Puddle jumpers, pool dates, and arguing over the push of a button

As part of a Buy Nothing group bundle several months ago, I was gifted a puddle jumper. I actually wasn’t sure what a “puddle jumper” was until I received the item. It’s essentially a floating device for a young toddler that has straps that snap around the child’s back, as well as floaty pieces that you ring through their arms. I figured this would actually be great for Kaia to use when she’s in our building pool. It would also mean that when Chris and I take her into the pool, we wouldn’t have to hold her 100 percent of the time, which would actually be a bit more relaxing and freeing for us.

Today, we had a planned play date at our building pool with a neighbor and her similarly aged son. Two times ago when we saw them, it was actually also in the pool where he had his own puddle jumper on, and it was clear he was obsessed with it. So I figured Kaia would enjoy using it knowing her little friend had one on, too. She was excited to have a play date and was eager to go up to the pool to see her friend. But they were running late, and she didn’t want to go into the pool before her friend arrived. So she watched me swim a couple laps as we waited for them to join us. She insisted she would not come in… and finally I convinced her to come into the pool with me and to put on the puddle jumper. She resisted initially, yelling and attempting to swat me away, but I was able to get it on. And then, when we got into the pool, she was holding onto me with a near death grip, refusing to let go of me and feel herself float. When our friends arrived, the little one was so eager that he stepped down two steps in the pool and jumped right in! It made sense, as his mom told me that they try to take him into the pool (with the puddle jumper on) at least once a week, so he is absolutely obsessed with the water and fearless. At that moment, Kaia got super excited, pushed me away from her, and said she wanted to swim by herself. I guess all the kids really need is some peer influence/pressure, and they will do as they do (which is actually what I wanted all along). Every time she saw her friend jump into the pool, she wanted to jump in again and again with her puddle jumper on.

Eventually, it was time to go, so we all rode the elevator down together. The first floor we reached was ours, and the two kids fought over who was going to push our floor button. Kaia eventually won, which resulted in a huge melt down from her little friend, who buried his face into his mom’s crotch as she laughed hysterically. And as we exited the elevator and said bye to them, Kaia wondered out loud, “Why is Hugo crying? Why?”

It really is the little things with toddlers. And as hysterical and upset as they get, it makes it all the more amusing and funny for the parents to witness.

Handmade with love – ceramic mugs flown in from Seattle

As someone who spends a lot of time thinking of what food to make and then making the majority of foods she eats at home from scratch (or near scratch), I have always deeply appreciated homemade, handmade things. Aside from food, I used to scrapbook a lot before Kaia was born. I also regularly handmade cards for holidays like Christmas and Valentine’s Day. The rare times I have been given handmade things, whether it was jewelry, cards, and Kaia’s hand-knit and crocheted clothes from Chris’s mom and cousin, I have always marveled that someone would actually want to spend their time and energy hand making something for me (or my child). We live in a fast-paced, fast-everything world, where people seem to value cheapness and mass production over unique, hand-crafted things now. Even the platform Etsy, which historically was founded as a marketplace for unique, one of a kind handmade items made by artisans, has now been overtaken by mass producers in China, Korea, and other parts of the world, touting the facade of uniqueness and artsiness.

Today, I received a package of goodies from a friend in Seattle. It included a few things she got Kaia and me on her recent Japan trip, as well as Rooted Fare black sesame butter (which I’d been wanting to try for ages), and something I was not expecting at all: two unique, handmade ceramic mugs her husband had made at their pottery studio to which they have a membership. While I love and appreciate all the gifts, I couldn’t help but stare at and move the ceramic mugs in my hands multiple times. As soon as I saw them, I was about 90 percent sure they’d made these at their pottery studio, so I texted her to ask. She confirmed that she actually did not make them, that her husband made them, since she was taking a break from pottery. I knew she had been going to a pottery studio, and I was floored that they’d actually share things they handmade with me. I just felt really touched.

I guess it’s my old-fashioned side, but I really don’t think people appreciate handmade items much anymore. It’s easy to look at these mugs and not be impressed; you can get aesthetically pleasing, reasonably priced (or exorbitantly expensive) mugs anywhere and everywhere now. But the special thing here is: I know these were handmade by friends of mine, and they chose to give these to me. And for that, I am grateful. They’re giving me a gift that they actually made with their own hands, and with their precious time. Their time that they put into these mugs is a gift.

And as an added bonus, they’re dishwasher safe! So I am definitely planning to use these regularly now.

When hosting becomes an excuse to make dessert

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.

Differing approaches to parenting regarding choking hazards

Today, Kaia and I met up with a friend and his daughter, who is about eight months younger than Kaia, for lunch and an outing to Central Park. As we were getting settled in and after we ordered our food, Kaia asked for a snack. So I whipped out a bag of unsalted peanuts that I packed for her. I laid some out on her plate, and she started grabbing them and stuffing them in her mouth.

As soon as my friend saw the nuts on Kaia’s plate, his eyes widened, an apparent frown showed up on his face, and he raised his voice. “Wait, you’re giving her peanuts?” he exclaimed. “Really?”

Initially, I wasn’t sure what he was reacting to. Did he object to peanuts or legumes as a snack? Did he think it was unhealthy? Or did he perceive it to be a choking hazard?

“Yes… What’s wrong with peanuts?” I said, confused, handing Kaia more when she asked for more. “They’re unsalted, and they’re a healthy source of protein and a whole food. What’s wrong with peanuts?”

“All right, then,” he said. After I pushed him for his objection, he said he thought nuts were a choking hazard up until age 5, so even though most of the peanuts were halved, he still didn’t trust giving them to his daughter. I offered to share some with his daughter, and he vigorously waved his hand to indicate he didn’t want her to eat them. I tried to tell him that every child is different, and obviously you need to know your own child and what they are capable of…. plus, you also have to be comfortable feeding your child of a young age whatever it is they are eating. He waved me off, clearly not wanting to talk about this. He told me he knew of a kid in another classmate’s previous class who had choked to death on a whole nut. He cited another article he read about another kid choking on other similarly sized foods. And he said he’d only allow his child to eat a peanut if I broke it into a sixth of a piece. I think at this point, we were nearing the point of insanity, but I refrained from making this comment. His daughter is almost three years old, and I’d seen her eat far larger things in my presence. I think this level of overprotection was just too much, but again, I said nothing to contest it.

“I didn’t realize you were this cautious with her eating,” I said, still confused. “I have offered nuts to her before when (your wife) was around, and she was happy to let her eat them. In fact, she ate them back then! I think they were cashew halves.”

He shrugged. “Well, I’m not having any more kids, so this is all I’ve got!” I looked at him with a slight eye roll; yeah, because I’m planning to have boat loads more kids after Kaia!

In general, I’ve never really said anything with friends who have young kids when I don’t agree with their approaches or what they do with parenting or feeding. I never said anything when I’d seen him or his wife previously spoon feeding their daughter purees even though I strongly believe in baby-led weaning; granted, I am biased, though, because Kaia ultimately decided on that path. I offered her miniature versions of our food and purees at the same time when she was sixth months of age; she categorically refused the purees and leapt right into hand held foods and never looked back. I never said anything when I saw their pouch consumption be pretty frequent, or when they refused to let even a grain of refined sugar into her diet (at least, to their knowledge).

Parents have to make their own choices for their kids, and I totally respect that; but what I get confused about is when people think that I am in some way being reckless or irresponsible in my own parenting choices, or as though I am trying to put my kid at risk of choking and dying. I started preparing for introducing my child to solid foods before I was even pregnant! I did so much research, and I read so many studies. I coached my own child through eating solids from day 1 and watched and observed her like a hawk. Frankly, I am the reason she is the great little eater she is today. I know my child better than anyone else when it comes to food preferences and eating abilities. Kaia was hand feeding herself at age 6 months. She was eating hot spices at age 7 months. She was eating chicken off the bone at 7-8 months and navigating all the bones and cartilage at age 1-1.5. She was devouring pretty much every vegetable in her baby months. She was eating whole grapes at age 2; she started picking around a cherry pit at age 2.5. With eating, she has always been advanced for her age both in skill and in wide preferences for what she will eat. Food has for obvious reasons been a huge priority in my parenting with her, as I want her to flourish in her tastes and abilities with eating. So I think I’d be the best person to make the call on whether she can eat whole or half peanuts or not. I also think you kind of have to put your kid in somewhat challenging situations so they can learn and figure it out. When Kaia started picking out cartilage and bone pieces from bone-in chicken thighs and drumsticks, that’s when I knew that she could handle more “questionable” foods. Plus, it’s always with our supervision.

I am not a fan of helicopter parenting and strongly dislike overly cautious approaches to parenting in any form — food or non food. But hey, I’ll let my friends do whatever the hell they want — as long as they let me do what I want with my own kid.

Twelve-years-aged tangerine peels from my friend’s mom

When I met up with my friend for lunch this past Monday, I was shocked when she told me that her mom had brought me back a gift from her trip to China. Over a year ago, I told my friend that I was taking on “old Asian lady” habits by attempting to dry a bunch of mandarin peels that winter. In the winter time, we eat so much citrus that it felt wasteful just to dump the peels out. One winter during the pandemic, I was taking citrus peels and making homemade house cleaner with it, but I eventually got bored of that. I felt like a better and tastier way to use the peels was to preserve them via drying for future Chinese dishes. In Traditional Chinese Medicine, aka TCM, preserved mandarin or tangerine peels are known to be a warming ingredient that can warm your spleen and regulate your qi. It’s supposed to help with dampness and disperse phlegm from the lungs. But in general, even if you don’t believe in TCM, aged tangerine peels give an interesting, complex, complementary flavor to savory courses, such as braised pork belly, beef noodle soup, or tangerine beef or chicken dishes. In a lot of traditional homely Chinese soups, a single peel or two can be thrown into the pot for an extra flavor note.

So, when I shared this with my friend last year, she told her mom, who I’d only met once back in 2018. I went to her house so that I could meet my friend’s then new baby. And since then, she’s shared lots of stories of what I cook with her mom and also showed photos and videos, and I guess her mom has been very impressed. She remembered this story about my drying mandarin peels, and so she picked up this individually sealed bag of 12-years aged tangerine peels for me and carted it all the back from China to New York! If you are not aware, dried tangerine peels get more expensive with age (the color also gets deeper and darker brown), so 12-years aged tangerine peels cost a small fortune here.

I was honestly in shock when my friend told me this, and I felt like my eyes were going to bulge out of their eye sockets when she presented the bag to me at lunch on Monday. I kept on staring at the bag and turning it every which way, admiring how thin and dried and deep brown they were, and even trying to see if I could smell some aged citrus fragrance from the sealed bag. I was just so touched that her mom would not only think of me, but even be so generous as to buy me a highly prized Chinese cooking gift while in China and carry it all the way back here for me. I’d only met her mom once — ONE TIME. And somehow, she has remembered me AND gifted me something now! I love a lot of things about this scenario, but I guess I especially love it because it is such a unique gift, one that not just anyone would appreciate. Her mom thought specifically of me, how I dried mandarin peels, and knew I’d appreciate this a lot. And I really, really do. I am beyond grateful and felt so blessed in that moment — not just for her thoughtfulness and generosity for someone she only met once, but also for having this friend who would have a mother who would do something like this for me!

“That’s my mom’s love language: remembering random things I tell her about friends or me and then taking action on it and gifting something related!” my friend exclaimed. “She’s bad at most other things, but she’s really good at this!”

As with most things that matter, if you know, you know #iykyk. And if you know, you know that 12-years-aged tangerine peels in Chinese cooking is like aged fine wine.

“Startling” laugh

I was out at a Yemeni cafe having saffron adeni tea and Dubai milk cake with a friend, when out of nowhere she said that she “has gotten used to” my laugh. I wasn’t sure what to say about this and waited for her to continue. “When I first met you and heard it, I found it a bit startling,” she said. “But now it just blends in and I anticipate it now!” I kind of chuckled at this when she said it because I wasn’t sure whether she was saying a good thing or a bad thing.

I told her that I’ve always had a loud laugh, and that in general, people either love or hate it, and if they hate it, chances are high that we won’t get along or be friends. I’m not really one of those Asian women who, stereotypically as Chris always half jokes, “covers their mouth and goes ‘heeheehee!'” really lightly. People should live their lives as their full selves without abandon. And if you cannot laugh comfortably or fully, I”m not really sure you are fun enough for me to want to be around.

This comment, for some reason, reminded me of my one of my best friends from childhood, who is now living here in New York City. I think that if there is just one thing I love about her, aside from her general personality, it’s her laugh. When she is really laughing and finds something extremely funny, her laugh is the loudest, most boisterous thing in the world. She has a laugh that almost makes you want to laugh along with her, even if you don’t find said topic funny. And so when we’re together laughing nonstop about something, I always notice that there is at least one or two tables around us (assuming we’re at a restaurant or bar) that will turn around and look at us. I’ve never gotten self conscious about it or seen that as a way to police us. If anything, I’ve always looked at it as: we’re just here having a good time. And if that bothers you in some way, then the problem is clearly you and not us. Who gets annoyed at other people having a good time in their own respective space?

Uniquely female burdens

Last year when I was in Denver for work, I got an unexpected message from a friend’s friend saying that she and her family had actually moved here from New York, and that she’d like to catch up if possible. Unfortunately at that time, all my evenings were packed with pre-booked work events, so I wasn’t able to get away. It was a bit unexpected, to be frank, that she reached out. While I’d never really considered her a friend while in New York, I did see her from time to time at mutual friends’ events, and we did get along. We’d tried hanging out once before with our partners, but we never did much more than that. So when she reached out, I figured she was having a difficult time transitioning from urban to suburban life, coupled with transitioning into motherhood (her daughter is about six months younger than Kaia). She probably wanted to see a familiar face.

So this time ahead of this trip, I reached out to see if she could meet. We did have a decent amount in common on paper: we both love food, desserts, travel, and now we’re both mothers, so we’d have that to bond over. She immediately accepted and we made plans for dinner, which ended up happening last night. I was really touched; she actually drove almost an hour to see me (Denver traffic can be crazy during rush hour), and we spent three hours discussing marriage, motherhood, work, travel, moving, and life in general. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her, but it felt really good to have a deep chat… and to get away from colleagues for a night.

Sometimes, I think about all the trials and tribulations that women have to go through just to procreate, and I cannot believe that women still want to bear children. This friend had three miscarriages: two happened before her daughter was conceived; the third happened last year, before her current pregnancy. Miscarriages are more common than they are not, but her first one was particularly traumatic. At around 11 weeks of pregnancy, she started bleeding profusely. She drove herself to the hospital, where they confirmed she had miscarried. She was given the option of having a dilation and curettage (D&C) to remove the dead fetal tissue from her uterus, or letting it expel itself naturally. Her father, who is a doctor, advised her against the D&C, and suggested she just go home and let it happen naturally. Well, it just got worse from there: the next two days, everything she sat or lied on was soaked with pools of blood, and she basically laid on her bathroom floor most of that time, experiencing painful contractions for almost 48 hours. These are one of those scary miscarriage stories that no one warns you about, that for some women when they have miscarriages, regardless of whether it’s first trimester or not, they can actually go into labor.

The thought is just beyond sad and excruciating — to go through labor without seeing a living, breathing baby at the end. I think of all the women who have had stillbirths, where they know their fetus is dead, but they still have to go through the labor and “give birth” to a dead baby. The mere thought brings me to tears. And somehow, even after this horrible and painful experience, this friend kept trekking along to try to conceive. She went on to experience a second miscarriage, a viable pregnancy and birth and baby, and then a THIRD miscarriage, and finally a second viable pregnancy, and she’s still here and excited to be pregnant. It just shows how much burden women have to bear, literally on their own, and how resilient we all are. It takes a lot emotionally, mentally, physically, to go through all this stress and loss. It likely raises cortisol levels and puts you on the defensive for everything. In the end, we vacillate between surviving and thriving.

But it sounds like since she’s moved down to the southern suburbs of Denver, she’s been mostly in survival mode. She has no friends here. She works fully remotely. She has a sister and their family who live in a nearby suburb, but that’s it. She misses walking (people drive everywhere here, like in most of the U.S.) and going from store to store to restaurant by foot. She feels isolated and like she does 90 percent-plus of all the child rearing. When she saw me for dinner last night, it was the only time since they’d moved here that she’d actually gone out to dinner, alone without her daughter, to catch up with a friend. While she’s excited for her second baby, she’s terrified what it will mean for the division of labor at home, her marriage, and the effect it will have on her daughter, who is extremely attached to her and who has had an assortment of frustrating health issues since birth.

I hear these stories, and I realize even more how lucky I am. Although IVF was certainly no walk on the beach, I went through just one stimulation cycle. I’ve never had a physically painful miscarriage experience (though I do still mourn my “vanishing twin”). I had a straightforward pregnancy and child birth. I was lucky and privileged to have a healthy, easy-going baby in Kaia Pookie. Kaia Pookie, knock on wood, is still thriving and impressing (while simultaneously infuriating) Chris and me every single day with all she learns and knows. I’m also lucky to have a partner who has done his share and tries to make sure I’m not carrying all the burden of child rearing. At the same time, it makes me sad and angry that women who are as smart, accomplished, well educated, and confident like this friend still allow themselves to be put into situations where they have to bear the brunt of all stereotypical gender roles, such as child rearing and the mental load of maintaining a functional household – much against their own wishes. Are men really that ill equipped for the current century, or are women just so desperate to have heterosexual partners to procreate with that we “settle” in that regard?

Annual Southern Hemisphere meetup with my Instagram friend

This evening, I went to Elwood, a suburb close to where Chris’s parents live, to have dinner at a Greek restaurant with a friend I made on Instagram during the pandemic. Since 2022, I’ve been meeting with her once a year in December when we come back down here. In 2022, we met at a cafe here in Brighton with our respective babies. In 2023, we met at a children’s museum so the kids could play while we caught up. And this year, we actually went out without the kids and just caught up one on one. She seemed really relieved when I suggested we just meet up 1:1 (which was at Chris’s suggestion). She’s had a slightly difficult year, and she was looking forward to the child-free time with me and some wine.

We’ve only ever seen each other three times, but we’ve had a lot of conversations through Instagram messenger over the years. We have a lot in common, as we originally found out about each other through each others’ food handles, and with a shared culture, plus the fact that she’s Melbourne based, it added to our commonalities. Once we ended up coincidentally having kids around the same time, I thought it might even be like fate that we were supposed to be friends in opposite hemispheres. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that there are not only different definitions of “closeness,” but also different definitions of “comfort.” Even though I’ve only seen her in person three times, every time we’re together, it feels really comfortable, almost as though we can talk about anything and everything is just an open book. She opened up to me about her family problems, marital problems, debate about whether to have a second child. She talked to me about her own evolution in terms of her views on therapy, as she’s currently in therapy and had convinced her husband to do couples therapy, as well. I talked to her about my family dynamics, Ed’s struggles and suicide at her request, and we talked a lot about intergenerational trauma and how to heal and move on from it.

Sometimes, you can’t always have frequency of in-person meetups due to, well, geography and life. But I feel lucky to know I have one friend in Melbourne who has no connection to Chris I can meet up with and feel comfortable with when I come all the way here. It’s nice to have someone so far away that will make time for you and look forward to seeing you, even when you originally started as complete strangers. It’s a really nice kind of kinship that I am grateful for.

The sketch Wall Street pool where Kaia had a makeup swim class

We were able to get a free swim class from Kaia’s swim school since they were doing a limited time promotion: if families upload an Instagram reel or TikTok video praising the school and our experience with them, then we can get a free class redeemable by the end of December. So on Monday of this week, after I picked Kaia up from school, we took the subway down to Wall Street to the makeup swim class location at a pool I’d never been to. The pool was located at Wall Street Bath and Spa. The directions to get there seemed a bit weird: Look for the Spa 88 sign between a sandwich shop and a dry cleaners. I saw the school sign and walked down a dark staircase with Kaia. We poked our heads into the place and asked if this was where the swim class was. They confirmed we were correct. We then walked down another flight of stairs, through a steamy sea of half naked old men, sipping away at their cocktails and beer and reading newspapers and books. I had to walk through this strange area just to get to the women’s locker room. But once I got there, I discovered it was actually a very fancy spa-like locker room, complete with complex hair styling accessories and even a whole shelf of pool-side sandals that I could borrow while on the pool deck. I was pretty happy about this since I had forgotten my flip-flops.

I thought to myself, what the heck kind of sketchy place is this? It’s supposed to be a Russian bathhouse, but given that about 99 percent of the clientele were all 50s+ old white men who were barely clothed, I wasn’t totally sure this was a child-friendly place. I spoke with the instructors of the class, and they said that they didn’t even feel comfortable walking through the place, so they set up a tent on the pool deck to allow their students to change into their swimwear inside. This whole time, they didn’t even know the locker rooms existed and that you just had to walk through the sea of half naked men! I had to show them that day!

The journey and experience were worth it, though. Kaia basically had a 1:1 private swim lesson given how few kids there were versus the number of teachers. This whole visit to the bath house just made me realize exactly how hidden and discreet a lot of these secrets spots are all over New York City, and that “if you know, you know,” and if you don’t know… well, you may find out given these strange and unexpected opportunities.

Friends you make in your youth vs. friends in your adulthood

One of my good friends from my last company has been in town this week for work, so I met her for breakfast this morning after over a year of not seeing her. We talked a lot about work, the tech industry in general, layoffs and disguised PIPs (“performance improvement plans”), health insurance, politics, and family. I still remember when I met this friend over a Zoom call for the first time about seven years ago. I had been at the company for about six months; she had started a few months after me. But as soon as we started talking, I knew we clicked. It was like love at first conversation. I remember loving the sound of her boisterous laugh and loving how unrestrained it was. We were both loud, opinionated, laughed a lot, and loved food, cooking, and travel. She was like my West Coast equivalent on my team at the time. And since then, we’ve always confided in each other regarding all the work bullshit and hypocrisies around us. We no longer work at the same company, but we’ve stayed in touch. She’s one of a small handful of former colleagues from my last company who I still chat with and see. 

I was thinking a lot about friends I’ve made in my adulthood vs. friends I’ve made in childhood (K-12), and especially thinking about friends I’ve made in the last seven or so years of my life. The friends I’ve made in adulthood, as you’d predict, have values that more align to what I have. Relatively speaking, they are no-nonsense, ‘say what they think and mean’ people and don’t really tolerate much bullshit. They don’t say something to your face and say something different behind it. My good friends from childhood avoid confrontation like the plague; my adulthood friends confront stupid shit head on and stop it before it spirals out of control. They’re all striving to do something important with their lives and contribute to society. A lot of the friends I have kept from my childhood days are friends because of legacy; if I met them today, we’d unlikely “click” and become good friends. But I think all that is to say that different friends serve different purposes in your life. The friends you meet today and spend at most a couple hours a month with are less likely (due to time constraints) to reach the same comfort level of friends you’ve spent literally hundreds of hours with during your childhood; the context is just different. I’m lucky to have a happy and healthy selection of friends from both childhood and adulthood to keep me grounded.