Thanks for the Compliment?

While shopping at Safeway, a white middle-aged woman excitedly ran up to me screaming something about how cute my baby is. "Oh he is the most adorable baby I've ever seen!" she exclaimed. Then this woman continued..."oooooooo, is he AmerAsian??" I looked at her and smiled with a "yes". AmerAsian. Haven't heard that term for awhile. AmerAsian...technically, aren't I AmerAsian because I'm American and Asian? But I don't think she meant me. So I wikipedia'd it, and came up with this:

According to the U.S. Department of Justice and the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS), an Amerasian is: "[A]n alien who was born in Korea, Vietnam, Laos, Kampuchea, or Thailand after December 31, 1950, and before October 22, 1982, and was fathered by a U.S. citizen."

Excuse me, my son is NOT a war baby. Nor was I some helpless Asian woman in her mother country enraptured by some US white soldier and lost my precious virginity to his American manhood. On the contrary, I met a finance guy at a Chinese Christian wedding, and we had a date at Ella's for brunch.

No harm intended, I'm sure. The Asian American Studies part of me could be a little enraged, but I've softened up over the years and have decided this woman probably meant nothing more than suggesting I had a hapa baby. Meant to be a compliment.

Here are some photos of my nonAmerAsian baby in a recent photo shoot. He's kinda cute shirtless. A little on the skinny side, but cute.

Cheese, Apples, and Peaches

Joe gets randomly inspired to cook things. One day it'll be dan dan mein, another day it'll be canned jam. This time around, it was homemade ricotta cheese. I was dubious. I mean, seriously, you're gonna make cheese? That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. But after only two ingredients (milk and lemon), and a little cheesecloth to strain, the ricotta formed and it formed good! He made a pancetta, ricotta, pea pasta to eat for dinner. So creamy and fresh, it makes us never want to eat another kind of ricotta again! Here's a photo of the ricotta hanging and straining. Of course I had to put Tristan next to it for scale purposes.








On an ambitious Friday, I cooked for 9 people. How we squeezed into this tiny apartment, I still don't understand. But we did. And I made this gorgeous apple crostata again. Always a crowd pleaser, and so easy on the eyes:










 Kimi, Joe, baby, and I decided to go peach picking in Brentwood, CA. So we drove to McKinney Farms. I don't know what I was preparing for: maybe intense heat, harsh conditions, you know, agricultural farming stuff. But you just pull your car up, grab a box, walk 10 feet to a tree, and pull the peaches off the trees. It was even easier then walking to May Wah to buy groceries. While Kimi and Joe picked, I fed Tristan a juicy one, and he ate the whole thing. Course, he got 50% on his shirt, but the other 50% made him so happy.

My Baby Can Crawl!

My baby can now do TWO new things:

1. He says "Da-da". At first I think it was just by accident, even though immediately Joe took credit for it. But after awhile of saying it, especially when Joe's around, I have come to terms with the fact that Tristan's first word is da-da. He'll look at Joe and then say "da-da". Even I can't deny that. I spend every waking moment with the kid, and Joe spends an hour or two a day with him. Where's the justice in that??

2. He crawls. The video will show you. He can't do it on hardwood floors, so our apartment is perfect for delaying his physical development. But he can definitely crawl on carpet.

Time is flying and somehow, my baby became a little boy.

Auntie Mel

Last week we visited Auntie Mel at her workplace at Cavallo Point. Mel is my pseudo younger sister. Her family and mine are super close, and she's planning an upcoming wedding that I'm way excited for. It's not every day that your almost-younger-sister gets married!

It was a gorgeous day, and she treated us to lunch complete with a salmon sandwich, greens, and potato chips. No meal is complete without potato chips...I learned that one from my Mother. We nestled around the outdoor firepit in comfy chairs and enjoyed our meal. Tristan loves the outdoors, so it was the perfect place for him. Wind in his face, he was an angel while we ate. Here's a cute photo of the two of them. You can see how happy he is.

Little Miracles on a Bad Bad Day

Yesterday counts as one of the worst feeling days of my life. Joe and I contracted a serious case of food poisoning, most likely from spoiled sour cream. I woke up at 3am, and hurled like I've never hurled before in my life. It's probably been over 5 years since I vomited, and so I was deeply disturbed by the disgustingness of it all. (Sorry if this blog entry is not the most pleasant to read) Joe was able to take care of me for all of a couple of hours until he came down with the same symptoms as well. We woke up feeling like death. But alas, there's a whining baby to take care of! Thankfully, my Mom came by and took care of baby's needs while I laid to rest, weak in the knees but not from love, no, but from a blueberry muffin with sour cream that so wasn't worth it. I think Tristan knew we were in bad shape: he was cheerful, happy, and napped for 2 hours to help us get through the day. Oh, and he drank 4 ounces from a bottle that Po-Po fed him! Oh, the little miracles that get you through days like this. I am super appreciative to have my parents around, especially on days like yesterday. She had to be a Mom and take care of her sick daughter, and a Grandma and take care of her grandson. Her work is never done.


This is my little happy miracle today. Complete with a v-neck fit that makes him saucy looking. Don't worry, I buttoned him up after I took this photo. Tristan automatically smiles for photos. It's kinda cute. He got that from me. Anyone who knows Joe knows that he didn't know how to smile for the camera until I taught him how. I worked hard to get a smiling family!
















These photos below were taken a couple of days ago. We're trying to get him to crawl, but so far it's not working. Instead, he chooses to breakdance. I'm raising an 80's baby.

East Bay Goodness

Yesterday we headed over to the East Bay for some better weather. Tilden Park was our first destination, high up in the hills of Albany. As we were driving and passing by all the houses, I couldn't help but oooo and ahhhh at them. In fact, every time we're in Berkeley or Albany, I love house-watching. The architecture, the coziness, the cabin-chic style, it's sooo me. Joe said, "If the East Bay was in San Francisco, you'd move there." Couldn't be more true. So anyway, aside from the 2 million dollar homes that we can't afford, we came upon Tilden Park and strolled to the Small Farm. Taking Tristan out of the stroller, Joe held him as we visited the barn full of chickens, cows, and goats. If you've ever held Tristan, you know that he's a squirmy one. Always looking for the next best thing. But among these animals, you've never seem him hold so tight as he held onto his Daddy. It was the first time we witnessed fear and apprehension in him, which is a great thing if you ask me...maybe he'll continue that fear with motorcycles, drugs and alcohol, and dare I hope...fear the wrath of his mother? So barnyard animals are not his comfort zone. They're not mind either. They're dirty, and unpredictable, and smelly. Who's comfortable with that??

























The face of a baby boy who'd rather be somewhere else.







After Tilden Park, we met up with Papa (Joe's Dad) and had lunch at Daimo. Spinach with fish in broth, egg noodles with braised beef, and chicken corn soup. Really good and satisfying, til I walked out and realized I wanted to drink a gallon full of water. And then a mild headache accompanied the thirst and I realized I was on an MSG high. Actually, more like an MSG withdrawal than a high. A high implies feeling something enjoyable. This was not. This morning my throat burns like St. Elmo's fire.




Here's Tristan with Papa. Same last name, same head shape.