Every time my mom visits, there is always tension and drama and fighting. I have realized it all boils down to the fact that she has never ever acknowledged my adulthood. She treats me like a little kid who doesn’t know what I am doing. She thinks that she knows better, she acts like I need her help or I won’t make it, and she thinks I should obey her at all times because of the above. And I HATE. every. bit. of. it. It’s like, no matter how much I accomplish, no matter how much I have surpassed her, she absolutely refuses to acknowledge that I am capable adult.

Looking back, I realize she has been doing this to me my entire life. She would not let me do anything remotely messy or dangerous. I was barely allowed to play outside, I was rarely allowed to go to friends’ houses. She rarely let me do things myself for fear I would do it wrong, or not quickly enough, or get hurt, or make a mess. Inevitably she would take it over or just do it herself. And trust me, if something isn’t done exactly how she would do it, it’s 100% wrong. Period. No doubt about it. You suck and you’re wrong if you didn’t do it RIGHT, ie, her way. And that is as true today as it was back then. She hates literally all my life choices because they are not the ones she would make, they are not the ones she wants me to make.

There was a moment during her recent visit where she was crying and crying her guts out in front of me. She was racking her brain trying to figure out how to fix everything for me. She was lamenting over the fact that she didn’t know how to fix it and make it all go away. That is when it dawned on me, like a brick hitting me in the face. She really, genuinely thought that I couldn’t get through this on my own and that it was like HER responsibility to fix everything for me! She was literally making my problems HER problems! And on top of that, she was trying to come up with solutions on her own like I wasn’t even in the same room! WTF!

Now, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the help, and the desire to help. I am grateful I still have a mom at all. But in essence, she was taking away my agency, she was demonstrating that she had no faith and no confidence in me. Let me tell you, that feels like SHIT. It was beyond infantilizing. I am not even sure what the right word was - dehumanizing maybe? I realized she genuinely thought she had to take care of things on my behalf. I had to give her a reality check. I didn’t need the kind of help she was trying to give. And seeing her stress and make herself sick over trying to own my problems instead of taking care of her own was just adding to my stress. She was making everything so much worse for me by not handling her own health and her own problems. She was making me feel guilty for hurting her, for making things harder for her, and making me feel like she thought so little of me. I thought I could articulate this better, but I can’t even describe how it makes me feel to have a mom who can’t even see me. Like really actually see me.

Before you start thinking, “Well, MH, maybe you fucked up too many times for her to think of you as a grown up.” Ohhhh no. The opposite is true.

I graduated high school 3rd in my class out of 500 students. I moved away to college at 17. I was on a fully paid 4-year scholarship. After college, I worked for 2 years and traveled the country by myself for that job at 21 years old before smart phones and GPS were widespread. I saved up for graduate school at one of the best public schools in the country. I have lived hundreds of miles away from home and have built up a career in tech over the past 8 years that I never even went to school for. I raised my daughter practically by myself for the past 3 years. And yet my mom STILL asks me stupid questions like “Do you know how to put gas in the car?”

I finally realized that all I have wanted in my whole life is for my mom to treat me like an adult. Like my opinions and choices are my own, because they ARE. She comes into my house -which I searched for, rented, and pay for all by myself - and she tries to tell me how to run it. She tries to control where things are put and how quickly things are cleaned, etc. This is MY house, my ONLY safe place in the entire world! I literally bought my grandma’s house for her, so she has two houses back home, and STILL she comes here and tries to control everything. I am sick to my stomach just thinking about how much it all frustrates me to no end. Blood boiling doesn’t even cut it. Because I have been putting up with this and letting things slide for too many years!

If you are a mom, or a mother-in-law, please please please PLEASE hear me. I am beeeeeeeeeeggggggiiiiinnnnnggggg you, please don’t infantilize your adult children. Please let them have agency over their own lives. I am not saying you have to like it, I am not saying you have to lie, but at least acknowledge that they are adults now, just like you, and they can and will make their own choices.

And you know what, I am realizing this starts so much earlier than adulthood. Just as my mom wouldn’t let me do a damn thing when I was a kid, I need to already start letting my 3yr old do some things independently. I am realizing that as much as I desperately want to protect her and I want to help her with everything, that is actually bad for her in the long run. It goes against all of my instincts to give my lil 3yr old baby girl independence, or let her “learn the hard way”. But I am telling you, I have been so traumatized by my mom doing it to me that I HAVE to do things differently with my girl. I swear to God and all that is holy that if I ever hold her back and make her feel like she is not capable, I will eat a shoe.

I have to practice it now, every single day, to let her learn, to let her figure things out, so that she can learn confidence in her own abilities, and she can grow and thrive, and she can know that mommy believes in her. 🥹 And when mommy is gone someday, she will be JUST FINE.

If you take nothing else away from this, please just remember that sometimes the best thing you can do is not help, but instead have confidence in the person, cheer them on from the sidelines. Let them know you are there if they need help, but don’t step in unless they ask for it. Trust they can handle it. I cannot stress that someone having faith in you, and having faith in your own abilities as a result, makes all the difference.

Thank you so much for reading.

Love,

MH

Happy Lunar New Year! And what better way to start off a new year than with a new series of collabs! My idea for this collaboration series is to let you readers get to know authors through the lens of their favorite comfort food. I believe there is SO much identity tied to the food we eat and the way we eat it. The food we go to for comfort is so unique to each individual. It is like the food equivalent of “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

Before you go thinking this is out in left field for a writer named “Mother Hood”, I assure you there is a connection here! Often times, as a mom, my chief job is providing comfort. On top of that, as a mom, I am typically stressed out of my mind and needing some comfort myself. So comfort food is very important to me. And I have said it before, often times comfort food is food that our mothers made for us as kids. So, I hope this comfort food series will allow us to connect with each other through something so universal as food but so unique as our comfort foods.

In honor of Lunar New Year, which is today, I wanted to interview my good friend to kick off this new collaboration series. It is traditional to eat noodles on this day for a long life, and noodles just so happen to be JHong’s go-to comfort food.

Natural Intelligence

How to human in the age of AI. Random musings served with critical rigor. Where spiritual wisdom, marketing frameworks, and pop culture collide to make us better humans.

By JHong

1. Can you tell us why beef noodle soup is your go-to comfort food?

Beef noodle soup is a classic Taiwanese dish. My mom made it for us throughout our youth. And my sisters and I have since recreated it. It has all the hallmarks of a comfort food: cozy, nostalgic, nurturing. And it’s also a square meal in a bowl. Protein, veg, carb, and a lot of savory.

2. Does it still bring comfort if you eat it at a restaurant or does it have to be homemade?

We’re mad scientists about food, so having it at a restaurant is research! What you can get at a restaurant is hand-pulled noodles (handmade noodz?) which I have not tried to make. But the best version is still the homemade one. A friend once said that TLC is truly an ingredient.

3. Tell me what separates an exceptional beef noodle soup from a mediocre one. What specific details would make it the best noodle soup you have ever had?

The beef has to be fall-off-the-bone tender. The other stewed ingredients (carrot, tofu, hardboiled egg) need to have absorbed the broth and show it in their color and texture. The rest is preference: spice level, what greens are included, etc. If the beef is firm, no. If the other ingredients that must be stewed are just added in, no.

4. Have you ever experienced this perfect bowl of soup you just described? If so, please tell us about it.

To be honest, they’re all kind of perfect. Maybe because I’m biased, I don’t think I’ve ever made one where I was like “ehhh.” More often than not, I’m like “it’s even better than the last batch!”

5. Do you remember the first time you ever ate beef noodle soup?

I don’t. But I think that’s my memory to be blamed, not the dish. I’m going to say it was after the age of 7 though. Because I don’t associate it with the first home I remember, and we moved to Los Altos Hills when I was 7.

6. If it’s not too personal, can you tell us when you tend to crave beef noodle soup? Is it something eaten on rare occasions or pretty often? Do you eat it when you’re sad, or more often when you’re happy? Is it customary to eat it at certain occasions?

It’s more when the weather calls for it. You know when people say “it’s soup weather?” I love soup weather, I have an arsenal of soup recipes. I don’t think you can eat it that often, or at least I get tired of eating the same thing over and over. It’s very hearty, unctuous, so it’s a bit too decadent to have frequently. But once every Fall, it’s necessary. And only once did we say “it’s Chinese New Year, time to eat noodles.” My family is not uber traditional that way. (don’t over do it with the noodz)

7. Is it better with friends or better enjoyed alone with your thoughts?

Oh it’s definitely a group meal type of dish. The other thing that makes it perfect for that is you can compose your bowl to your preferences. As an example, my nieces love the broth but don’t want any meat in theirs. And you can even choose your own noodle (what’s your favorite noodz?).

8. Be honest, do you slurp your noodles? And is there a reason why you do or don’t?

   1. Sub-question - I guess what I am asking is - is there an etiquette or a ritual around eating beef noodle soup? Or is it pretty casual, eat it however you want?

I think that’s a Japanese custom specific to ramen. I don’t know that aeration matters with this dish. My method is to compose a bite in a Chinese soup spoon. Diner’s choice!

9. Do you consider yourself a beef noodle soup connoisseur?

No. I just believe that cooking is a form of love. And I try to show my care and affection in my cooking, it’s all very planned, deliberate, and also aesthetically pleasing. So I give beef noodle soup the same intent and process as any dish to be shared with another. It has been more battle-tested than others though.

10. Is there a recipe you would like to share?

Notes:

1. Link to tofu cutlet.

2. Link to muslin tea bags.

11. What food would you like me to write about next?

You know when you first asked me about this, I first suggested protein salads. But that’s because I just wanted to show off mine. 😏And salads are technically assembly, not cooking, although mine require cooked elements.

I like to think everyone has a superpower dish. And by superpower I mean, it’s very impressive to the diner, but also very simple for the chef to make. Mine is popovers. They’re so easy, I’ve tried many versions and methods, and they always elicit an “oooooh.” So I’m going to say “write about your superpower dish next.” (last pun I promise, and don’t take it to heart, “send noodz!”)

JHong, I would send you all the noodz, but they would probably be soggy by the time they got to you! HA!

To all the readers, thank you for joining us and reading this far! Comment or DM me if you would like to be featured in a future food folio!

For more recipes and foodie fun, please check out my new section Mother Feeds the Feed.

It all depends on our individual life experiences and preferences. Comfort food must not only be tasty, but to be true comfort food, it must be laced with nostalgia. It must transport us back to a particular memory where we feel safe and warm. It must be soul healing not just belly-filling.

At least, that’s my definition. Feel free to tell me yours in the comments.

I am weird (news to no one) and I have many comfort foods, some from childhood, some from my late teens/early 20s. Today we’re going with a core memory. One of the foods I grew up with my entire life is Spanish rice. Or in my house, we pretty much just called it rice. Was there any other way to eat it? Not that I knew of.

For those of you who don’t know, Spanish rice is the orange, tomato-based rice served as a side dish in practically every Mexican restaurant in America. I am Mexican-American, so I can’t really speak for other countries. Every family has their own version of Spanish rice, and they will likely argue that theirs is the ONLY way to eat it. Such is food. Especially comfort food. It is always tied up with identity. Even the name. We always called it Spanish rice, but it is not from Spain that I know of, and it is certainly not paella. It’s definitely more Mexican, but alas, we always called it Spanish rice. 🤷🏽‍♀️

My version, the only right way to eat it (LOL), must be sort of dry and fluffy when it’s done. I hate mushy spanish rice. It also needs to be so savory, almost meaty, even though there is no meat in it. And it has to be rice only. My grandma would sometimes sauté onions first and then add the rice, but no carrots or corn or other veggies in our rice, thanks!

If you have been following along with me, first of all, thank you! And secondly, you already know I have been going through it to say the least. And in this tumultuous time, primarily isolated in my house all day, I have been finding comfort in one of the few places I have left. Food. That’s honestly what spurred me to write this. But I digress.

Few things remind me of home and my childhood like Spanish rice does. Everything about it transports me back there. The smell of the rice toasting, the color, the taste! I love it so much and I could literally eat it every day and never get tired of it. I love it hot and fresh but I also love it cold straight from the fridge. We often made it with tacos (another favorite), and it is sooooo good mixed with leftover taco meat. I also loved it when the bottom of the pan would get burnt and crispy, those burned bits were my favorite. If you like Persian tahdig, or Korean dolsot bibimbap, or similar crispy rices, you get it. You are my kind of people.

I would like to share my own unique family recipe for Spanish rice. I hope you will try it, preferably with some tacos or calabacitos, but it’s good all on its own. Bon appetit!

Mother Hood’s Spanish Rice

Note: I never measure anything, I just eyeball everything at this point, so take this with a grain of salt 🤣

Ingredients:

• 1 cup long grain rice

• 1 8oz can tomato sauce

• 1 cup water

• 1 tbsp cooking oil

• salt, to taste

• 2 tsp garlic powder

• a dash (1 tsp?) Worcestershire sauce

• a dash (1 tsp?) soy sauce

• a dash of hot sauce (optional, if you like spicy, put more)

Directions:

1. Open your can of tomato sauce ahead of time and have it nearby.

2. Place your cooking oil in the pot or pan. Either is fine, just make sure you have a lid. Once it’s hot, add in your dry rice and sauté until the rice starts to brown and is lightly toasted. You will want to keep stirring and be vigilant at this stage as the rice can easily go from toasty to burned rather quickly.

3. While the pan is still hot, dump in that can of tomato sauce, but BE CAREFUL. You want to do it quickly and don’t linger because hot steam will shoot up from the pan and you don’t want to get burned. This step is critical though, because that steam ensures the rice will be just right and not mushy from the tomato sauce.

4. Now you can add in the water, the spices, and stir.

5. Cook on high until boiling and then lower the heat to a simmer and cover it. Set a timer for about 20 minutes, a little longer will be necessary if you like that burnt crust at the bottom.

6. The rice should be done! It should look dry but cooked. There will definitely be a pool of tomato sauce at the top that looks mushy, but once you stir that in it will all balance out.

Love,

MH

For a previous recipe (for paid subs), you can find it here:

Hello friend!

I have been listening to a lot of ASMR videos to try to calm my frazzled brain at night. I figured, maybe you would enjoy some tingles, too.

This time around I would love to introduce you to , one of my Substack staples! You can read more about her in this awesome interview she did for a magazine here. You can find and subscribe to her publication here:

Stay Weird Press

A home for stories, poems, and essays that are absurd, tender, and a little sideways

By Rebecca Watson (ReBe)

As for today’s reading, I chose Chapter 1 of Rebecca’s fictional story Eldridge Whispers. The title is absolutely fitting and the writing will tingle your spine even if my whispering reading doesn’t. I can’t wait to find out what happens next!

You can find the actual post here if you’d like to read along:

Stay Weird Press

Eldridge Whispers

This is Chapter One of Eldridge Whispers, a story that’s been rattling around in my head, demanding to be let loose. It’s eerie, a little strange, and maybe even unsettling in places…

Read more

a year ago · 27 likes · 18 comments · Rebecca Watson (ReBe)

Thank you, for allowing me to record a reading of your amazing story. Your writing is always inspiring and intriguing and I love it! 💚

If this was not enough and you want to listen to my previous (and first ever) ASMR recording, here you go!

Love,

MH

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It’s been a while since I’ve posted. I have been having trouble sleeping and thus have been listening to a lot of ASMR channels on YouTube these days. Some of them are really effective and relaxing and I thought, maybe you Stackers need some calm and relaxation too.

So without further ado, I made this ASMR recording for you. Today, I have featured readings of poetry from the amazingly talented . If whispers are not your thing, feel free to fast forward to the middle where I have only sounds until the end.

I hope it brought some calm to your day and I encourage you to go check out more of Carlos’ superb poetry and subscribe to him! DM me or leave a comment if you’d like to be featured in the next one.

Cae Rivas Writes

Some of my thoughts and feelings find their way into words. These are the ones that did. This is my catharsis.

By Carlos M.

Admittedly, I have never done this before but it’s fun to try new things. Please let me know what you think in the comments!

Leave a comment

Love,

MH

I started watching a random Live today about this topic and it made me realize that I have a lot of thoughts about this. (Btw, I live in America)

My daughter is about to turn 3 this month and I haven’t so much as toured a single preschool. I know the next 3 years are going to fly right by, so now seems like almost too late to be looking into this.

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Meow meow meooooooowwwwww. Meow meow meow meow, meow meow. Meowity meow wow. Meow meow.

Meow mow meow meow. Meow meow meowow. Meeeeow meowmow.

Meow meow meow meow. Meow meow - meow mowowowowwwww.

Meow meow meow meow meow, meow meow meOW! Meow meow meow.

Translation

For my cat-loving friends. Yes, you. HELLO! I hope you are having a fabulous day. This is me trying out the art of the meow. I heard it’s best to live in the meow.

I don’t even like cats. I have been allergic to cats my whole life. But you like cats. And I like you. So, this is my way of saying thank you. For being my friend.

You might be asking yourself how I speak Meow. I studied at UC Berkeley and I am quite adept at languages.

Don’t be fooled. Writing in meow - it’s harder than it looks.

And though I may be allergic to cats, and I don’t like to PET them! You will still find me speaking to them from afar.

That’s all for meow!

Love,

MH

Cae Rivas

The Jester's Dance

So during our poetry reading the idea of a challenge to write a poem in each other’s style came up…

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a year ago · 19 likes · 6 comments · Carlos Morales 🌀

I insisted on volunteered to read the part of the broom, which Carlos so brilliantly came up with. The only time I had to record in peace is late at night after my daughter has gone to sleep. So, there I was, sitting on the floor of my bedroom closet with the door shut at like 1am, reading to no one.

I was having so much fun recording my voice that I decided to do several different takes for Carlos to choose from. Honestly, though, I figured it would at least give Carlos some laughs and that alone was worth it.

Now, I am hoping it gives you some laughs and brightens your day as well!

Without further ado, for your listening pleasure, here are my outtakes:

French Broom 🇫🇷

Robot Broom 🤖

Sad Broom 😢

Cat Broom 🐈

If you like (laughed at) what you heard and you would like me to voice one of your poems, please let me know in the comments!

Yours,

MH

And if you’d like to read more, check out my previous post:

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I figured so long as we packed an extra change of clothes and a pee pad to go on the car seat, we’d be just fine.

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I’ve been through a LOT in the past few years. As if the pandemic wasn’t traumatic enough for a social butterfly who only stayed in when her body had to collapse, I did not do well. Oh, but that wasn’t even the hard stuff.

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It all started on the eve of our 3-year anniversary. It was a very traditional romance. We matched on Tinder and met up at a Korean BBQ spot. Ever since then, it was our tradition to go back to that same restaurant on our anniversary and eat our fill of hot, smoky, meat. This particular anniversary, we decided to go a little wild and order a pitcher of green apple soju. The night gets a little fuzzy after that but suffice it to say we had some fun.

Fast forward to 3 weeks later, I am royally freaking out because my period is late. For those of you who have no idea what this means, women’s cycles are… actually, nevermind, you can Google it. We end up going to a doctor appointment together so that I can get my pee tested and much to my disappointment (at the time), it came back positive. It had happened. My worst nightmare. I was pregnant. I knew exactly what I wanted to do, but there was this little problem called ‘the father’. My boyfriend (let’s call him George to keep his identity safe) had always wanted to be a father. Meanwhile, I was bawling my head off in front of a doctor who was sitting there befuddled and looking at George like he was the worst human being in the world. I had to explain to her why I was so utterly devastated without throwing George under the bus.

Looking back, it wasn’t my finest moment. But getting pregnant really was my worst nightmare. I grew up with a single mom who got pregnant with my brother when she was 18 and still in high school. My entire life she drilled it into my head that boys are BAD and sex is BAD and having babies is THE WORST. Well let me tell you, it worked. I grew up avoiding boys and avoiding sex like the plague and as I said in the beginning, I NEVER wanted kids. From what I learned from my mother, kids suck up all your calcium and weaken your teeth, they ruin your bladder so you have to get a sling installed just to keep it inside you, you get horrible stretch marks, you pee when you sneeze, you have to get stitches where the sun don’t shine, and oh yeah, you could die! Not to mention, they just make eeeeeverything in life harder. Who the heck wants that? Absolutely my worst nightmare and most definitely not what I wanted for my life. My life was going to be different.

Life had other plans for me. George and I argued a lot after the doctor appointment. We were living together but like I said, I never wanted kids, I made that very explicit from the day I met him. So, from my point of view, he should not have been surprised when I just wanted to go to a clinic and ‘take care of it’. He just kept looking at me like I was a baby killer. I tried and tried to explain to him all the horrors I had learned growing up. I tried to explain to him that having kids was like putting life on extreme difficulty mode and I never signed up for that level. I tried to explain to him that it was my body that was going to have to go through all the changes and all my worst nightmares, not his. My body, my choice, right? But there he was, with those sad puppy dog eyes, looking at me like I am a murderer. I figured that was it, the end of our relationship. He said he would ‘get over it’ if I had the abortion, but I just knew he would hate me forever and that would be that. But the simple fact remained, I NEVER wanted kids.

So I made the appointment. (Don’t judge me!) George went to work very sad that day. I drove to the doctor’s office and as soon as I turned the corner where the clinic was, it was the strangest thing I ever saw. Everyone was out on the lawn. Doctors, patients, nurses, everyone - just standing out there on the grass. I pulled over and asked someone what was going on. Apparently someone had pulled the fire alarm and the building had to be evacuated. Right about now, you might be thinking this story is fiction but I swear to you, I am not making any of this up. Anyway, I pulled into the parking lot and I figured I had some time before they started letting people back in the building. I sat in my car and called the only person in the entire world that I could talk to about this situation who wouldn’t judge me - my best friend.

My best friend… hmm, it’s pretty fun making up new names for everyone… I will call her Gina. Gina is a mom of a 6 year old now. She herself is a miracle baby who doctors say never should have been born. She is a huge believer in the pro-life movement but I knew she would not judge me for the decision I was making. I needed to not be alone in that moment and I needed to have a good cry. We ended up talking for half an hour as I waited for the clinic to let people back in the building.

I finally get into the clinic and walk up to the receptionist desk to check in. I mentioned I was there on time for my appointment but then the fire alarm thing happened. The lady tells me that they are all booked up for the day and probably no one will be available to see me. She said I could wait around if I wanted to, but no guarantee that I would be seen. No big deal, right? Just come back tomorrow, right? WRONG! I was out of time because this was the day before an already scheduled trip to visit my family in another state. I could not miss the trip and I couldn’t tell my family what was going on either.

So I end up flying home, still pregnant, visiting with family for a whole week, still pregnant! Why yes, thank you, I AM a great actress. Talk about stressful. I would’ve been in a complete state of panic were it not for the fact that according to my calculations and a Google search, I would still be able to take the abortion pill when I got back from my trip. This is deeply personal, can’t believe I am sharing it, but the only kind of abortion I was ok with was the pill. The whole sucking out the baby with a vacuum thing freaked me out on multiple fronts and I couldn’t bear to do that. Luckily, Google said the pill could safely be used up to a certain number of weeks and by my calculations (since I knew exactly when I got pregnant), I was still going to be within that limit.

Fast forward to my next appointment, I am there to get the pill. But then I learned that doctors calculate how far along you are in the most non-intuitive way possible. Their starting date is not when you last had sex, it is the last day of your last period. Why does no one talk about these things!? In the words of Adam Sandler in The Wedding Singer, this could’ve been brought to my attention YESTERDAY! So that put me like 3 weeks further along than I thought I was, and most definitely NOT eligible to take the pill. My next thought was to pray that the baby was stillborn so that I could absolve my conscience and know it just wasn’t meant to be.

Next came the ultrasound, to see how the baby was doing etc. The doctor asked me if I wanted to look and I really did want to see what was going on inside me. I will never ever forget what I saw and how I felt. Here I was, wishing this little thing inside me would just die, and instead what I saw was the complete opposite. That little fetus had a heart beating so strong you could see it flutter and it had arms and legs swimming so furiously! It was quite literally, magical. That little swimmer had a will to live. It was like she was already a defiant little teenager doing the opposite of what she asked just to spite me. Stillborn, huh, mama? I’ll show you! I’ll be the most ALIVE fetus there ever was, mama! There was no way in a million years I could end that little life. I knew right then that I had to go through with it.

And that, my new friends, is how I became a mama.

Thanks for sticking around this long and reading the entire post. I would love to hear from you, but only if it’s positive!