Decluttering for the new year

We didn’t leave the apartment at all today. It felt like we were fully unpacked yesterday, but I still had to organize a lot of things today, plus I wanted to declutter and give away/donate a bunch of things. I separated out some baby items I wanted to post in our Buy Nothing group. I got rid of lot of junk and old papers in my drawers. After seeing all the clutter and “stuff” in Chris’s parents’ home, it almost drove me to want to own even fewer things than I already own. And relatively speaking, Chris and I own very few things. We’re confined by space given we live in a New York City apartment with limited storage space. And the less space you have, the less space you have to store and display stuff. But the idea of owning stuff that I not only do not use but am barely aware I even own did not sit well with me.

I tend to give away/throw out stuff almost every year at the beginning of the year to “start the year fresh.” But this time, I really want to cull things I don’t use, even if it’s just half used face masks or shoes I haven’t worn in 3+ years. Less stuff will make me feel better.

Sleep regression at 13 months old

Whether we have been aware of it or not this whole time, Kaia has been an amazing sleeper. She was pretty much sleeping through the night, in her bassinet or crib, at around 3 months of age. She’d been a great eater. She is generally always jovial, curious, and in a good mood. We’ve had a relatively smooth experience as parents to date, and we’ve been extremely lucky and grateful for it. However, during the few nights we were in Orange County at a hotel, she refused to sleep in her pack and play, and instead, we let her sleep on top of our bed between us. We needed her to sleep. We needed to sleep. So we just let it happen and hoped it would be temporary.

Well, we are back now, and she refuses to sleep in the crib. It’s likely separation anxiety related, but it doesn’t matter how tired she is or how late it is. She will NOT sleep in the crib. She either needs to be on the bed with us or in our lap/on our chests. And the nanny is not pleased with us, as she just came back today to help us adjust back.

“This is not the Kaia I let you go to Australia with,” the nanny said sternly to us. “What happened to my Kaia who always sleeps and naps well…?!”

Well, I guess this is a rude awakening to what a baby sleep regression can look like!

My “distant” cousin and I reunite again after 3+ years

Since we knew we’d be stopping over for a few days in SoCal, I told my cousin who lives in Long Beach that we’d be here and suggested we catch up over a meal. So he, his wife, and his two kids met up with the three of us at a Vietnamese restaurant in Garden Grove for lunch yesterday. It was enjoyable to see them, and I always enjoy chatting with his wife. Sometimes, it wasn’t always clear what else there was to talk about, but somehow, we made it work.

Even though this cousin is my cousin (my dad’s younger sister’s only son), I can count the number of times I saw him growing up on one hand, and two of those times were for funerals. Although he was born and raised in Alameda, just across the Bay Bridge, his mother, who is my aunt, hated our side of the family and hated her mother, my grandma, even more. And since our grandma lived with us, she rarely came to visit. This cousin and I didn’t really start communicating much until after I graduated from college, but especially after his dad died in 2012 and my brother died in 2013. It was like our shared grief, plus the constant family conflicts, kind of drove us together. In both of our sets of eyes, the other is the only seemingly “normal” cousin on this side of the family.

Today, he is fully estranged from his mother; he doesn’t even call her mom or mother; he just refers to her by her first name. She has never met his two children, who are her only grandchildren. He suggested I cut my parents off back when my brother died, but I couldn’t really do it, nor did I really want to, even with all the constant pain they still bring me. But we relate to each other so much as we both experienced the same intergenerational family trauma and are living examples of children who experienced childhood trauma within their families, who are actively trying to break the cycle of dysfunction. With him, I rarely have to explain my parents’ emotional immaturity; he gets it because he experienced the same with his mother. It’s sad, but my infrequent relationship with him is a sort of solace to me.

Little Arabia in Anaheim, California

In previous trips to Southern California, we’d always flown in and out of LAX since it seemed like it was the most direct way to get there. But Chris found out that there actually was a direct flight from Orange County (via Santa Ana) to JFK once a day, and so he booked our return flights to New York via Orange County. This gave us more time to explore in further depth the Orange County area and places we had not yet seen much of. You could truly spend years exploring Orange County and never get through it, but this segment of our trip gave us more time to do so.

I already knew that Orange County had a big Central/South American and Vietnamese/Filipino population, but I was unaware before doing a quick search on Google that Anaheim is actually known for having an area called Little Arabia. Most people who are aware of Anaheim know that it is home to Disneyland California. Little Arabia would be news to most people, though, even those who are local to Southern California.

Earlier this week, we ate at an Iraqi restaurant that had delicious kebabs, tender, fall-off-the-bone lamb shank, and even an interesting grape soda we’d never tried before. We stopped by a Syrian bakery that had plenty of Western and Middle Eastern sweets, but a hidden item on the menu was bouza ice cream, similar to Turkish dondurma ice cream in its chewy/stretchy texture, which it gets from mastik and orchid flour. When you order it, it’s churned to order and rolled with ground pistachios. It was super stretchy and fragrant of rose water. Our last stop in this area was a Palestinian bakery, where we had cream kanefe (the first cream version we’d ever had, and not too sweet!) along with Turkish coffee, and a delicious spiced and sweetened milk tea, fragrant from caradmom and cloves. The coffee and tea were made to order and with a lot of care from the owner of the bakery, who was extremely warm and hospitable. All were in strip malls, so very much a classic SoCal experience.

We could spend ages exploring SoCal for all its delicious ethnic food and never get through it all. But at least we had a good taste of it, though brief, this segment of our trip.

When uncles interact with their nieces

In the couple of weeks we spent in Melbourne that overlapped with Chris’s brother Ben being in town, it was really sweet to see him interact with Kaia. After some initial drama in scheduling immediate family events, Ben actually cleared his calendar mostly to maximize time with her. I’m sure he also felt guilty that he had missed her first birthday party, so he probably did this to make up for that, in some way. He helped feed her a couple of times and played and read to her. I loved watching them together. Initially, as with anyone else, she took some time warming up to him, but finally when she did, it was as though no time had passed. I enjoyed watching them play peek-a-boo and make faces together. Listening to her sweet, high pitched giggle at things he’d do to entertain her, like jump up and down and do squats, made me feel really happy.

It’s hard to observe these interactions and not wonder what it could have been like to watch Ed interact with Kaia. While Ed was awkward around adults, he really loved babies and young children. He was really kind and warm when interacting with young children. Who knows — in another life, maybe he could have been an early childhood educator or worked at a toddler educational center or something related. When colleagues and church acquaintances had kids, he’d always give them little gifts and candy. And knowing how much he inundated me with gifts, I know he would have spared little expense to spoil Kaia thoroughly, whether it was with the latest and coolest age-appropriate toy or the most fashionable clothes. Ed always had really good taste in clothing, and he always thought a lot about gifts before he purchased and gifted them.

I don’t know when Kaia will finally understand people who have died and the fact that life will always end in death. But I try to occasionally share anecdotes about her Uncle Ed to her, and eventually, I’ll show her photos of Ed and try to have her “know” him as much as she can. Every now and then when I look at her face, I see Ed in her, and I hope that wherever he is, he is finally at peace with himself and the world. I still miss him and think about him every day, and with Kaia Pookie in my physical life now and him not anymore, sometimes my heart really aches, wishing what could have been.

Rude travelers and their rude assumptions

Most people who have interacted with us while traveling with Kaia have been extremely kind, friendly, and praised Kaia for how well-behaved she’s been on flights. She’s been told how sweet and cute she is, how well she has slept, how good she’s been. It’s been glowing reviews all around, and I don’t say that just because I am her mother; I say that because I have also been shocked at her behavior and how she’s handled so many changes, as well as how nice people have been to us, cheering us on and encouraging us. So many kind strangers have expressed empathy to us and insisted we’ve been doing a great job managing. It’s been quite heartening to experience.

Well, the first rude couple encountered us on our flight from MEL > LAX. They wanted to sit together and away from the baby (yeah, maybe 5 feet more away…), and they asked if Chris could swap seats with the wife sitting next to me (my seat is where the bassinet is set up). When we declined their offer (TWICE), the wife kept making passive aggressive remarks to me, saying, “it’s going to be disruptive for me, yeah? The baby will be making noises and disturbing me, and that’s not quite right, yeah?”

Actually, not “yeah.” My husband and I paid for these fucking seats in business class, so stay the fuck away from me and my baby, you entitled, overprivileged twat.

Then, the husband tried to complain to a flight attendant, which then prompted her to go to Chris to ask him to move. And of course, Chris responded with something along the lines of, “I don’t care what other people want!”

They lost, and we won. And well, Kaia was actually quite quiet throughout the whole flight, with a few small outbursts, and that was it. Part of me wishes she was a bit more disruptive just to piss off the woman and her husband, but then that would have been disruptive for us, too.

A teary departure

This morning, we left Melbourne for LA. Chris’s dad took us to the airport, and because the car seat takes so much space in the backseat of the vehicle, Chris’s mom stayed behind. As Chris’s mom hugged and kissed Kaia goodbye, I could already feel myself feeling sad, but what triggered tears was when Chris’s dad did his usual prayer to wish us well on our travels and return back to the U.S., and finally New York. Why does he always have to do that? I don’t even know what about that prayer gets me, but every time, I’m always in this emotional state, wondering, “why do you always have to be so damn loving and kind.. ALL THE TIME?” And then, like I’ve never done before, I was crying on most of the ride to the airport, sitting in the front passenger seat alongside Chris’s dad driving. He is super uncomfortable with any sentimentality or emotion, so he just kept bringing up the most random topics to keep some semblance of a conversation going. Chris told me where the box of tissue was in the front. And that was kind of it.

Now that Kaia is here, more things are triggering to me than ever before. Even just watching how Chris’s parents interact with her, I am reminded of how my parents were not like that with me or Ed when we were little, and how they still aren’t like that with Kaia in the short time they had together last August. It made me really sad to see how much Kaia enjoyed their time together and how it was all coming to an end at that very moment. Doesn’t every good parent want the best people to surround their children?

Anyway, we never talked about it. Chris is just like his dad, emotionally removed and keeps everything to himself. No one wants to hear why anyone cries or feels anything in his family. People just do what they do and feel what they feel and move on. Sometimes, I wonder if that’s what contributes to Chris’s mom always seeming a little dissatisfied with her life in general. She seemingly has everything anyone could ask for: a solid education and a pretty good career, a loving husband, a beautiful home, plenty of money, endless travel, two grown, self-sufficient sons, and now a grandchild. She seems to be lacking deeper emotional connections to the people she is supposed to be closest to. Because what is life without deep, meaningful relationships?

New Year’s Eve spent packing too many things

I looked at all the stuff scattered on the bed, floor, and across multiple bags with a high level of anxiety today. I couldn’t believe how much stuff we were bringing back. Granted, everyone who gave Kaia a gift was very thoughtful and made sure to get her small things, ranging from clothes to smaller toys and books. But despite that, the volume really added up quite quickly. Her clothing and toys were spread across two checked bags, and along with all the snacks and alcohol Chris insisted on bringing back, it ended up being three checked bags, one backpack for each of us, one diaper bag, one pumping bag, one stroller to fold up, and one car seat. I had no idea how we would manage this, especially with a five-day stopover in Southern California (what visibility would he have, even with an SUV, with that many bags?). But looking at it all made my head hurt. It’s not like we have an entourage to help us cart all this stuff everywhere. I just had to hope and pray that nothing would get broken or lost, especially the bottles of liquor and wine we were taking back with us.

When your brother-in-law whines, and you roll your eyes at his privilege

Because Chris’s brother was scheduled to fly back to Sydney tonight, Chris’s parents suggested that we have one last meal out together as a family of six for lunch today. They proposed a trendy modern Indian spot in Melbourne’s CBD that they had visited before and enjoyed called Daughter-in-Law. I thought it sounded really good from the menu, so I said it would be a fun last meal together. Chris’s brother, on the other hand, did not agree.

“I don’t WANT to eat out again!” Chris’s brother whined this morning. “There’s too much food! Eating out is SO BAD for you! I just want to eat at HOME! ALL we have been doing is constantly eating unhealthy food the last several days, and I don’t want to do it anymore! I am NOT going!”

I couldn’t believe it. There I was, sitting at Chris’s parents’ dining table in their lounge with my nipples connected to my breast pump, pumping milk for my baby while my husband’s 37-year-old younger brother was whining like a baby himself.

“The Christmas season is meant for indulging — that’s what people do!” I insisted. “You don’t eat like this all year long. Do you even hear how whiny and over privileged you sound, protesting eating out at a nice restaurant with your family with your parents paying the bill??!! I asked him. Some people would absolutely love to be able to dine out as regularly as he did. Not everyone has the bank account to fund dining out. Not everyone has parents who have provided such a comfortable life for them to come to expect… YES, EXPECT.

First, it was their parents almost allowing Chris’s brother to use one of their two cars for an hour-long gym session just minutes away and foregoing an entire fun day out in wine country. And now today, it’s Chris’s brother’s whining about how he refuses to have one last meal out together, on his parents’ dime, at a nice restaurant. And if I had to count everything in between, I wouldn’t have enough face-palm emojis to thoroughly depict how ridiculous and spoiled he was acting. And the thing was: Chris’s parents, while unhappy with this response, didn’t seem to think this was spoiled behavior at all. I cannot even begin to imagine what it would have been like if that were ME with my own parents.

In the end, though, he ended up going. And in the end, he enjoyed it and even posted photos about how good the food was on Instagram. Of course.

Shrimp curry: made selflessly with love

Today, we went to Chris’s mom’s sister’s home for lunch to see her, her husband, their sons, and their son’s wife, plus their corgi. Going to their home is a bit of a good and an annoying thing: it’s good because they usually make delicious food and have a beautiful backyard with lots of fruits, vegetables and flowers growing; it’s annoying because the sister and husband can be a bit too stiff and formal, and it’s always dark in their home. Chris likes to complain that his parents don’t keep the shades open when he’s home and that he needs natural light; well, at this house, the shades ALWAYS seem to be completely drawn regardless of how sunny or grey it may be outside. On top of that, if we want to call my parents’ house or Chris’s parents’ house full of clutter, this house is on the opposite end of the spectrum: there is pretty much nothing hanging on any wall; no adornments are on any tables, countertops, or surfaces; literally nothing that resembles anything decorative, even a single picture frame, has ever, ever been up when I have come to visit. Sometimes, I wonder if this family is on the run from whatever the Australian equivalent of the CIA is and wants to escape at a moment’s notice, and perhaps that’s why their home is so bare bones. If you walked in, you’d think this was some rental property where nomads came and went, not where a real family lived their day-to-day lives.

The one thing that struck me about this visit, though, other than the delicious food overall, was the shrimp curry that the dad made. The curry was absolutely delicious; it was a deep, dark, brownish-red color, spicy, well seasoned, and so, so good, especially with the appams that he made. The shrimp was a bit overcooked and rubbery, though, which seemed uncharacteristic of Chris’s uncle, who was a very particular cook and relished different techniques and being very precise. I remarked to Chris’s aunt how good the shrimp curry was, and she said she was happy I liked it: her husband was actually allergic to shrimp and could not eat it, but he insisted on making it for special occasions because both their sons loved it so much. Because the uncle was allergic, he could never taste test or try the shrimp himself, but he always hoped for the best. Well, that explained why the shrimp was overcooked and he probably didn’t realize.

I was really touched when I heard this. Chris’s aunt and uncle are of my parents’ generation. It would be very difficult, if not impossible, to imagine my dad doing this same thing for Ed or me. If he couldn’t eat it himself or didn’t care for something, there’s really no way he’d ever make it for us. But I suppose this is how Chris’s uncle shows his love through actions for his sons.