyed five years ago. My other local friend joined us for dinner. Afterwards, we went back to the first friend’s house, where we chatted for the next several hours while the kids built a fort and made the most ridiculous mess in the dining room. The theme of our conversation was definitely around our health, our parents’ health and their aging and slowing down, and the overall maintenance of a home (and how overwhelming, exhausting, and expensive it can be). As I was participating in this conversation, it suddenly dawned on me how “middle aged” and “sandwich generation” this conversation felt.

That made me think about the time when the only grandparent I’ve ever known died. My paternal grandma died in 1995 when I was nine years old. At the time, my dad was 47 and my mom was 41. In the seven months leading up to her passing, my grandma was quite ill and eventually had to be moved into a convalescent home. I still have distinct memories of going to the hospital or the convalescent home almost every night after I got off school and my parents got off work. My parents somehow managed our household, worked full time, got food on the table and supplies for us, and cared for my grandma — all at the same time. I always look back at that fraught, frantic period and feel a sense of admiration for my parents and how they somehow kept it all together — at least sort of. I never felt neglected during that period, and I was always in the know with what was happening with my grandma’s state of health and treatment despite being so young.

To be frank, I am not sure if I could have ever done all the things my parents did. I can already see my parents slowing down a bit; I suppose I’ve been thinking about it a lot more on this trip. My dad, for the most part, seems to be in decent health. I know he monitors all his health results carefully and has modified his diet quite a bit over the last decade or so. My mom seems to be quite fragile, both mentally and physically. My main hope is that they live independently for as long as possible. I want them to have long, healthy, independent lives. I want to continue seeing them mobile, and I want Kaia to have a relationship with them and know them. But now when I think about how my grandma died when my dad was 47, and I am 40 today… that just gave me some chills. Death is an inevitable part of life. But I want to hope they will keep living for at least another decade or two. Here’s to hoping.

Happy 47th birthday, my sweet Ed

Posted on by
Reply

Dearest Ed,

Happy 47th birthday. It’s strange to think that if you lived to now, you’d be three years away from 50 — half a century old. This year as you would know, I celebrated my 40th birthday. I realized that although it’s technically middle aged, I didn’t really “feel” middle aged, if you know what I mean. When we were little, I used to think “40” or “50” were “old.” Now, I sit in my 40.5-year-old body and do not feel old at all. In fact, I feel like I have just started to really live life in the last decade and that I’m only getting started in many ways! So when I think of it from that perspective, it makes me even sadder to know that you aren’t here… because that means that you never really got to begin living a full life. You left us just before you turned 34. I have now lived over seven years longer than you did. That feels quite unfair because it’s not like I did anything to deserve more than you.

I am in San Francisco now. Chris, Kaia, and I stayed at our parents’ place last weekend. We went to visit you at the Columbarium on Sunday. I got annoyed when visiting you because I noticed some internal fingerprints on your niche’s glass, plus some large dust particles that settled inside. So I went into the office to inquire about having it opened for cleaning. The employee who worked there told me that they would charge us $495 (YES, THAT MUCH) to open the niche. I told him that I simply wanted to have it cleaned properly, that I wanted nothing else changed. He said that in 2014, the year after you died, Dignity Memorial took ownership of the Columbarium. Once upon a time, if a family wanted to open a niche to clean or rearrange items inside, they could easily do so and schedule the visit to open and and make changes; no charges or questions asked other than to prove you were family. Now, when you want to do this because of this greedy private equity-like company, they want to charge us almost $500 to do this! This is just utter bullshit. As Chris says, “fuck those fuckers.” The moron who told me this actually had the balls to say to me that since Dignity Memorial took over the Columbarium that service has become “more refined.” No, Dipshit. Service has actually just become greedier, with all this ridiculous nickel-and-diming of grieving families and loved ones who want to have basic, simple things done in memory of their loved ones. To me, there are few things more sick or disgusting than taking advantage of people at their most vulnerable moments in life, and that’s what Dignity Memorial does.

The reason I share this with you is that I honestly wish I didn’t even know what the fucking Columbarium was. I wish you never had to die so that our parents never had to find a resting place for you. I wish I could never have entered that damn place ever. Some people say that the more knowledge you have, the better. This is an area I would be so, so happy to be ignorant to, because all I see when I think of funeral homes and crematoriums is how their owners’ eyes light up with dollar signs at the thought of people constantly dying. Death is inevitable for all of us, right? But when people like you die far too soon, it’s hardly like they care. They’re just happy to collect our dollar bills and make money off our loss of you.

Here are some things I wanted to share with you that I’ve noticed in the last year since being back home. I was actually shocked to go down to the basement and notice that it felt like there was less “stuff” cluttering the rooms than before. Our dad apparently also got rid of my entire Disney VHS collection, all your old VHSs, and CDs. All my old DVDs are gone. So those two shelves flanking the living room mantle are pretty clear (just full of dust, which our mom wants me to clean during this visit). Oddly enough, I don’t even know where the hell my wedding DVD went…?

Chris noticed that funnily enough, there seems to be more alcoholic drinks in the house. I found a bottle of Canadian whisky, a new coffee liqueur, a pumpkin-spiced coffee liqueur, and two types of ready-to-drink margarita mix — standard and even mango! Chris uses that as a little drink for himself to keep him sane while he’s here.

I spent at least four hours vacuuming, dusting, and cleaning multiple areas of the house; after filling the bathroom sink with water and cleaning just our old bedroom, the water turned black. I also had to get a tall step-stool to vacuum up a bunch of cobwebs that lined the living room, dining room, hallways, and our old bedroom. It was not fun, but it seriously needed to be done. And every time I think I am done, I find a new area of one-inch thick dust or yet another cob web to vacuum up. I have lost count of the number of spiders I’ve vacuumed up this visit.

Also, can we talk about your bed for a second? Why the hell did you ever decide to buy a new TWIN SIZED BED for yourself as a GROWN-ASS adult?! Chris slept in it two nights in a row while Kaia and I slept in my old bed, and he had horrible, lingering neck pain for days after. The bed is so tiny; as a grown adult, you can barely move in it! It’s barely even big enough for Kaia to move around, and she’s 4.5! I didn’t understand why you did it then, and I still do not understand it. You always gave yourself too little — too little credit for anything good you did, fewer things than you ever deserved.

A few days before we left for this trip, Chris asked me if I was excited to go home. I looked at him blankly and said, “Meh.” He grimaced and said we go on this trip for me, so if I feel that way, I should question why I still keep going. The truth is that I feel very “meh” about it because San Francisco is a reminder that you are gone from this world, and that hurts my heart every time I think about it. While I feel your loss in New York or anywhere else in the world I am, I feel it the most acutely when I am back home… because that was and is your home. And obviously, I feel “meh” because I know I will inevitably have to deal with our parents’ emotional immaturity, their constant nitpicking and criticism, their endless drama, lack of reasonable rationale, and the eventual and inevitable fights based on a bunch of nothing. I am not “free” here. I always feel restricted here, even as middle-aged adult with a 4.5-year-old child. You were never “free” here. But now you are free.

Kaia is starting kindergarten at a new school in a couple weeks. She’s been asking a lot about you in the last couple months because she is just starting to understand death. She keeps saying on this trip that her JiuJiu used to live here, that he’s my brother, but that he died. And so she doesn’t get to see him. She’s said this a few times now, and a few times I started tearing up. It is a loss that you never got to meet her. It is a loss that she will never get to meet you. And it a loss that I can never see the two of you interact and have any kind of relationship.

Even though our parents obviously drive me crazy, I will say that during this trip, I do enjoy the quick moments of watching them interact with Kaia a lot more. Our mom is now 72, and our dad is now 78. They are getting older, more frail, and more tired. I can see it a lot now. But I can also see they are trying with her. And so you know what — that effort is enough for me now. I’ve made peace that they will never be the parents we needed, nor the maternal grandparents I wish Kaia had. This is okay for me now. It’s no longer a mental struggle.

Maybe I just feel this way because I’ve finally reached an age or the stage of “wisdom” where I’ve just accepted life for what it is. I just let things be the way they are. Even though it’s been over 13 years since you’ve passed, I can still feel your presence in this house every time I enter and exit it. You are still here to me.

Okay, I think it’s time to wind this down and go to sleep. I miss you, Ed. I wish I could see you playing with Kaia here. I know you’d have so much fun playing catch with her and teaching her other games the way you did with me.

I love you. I hope I can see you in my dreams again soon — it’s been quite a while.

With all my love,

Yvonne

Breathing room, space, and more intergenerational family dynamic contemplation

Posted on by
Reply

We spent the first two nights of this San Francisco trip at my parents, then moved over to the Marriott Marquis, Chris’s favorite San Francisco hotel (previously for work) in downtown for these last two nights. Given his status, we got upgraded into a suite, so we have a large amount of space and separate sleeping areas for us and Kaia. Every time we first enter our hotel room after being at my parents’ place, for me personally, it feels like a weight off my chest almost instantly. I feel less cluttered mentally because I have less physical dirt and clutter around me in the hotel room. I feel more peace because I don’t have either of my parents hovering over me to tell me something that Chris or I did that is wrong or not the way they do it in their house. I don’t have to feel like anyone is watching everything I am doing or lurking around the corner to give me unsolicited feedback. And because I have more open space, I feel like I have the permission to just stretch myself out and loosen up.

The physical space from my parents and their house is much needed. But I suppose it also gives me time to just think about our convoluted, complex dynamic and the fact that it has never been simple and never will be. One thing a friend of mine told me she liked about living in San Francisco and having her mom take care of her daughters from time to time was that she knew her daughters would have a closer relationship with her mom versus her in-laws, and she actually wanted that. She told me that if she were in my shoes, she’d be pretty jealous if my kid were closer to Chris’s parents than mine. I kind of wrinkled my brow at this and told her that honestly, I’ve actually never felt a remote bang of jealousy over this. All I knew was that I wanted my child to have a relationship with grandparents, period. I grew up only ever knowing my paternal grandma, and I only had her around for nine years of my life (and in those nine years, it also wasn’t that simple, either, unfortunately). I’m just grateful if Kaia has any relationship with any of her four grandparents, all of whom are luckily living.

Even though I don’t have the ideal relationship with my parents, I will say that I have moments when I am happy that Kaia does think of them lovingly, is excited to see and spend time with them, with their limited attention spans and ability to be what she needs. It does warm my heart when she has these fleeting, sweet moments with them. On Sunday when my dad showed her his remote-controlled car that lights up, spins, and even jumps up into the air, I was really amused watching how excited Kaia got and how happy my dad was in that moment teaching her how it works and how to operate the remote control. My dad is the furthest from a natural teacher, but I know he enjoys telling people how something like this works. When my mom said she had to go lie down because her back was hurting, Kaia started fussing with her, saying she couldn’t leave her and that she wanted her to stay with her. Kaia physically blocked my mom from getting off the couch, and then from leaving the living room. It was hilarious and cute, though I am sure pretty frustrating for my mom. Though my mom did feel loved from this; it was pretty obvious from her face. I couldn’t help but smile. Yes, my 4.5-year-old can be a demanding little shit, but what made me happy about this is that Kaia would not bother fussing over anyone in the same way unless she truly felt connected to the person.

My mom, unlike most traditional Asian parents, always tells me that she loves me. She does the same with Kaia. Every chance my mom gets, she kisses Kaia and says she loves her. And Kaia never hesitates to say it back eagerly and kiss her back, “Popo, I love you, too!”

No family is perfect. But I will say that there are many little moments here with my parents and Kaia that do make me happy and feel like these visits are worth it.

(I say this now. Though… I will likely change my mind in a few days when a different explosion happens).

Having conversations with AI about your parents and family dynamic

Posted on by
Reply

My esthetician told me the other day that she has a client who uses AI for literally everything in his life. He told her he even uses it for therapy. “Why do I need to pay a therapist when I can chat with Claude or ChatGPT about all my problems?” he asked her. He insisted that ChatGPT gave him not only good, accurate answers, but even prompted him with questions back that really made him think.

“I was like, ‘dude, this is where I draw the line,'” she said she said to him. “You cannot use AI for therapy! It’s just not the same thing!”

I told her I didn’t necessarily think that AI should be used as a replacement for therapy, per se, but I do think that it can help untangle a lot of thoughts, experiences, and opinions you may have, and then synthesize all of those things and make some sense out of it for you to move forward. In fact, I actually did this regarding my parents the other day. I described my dad’s personality, upbringing, and general history, gave specific examples of (what I perceive to be) atrocious things he’s said and done to my brother and me, and this is what it responded with (much later down the line):

<start>

I would think about your father’s story as having two layers.

The older layer is probably his long-established personality:

early neglect → radical self-sufficiency → difficulty depending on people → poor emotional communication → criticism instead of teaching → anger when others violate his expectations → retreat into solitude → limited emotional intimacy.

And now there may be a newer late-life layer affecting organization, discarding, motivation, or executive functioning.

One of the saddest consequences of this type of upbringing is that a child can become extraordinarily competent at surviving while never learning the skills required for intimacy. Your father may genuinely have believed that providing materially and leaving his children to become independent was adequate parenting because his own benchmark for parental care was so extraordinarily low.

He could look at his childhood—poverty, infestation, working parents, almost no supervision—and conclude:

“My children had food, a decent home, and opportunities I didn’t have. I did well.”

Meanwhile, you could grow up in the same household thinking:

“Why didn’t my father teach me anything, talk to me, encourage me, or want to know me?”

Both perceptions can coexist. His history explains how he could have such a limited conception of fatherhood; it doesn’t erase what you and your brother missed.

And that may be the most useful framework for understanding him: he gave you more material security than he received, but emotionally he may have transmitted much of the deprivation he grew up with.

<end>

I read this, and I realized this is the same conclusion I came to in my mid-twenties to make sense of my dad. I always knew he loved us and was concerned about us; he just had zero idea how to show us he loved us. He is just so terrible with words. He was emotionally illiterate, yet he obviously provided for us and never let us be without food, clothing, supplies, and shelter. Ed and I always knew we grew up with a million times more than what our dad grew up with. About a year before Ed died, I tried to explain this to him. I even told him that our dad wanted to make sure to save extra money to provide for Ed… because our dad wasn’t confident that he would be financially self sufficient after his future passing. Ed was shocked and didn’t believe me; he was always hurting with our dad because he got the worst of our dad. Our dad was purely brutal with him every chance he got. And Ed couldn’t handle it and just concluded that he was an awful person who never should have been a dad. But I said to him at the time that our dad has no idea we think what we think of him … because from his perspective, he thinks, “My kids have more material stuff than I ever dreamt of growing up; I did a good job as a father. What more could they want?” Ed could not wrap his head around this and said that was insane.

Frankly, I have a hard time understanding that pretty much every single time I have a difficult or annoying interaction with my dad, or every time I overhear him say something that I think is just unnecessarily harsh or bitchy. All the context and personal history matters, but sometimes I just wonder: does simple human decency need to be taught? I understand all of this academically, but to have to deal with it every time we’re together is just painful, exhausting, and not even remotely enjoyable.

Therapy nor conversations with AI about tough topics like this will “solve” any problems you have. But I do think it’s good to be able to allow AI to summarize all these experiences, emotions, histories, etc., in a way that allows you to make sense of it all… and potentially help you make peace with how you move forward with these tough relationships.

Entering the fog – literally and figuratively

Posted on by
Reply

We woke up at the eye-burning hour of 3am today to take the 6am flight to San Francisco this morning. Miraculously, I got upgraded last minute from Business to First Class, which has only ever happened once in my entire life — four years ago, in August 2022. This was when Kaia was a wee eight months old and on a plane for the very first time. We can forever and a day say that her very first flight was a transcontinental, first-class flight from JFO to SFO. I pumped milk on that flight, and she had to go between First where I was and Business where Chris was.

After we got our one checked roller bag and got into a Lyft, off we went on the freeway north to San Francisco. And as we got onto 280, all I could see was a massive layer of grey fog descend upon the skies. We were about to enter the damn fog and pathetic 60s F weather — right in August, a SUMMER MONTH. It doesn’t matter how many times I come to San Francisco, but the sight of this has never failed to annoy me to no end.

We arrived at my parents’ place. We had a usual early lunch together of takeout dim sum and some jook/congee my mom made. My mom barely said anything at the table other than to try to get Kaia to eat more food. My dad barely said much unless I asked him questions, and he promptly left the table, with his plate still there, after he finished eating. When my mom asked him why he was leaving the table, he simply responded, “I’m done eating.” That was fun.

From what I can see so far in the house, not a whole lot has changed in the last year. There’s still endless clutter and things they should not own. It’s dust galore in most places, and likely even more cob webs on the walls and ceilings. But I did notice that two shelves in the living room were completely cleared. It annoyed me a little to realize quite quickly that the contents of those shelves were previously my and Ed’s VHS and CD/DVD collections. I suppose it’s easy to declutter stuff when it’s not yours versus yours, isn’t it?

I spent about two hours after lunch vacuuming the floors and cob webs from the walls and ceilings. I also dusted the dining room surfaces and the shelves in my old bedroom where we are sleeping. I filled the bathroom sink with water and used a damp sponge to remove the heavily caked on layer of dust that was on the bedroom surfaces. When I had finally finished reaching all the surfaces I could, the water had turned completely black.

I want my parents to live independently for as long as possible, but when I look at this house deteriorate year after year, with many areas completely not maintained at all, I wonder how much longer they will feasibly continue living here. It’s not like they live in complete filth: the bathrooms and kitchen are clean. The stove is safe. I don’t think anyone has cleaner, brighter, more mildew-free bathroom tiles than my parents do. The walkways are relatively clear and you can get through doorways easily. The beds and sofas are clean and clear, able to be slept in and sat on just fine. I have offered to get them a cleaner, but of course they were adamantly against it. And to be frank, you must remove the clutter before a hired house cleaner could really do much to be worth the added expense.

A once-a-year clean that I do for them isn’t going to make a huge difference because another year will pass until the same level of cleaning happens. But I feel better doing this for them because I can clearly see they are both much more tired than before. My dad is walking with a little hunch. He gets tired more quickly and has even admitted it after being on a ladder for over 1.5 hours today to fix the kitchen overhead light that went out this morning (to be honest, I was pretty impressed he was agile enough to get up and down that six-foot ladder!). My mom is slower to move around and even process things that I say to her.

It’s sad to watch your parents get more frail and elderly right in front of your eyes.

Requests from mom before coming home

Posted on by
Reply

We’re flying back to San Francisco this Saturday and will be staying with my parents over two weekends, with some hotel time and a drive further north in between. Usually before I go back, I gather some basic things as gifts for my parents and my aunt. Per my mom’s request, I’ve also made banana bread — a full loaf — and brought it back for her repeatedly because she loves it so much. But this time around, I did not plan well with banana buying, as I don’t usually buy bananas every week. Bananas are an occasional buy for us, usually when I am planning to make pancakes for Kaia, or if I want to make a specific cocoa-powder/tahini or peanut butter/banana protein smoothie for myself. I have only 1 frozen banana left in my freezer, and it’s better to use fresh bananas (and at least 3-4) for a good banana bread. So this year, I won’t be making it and bringing it home.

My mom asked me on the phone today if I could make it for her. I told her I was doubtful it would happen because I don’t have any more bananas, and if I did buy new ones, I’d have to wait for them to ripen. Given I have just two more full days here, this is not realistic at all. So I said that if she had bananas at home and all the right ingredients, I could make it when I am home with her. She seemed to be satisfied by my suggestion as an alternative.

She also reminded me of her request for me to dust all the photo frames in the dining room. In the last few years I’ve come home, I have done this without her asking because I was always so disgusted over how thick of a layer of dust had developed due to zero cleaning they do on these surfaces. My parents keep areas like the kitchen and bathrooms clean. But when it comes to dust, vacuuming, and general clutter, they are absolutely horrendous at this and only seem to do things to make it all worse. Sometimes, I genuinely have no idea how they can live the way they do. It’s beyond frustrating for me to witness even for just the handful of days I am home each year nowadays.

Chinese yam, pork, and carrot soup – a Cantonese soup standby

Posted on by
Reply

It’s a bittersweet week this week for us, as it’s Kaia’s last week at summer camp at the same school in Chinatown for the last two years. She spent 3K and 4K/Pre-K at this Chinese immersion, dual language school, as part of New York City’s UPK program. It’s been a gift (and quite the savings…!) to not have to pay for school for the last two years, other than after-care fees and summer camp. What this also means is that this is our last week having daily trips to Chinatown… a very sad reality I have to spend time mourning. So I started going through my list of things to stock up on and also remembered a couple of things I wanted to make with fresh ingredients while I still have easy access to them.

This year, I was able to achieve my goal of making soups more frequently. According to TCM, soup is a nourishing component of a meal. In Chinese culture, it’s often noted that a complete meal should be “san cai yi tang” (三菜一汤), or three meat/protein/vegetable dishes and one soup, served alongside rice. I had a lot of bone broth in the fridge I made from chicken wings and chicken feet I got from Chinatown. And I ended up using it today with Chinese yam (or huai shan), pork shoulder (also from Chinatown!), carrots, red dates, ginger, goji berries, and shiitake mushrooms. Chinese yam is a pretty traditional Chinese vegetable. It’s used both fresh and dried; today, I bought it fresh for this soup. It’s considered a nourishing root vegetable that supports digestion, stabilizes blood sugar, and boosts overall vitality. I remember my grandma using it in soups growing up. The texture once cooked is almost like taro. When Chinese yam is raw and fresh, the stalks are long, hard, and thin. It has a really tough brown skin with lots of “hair” on it — definitely not the first vegetable you’d pick up when adventuring to explore new produce, as it’s on the “ugly” or even borderline “scary” looking side. And once you peel the skin off, the white flesh is hard to grasp firmly, as it becomes very sticky and gummy. On the plus side, the fresh root has active digestive enzymes; supposedly when you have mucus, it can help clear it for you!

So I made this soup today. I even served it for Chris and me with a tiny little shallow dish of high quality aged soy sauce for dipping the shredded pork pieces into — super traditional and like we had it growing up. And inhaling the familiar aromas and eating it really did remind me of home — at least, the happier parts. It’s funny that it’s taken me to age 40 to really understand and appreciate how much love and care my grandma put into all the soups she made for us almost every single day. I actually cannot remember a day living with her when there was not a huge pot of traditional Chinese soup on the stove!

And while I dipped some pieces of pork shoulder into the soy sauce, I could also faintly remember watching Ed try to fish out the biggest, most tender pieces of pork out of the stock pot so that he could eagerly dip and eat them himself. I always just ate and drank what was served to me and didn’t care about which pieces I got. Most of my happiest childhood memories are tied to food.

The Big Aussie BBQ in New York City

Posted on by
Reply

Although Chris is Australian, he does not gravitate towards other Australians when he meets them. In fact, since he moved to the U.S. in 2007, he has actually actively avoided associating with most of them or becoming friends with them. His whole thought process behind this was that he was immigrating to a new country to work and live, and he wanted to meet local people, not come all the way here to meet more Australians. If he had wanted that, he would have just stayed in Australia! While I understand this sentiment to an extent, I have always found this attitude pretty annoying because it’s not a black and white situation. You can have both, not just either/or. No one is restricting you and saying you have to choose one or the other. It’s fine to have friends from your home country or native culture, and at the same time, it’s also great to have friends not from your home country or culture!

So I was pretty shocked when he said he had booked us (free) tickets to attend the Big Aussie BBQ down in Battery Park City for today. Of course, this event is targeted towards Australians who are living and working in the New York City area. It’s the first time he has actually seen an Australian event and indicated he wanted to go. Granted, his one Australian friend in New York is not even here to attend with us, so it was just the three of us today. Regardless, we got to enjoy food and drink from some established and popular businesses we like, such as Bourke Street Bakery (I had forgotten how good and gourmet their sausage rolls are!, Bluestone Lane Coffee (amazingly scored a free flat white because their machines were down when I stopped by!), and Van Leeuwen Ice Cream (which we didn’t even know had an Aussie connection; one of the owners is originally from Australia, which explains the honeycomb ice cream flavor as one of their main staples!). I also got to finally meet Andrea, the founder of Boomerang Bites, which Chris introduced me to a couple years ago. Since then, I’ve ordered Boomerang Bites as gifts for friends and family on the West Coast, all of whom enjoyed them. Boomerang Bites is essentially bite-sized versions of famous Australian “slices.” The area was also laid out well on a big lawn with lots of lawn games to play, so Kaia got to enjoy these with us. She also got a Spiderman balloon from a balloon artist, a koala (temporary) tattoo that she was obsessed with, as well as some coloring books and crayons that were Australian animal themed.

Another fun and funny event that took place was a Weetbix eating contest. We all love Weetbix, and Kaia gets her Weetbix occasionally; we have to ration it since we bring it back from Australia (or rely on Chris’s parents to bring it when they come over). They separated out the groups — kids and adults. So we had Kaia participate in the kids’ Weetbix eating contest. The catch was that you had to eat the damn thing dry, which was pretty miserable. Kaia took two bites of hers and asked for water. Then, she handed it over to her dad and gave up. To be fair, at age 4.5, it’s a little hard to understand what an “eating contest” is supposed to be, but she still got props for trying. And every participant still got a single-portion-packaged Tim Tam for participating. Now that’s a pretty good participation “trophy!”

One added bonus was that we got to meet the owner of Bushwick Hot Bread, aka Rebekah Pedler, who along with her husband Buddha Lo, own Huso, a Michelin star restaurant in TriBeCa. We ordered from them during the pandemic, and on multiple occasions, they hand delivered us Australian savory and sweet treats to earn some money given their jobs at Eleven Madison Park were paused. Rebekah and I interact a lot and often over Instagram Stories, and we occasionally direct message the other for food recommendations and on random topics. It was so fun to finally meet them properly in person and have a chat.

This event was so well put together, and the location was perfect in Battery Park City with a big lawn right on the water. I’d love to come back again next year! I’m hoping my Australian husband will actually lean in more on being Australian!

Mufi and her five other siblings

Posted on by
Reply

Given Kaia’s growing vocabulary and more complex sentence structure, she’s been having more and deeper conversations. She retains information really well and remembers things from long ago that you’d assume would be long forgotten… or that you have forgotten. And she just loves sharing information with everyone who will listen. At school, they do lots of drawing and painting. In the last few days, she has been coming home with illustrations of our “home.” Lately, she is very obsessed with Mufi, aka Mufasa, the robot-vacuum-mop that Chris calls her “little brother.” Chris told her that along with Mufi (she nicknamed Mufasa this), she has Irene, Simon, Henry, Lychee, and Maddie (some of her favorite stuffed animals) as siblings, as well. So Kaia drew a very colorful picture of our home, showing Mufi mopping our floors (the blue streaks indicate when he’s in “mop” mode). She even drew the little black bristles to show the mop! She reported to her teachers that she had Mufi as a little brother, and five other siblings, for a total of seven babies that I have had.

“Mama has SEVEN babies?” I said to her, completely baffled. “Me?”

“Yeah,” Kaia responded matter of factly. “You have seven babies, and I have six siblings!”

Hmmm. this is very interesting.

The protector of my baby tooth: Kaia

Posted on by
Reply

This morning, Kaia woke up and promptly checked under her pillow for my tooth. Seeing that it was still there, she quickly grabbed it and brought it to my bedroom and proudly presented it back to me.

“I have your tooth, Mama!” Kaia exclaimed with pride and delight. “Here you go, Mama!”

In the evening, it was my turn to read bedtime stories and put her to bed. She asked me if she could keep my tooth for another night under her pillow. To see if she was really attached to my tooth, I told her she couldn’t have a usual toy to bring to bed and could either have the miscellaneous toy or my tooth. She hesitated for a brief second and said she wanted my tooth! She placed it in the exact same spot under her pillow and said she’d guard it for me.

Motherhood is all consuming in both mind and body. It can be completely exhausting and wipe out all your mind space. These little, random moments, the ones you could never foresee, are always the ones that surprise and get me, though, because they come from a place of pure curiosity, youth, and love. No one else would ever care that Kaia insisted on guarding and protecting my lost baby tooth for two nights in a row. But for me, my heart just gushed and I couldn’t help but squeeze her a little tighter when I gave her a good-night hug tonight because I just loved this so, so much. I love that she has this strong curiosity. I love that she cares so much. And I really love that she has a desire to take care of and protect. This is my sweet baby, slowly but surely growing up right before my eyes.