Thank you Mayor Maya Sanchez, for leaving a comment on my website to the 1.5 year old blog post I wrote entitled "Miscarriages."

Not only did I read your comment with amazement and curiosity and a heightened sense of how small the world is, I re-read that post about my fourth miscarriage and remembered so many of the feelings that I completely forgot. Probably a good thing I'm not a person who dwells. That was a pretty sad time.

Thank you for inspiring me to respond to your comment on my blog -- nearly 4 months since my last post. I have been ridiculously not proficient and lame. One thing investigative reporting absolutely kills is my blogbido--any desire to be open with the public. Everything is held thisclose to the vest and all my bandwidth is pretty much used up thinking about my stories and juggling long term projects about bad people who do bad things. It's the complete opposite of what inspired this blog -- the wonderment of new life and babies and sharing the experience of parenthood with the world. But twatever, I'll get over it and figure out a way to jot down my thoughts without getting fired. I hope. I mean yeezus, people are getting fired for everything these days.

But really Maya, wow. The comment was so thorough and detailed and candid...and out of nowhere. Like here's me, doo da doo, just put the girls to bed and checking my blog stats for the first time in weeks and suddenly I'm knee deep in this really intense comment from a fellow USF Don saying, "I remember thinking you were a doll but why the heck did you get so lucky in the game of life?! Now don't get me wrong, I never wished you ill, you were nothing but kind... It was just one of those situations where you just knew you'd never have as "perfect" a life as Vicky."

Snapalappa-dingdong!? (Pronounced SNAP-uh-lap-uh-ding-dong)

First, I was kind? That's a relief. Because I mostly don't use that adjective to describe myself. Like ever. 

Second, "As perfect a life as Vicky?"

You thought in college I was going to have some perfect kind of life? You saw me eating my snacks in class with God knows what kind of outfit on with my sunny yellow back pack and thought that to yourself? It's just so crazy but awesome but mind blowing all at once. Like in 2015, someone can easily randomly find me, scroll through my blog, and write me a very personal note that makes me stop in my tracks. Plus anyone who says they're trolling me is just funny. 

A few things went through my mind. 

Yes, I have a freaking crazy fortunate life. Fa realz. Like if I complain in any serious manner, you can shut me down. Immediately. Too many things have gone right in my life. Starting with my parents' decision to get on a boat and come to this country, followed by the incredible kindness of strangers who helped us start our lives here, followed by a host of positive turns including my education, the mentors who took me under their wings, the family I married into, and the gift of two curious, hilarious, pure-hearted daughters. The list is, as you know, ridiculously long. 

But I appreciate so much what you wrote. Not because it's a back patting, but because I also want to remind people THE INTERNET IS NOT REAL. It is CURATED. Especially the social media stuff. People share what makes them look their Sunday best. They paint better than real pictures of their lives. They humblebrag the bejesus out of their accomplishments. There would be a lot less misery and envy if people had any clue how lame some other people really are. I'm thinking of 17 millennials at this moment who look uh-meezing online. In real life? Shallow, fragile, self-centered ninnies.

It's exactly why I wanted to write an unvarnished blog with insights and vulnerabilities and to talk about some of the really crappy things we go through. Like miscarriages. We are bound by our humanity, and to be human is to feel a range of emotions, including sadness and hopelessness and self-pity and jealous rage. Ahem.

I binge-watched some Real Housewives of Orange County on a recent flight cross country--thank you Virgin America for the unexpected free upgrade to business class it was UH-meezing--and one of the housewives says during the show open "No one's life is perfect, but mine is pretty close" and I thought to myself, I'm not a gazillionaire with no worries in the world and $10K gold sinks but I can dolphinitely relate. 

So I'm writing to say you saw something or predicted something way back in our good ole days at USF that is mostly very true. That I'm beyond grateful for. And that I try not to curate. I try to reveal what I can about the frustrations of working in a back-stabbing, highly competitive industry that's not really woman-friendly beyond a certain age. I try not to sugar coat the boring and repetitive parts of parenthood. I try to expose all the less than perfect parts of my life and all of our lives because that's our common ground. That's how we get through things. I've been through plenty of financial ups and downs and family dramas and personal screw ups and whenever it's my story to tell, I try to tell it. 

So many people, now you included, Maya, have written me emails or posted comments that just show me how small our world is and that at every turn, there is generally goodness in your fellow human being. Thank you for your incredibly well-written and kind note. You moved me and you re-energized the part of my soul that started this blogging exercise in the first place. When we can relate and connect and share, we learn and grow and feel less alone. 

Congratulations on your success and more importantly, on finding happiness. May it be deep and sustaining.

That's my wish for everyone. Except millennials. May you rot in your pools of smug ignorance. 


Memo to Emmy: 72 Months


You're 6! Six. Whole. Years. Old.

Old enough to finally lose your first tooth. With the help of extremely passive aggressive wiggling by Daddy. He initially claimed you wiggled it out yourself with the floss. I came to find out later he actually "helped" by "holding your hand" which was "holding the floss" which means too many quotation marks to actually keep track of.

The Tooth Fairy was very generous. $5 and a My Little Pony plastic figure. And she even let you keep the bloody tooth. Nguyen Nguyen situation.

Your other bottom baby tooth has stubbornly remained in your mouth, shark-like as the permanent tooth has already grown up behind it, wiggly but resolute in not coming out. Every night your dad has a showcase showdown with that tooth and it keeps winning. Probably my fault. At least half a dozen of my baby teeth had to be pulled out by Dr. To when I was a kid. Either they were genetically stubborn like everything else in my DNA, or my parents just had him pull a few out every couple months when we were down in San Jose shopping for Vietnamese food. Never underestimate how much Vietnamese parents love convenience!

At this ripe age, your EQ is off the charts. I know a lot of millennials and management-types who should take a crash course in Emerson-self awareness. Much like you always knew not to repeat bad language, you are intuitive about your friends' feelings, your sister's moods, and the emotions of people around you. 

You're naturally easygoing, curious, and just incredibly pleasant. Rarely do you lose it, and usually if you do, it's because you can't finish something or your sister is on your last nerve. You can do anything. As long as you're properly prepared. You don't like a sudden change or abrupt transition. In short, you are just like Daddy. Except I can still swoop you up and carry you around like a monkey with really long legs.

Your reading comprehension is pretty off the hook. Every night I read a few pages of a Ramona book to you and you read a few pages of an Ivy and Bean book to me. You're picking up some triple digit adding and subtracting and carrying the 1 type math skills thanks to Daddy. I mean, how do math teachers teach complex concepts? I can barely explain how to count backwards to subtract. 

I get to volunteer pretty regularly in your kindergarten class. It's fun to see you speak with confidence in front of the class. You're not the tender chicken nugget you were in preschool and I relish seeing you develop some savvy around your peers. 

You've had to deal with some mean girl stuff already. That's really crazy. But you innately know how to be your own person. You told me the difference between "good ignoring" and "bad ignoring," a concept you came up with yourself. 

You: Bad ignoring is when you ignore people and they're trying to tell you about their family. Good ignoring is when you ignore people if they're not being nice.

My mommy heart soars when you tell me stuff like that. The world is so mean and harsh sometimes and I want to protect you from everything but I know that's impossible and it would weaken you if I did. So when you spout little truths like that, it gives me consolation that you're going to make it, even without me holding your hand every step of the way. As much as I want to be there at the junior high dance holding your hand, or at senior prom, or in your college dorm. Who me? I'm Emmy's mom.

"What happens to a cup when it's been caught by the police? It gets handcupped!"

"What kind of house does a tree live in? A tree house!"

Emmy original jokes. Do you get your knack for laughs from me or your dad? I don't know. He came up with:

"Did you hear the story about the cookie? Eh, nevermind it's crummy." You told me that with perfect comic timing.

You are a terrific big sister. You can cheer up Odessa and stop one of her legendary crying fits in .7 seconds. At first I thought you were being uncharacteristically mean when you went up and starting mimicking her crying. But just as I was telling you not to do that to her, you said, "Mommy I'm making her stop crying," and you turned back to her and sure enough, Odessa started laughing at your wailing face and then she started making screeching noises and howling noises and laughing hysterically when you copied those too. You hacked her tantrum!

Aside from having to ask you a question 17 times because you're in your own La La world sometimes, you're a pretty flawless kid. How that blessing happened is unclear. Oh, maybe because we also have Odessa. Not so easy peasy.

Happy 6th birthday almost a month late. I want to smush you back down and stunt your growth but you won't drink my coffee so I will have to count the few days left that I remain taller than you. I am thankful every day that you're my daughter. Here's to at least 100 more birthdays!

Love you Em Em 


We Investigate: Daily Show Edition

Somehow the folks at The Daily Show heard about our latest investigation on the OSHA Whistleblower Protection Program. Here's our original report:

Here's Jon Stewart's version. His had a couple more f-bombs. Scroll ahead to 6:25 if you want to see our part. 




Memo to Dessy: 35 Months


You're almost 3. In 4T clothes with a sassafrass 'tude that's equal parts vinegar and sweet. You are the umami of toddlers. Like a spicy Cheetoh. I have to keep snacking on you because if I stop, the burn sets in. You are relentless in your independence but you're also a snugglebug. Mostly with Daddy. I feel like I went through this same thing with Emmy but she wasn't quite as obstinate. You are both your daddy's girls at this age. He's understandably way more jungle-gymmy and fun and doesn't care quite as much when you wipe a ketchup mustache onto his pants. Mommy's also not as strong or tall or long armed Gumby, so I don't hold it against you.

However. You are just a little dragon baby at times.

Me: "Odessa, let's go brush your teeth."

You: "Uh uh."

Me: "Time to take a bath."

You: "Uh uh."

Me: "Odessa."

You: "Uh uh."

You're so funny though that it's just impossible to actually get mad. I have to just stifle my laughter and joy to pretend to teach you some sort of lesson. Mostly you've taught me to be a master distracter. "Oh I know! We're going to read the new library book for bedtime afteryoujustocmeoverhereandlet'sgopottyrealquickandletmeflossyourteethwhileyou'resitting


I am kind of proud of that new skill I've learned. Somehow I need to find a real world application for it. You and Emmy are suddenly mostly BFFs. That is thoroughly, thoroughly, easily one of my favorite milestones as a parent. To hear the two of you chattering and playing and Emmy explaining things and you asking why 17 times until she stops explaining or says "Because, Odessa, I already told you why." It's the most innocent, sweet interaction between two small human beings and I look for any chance I can eavesdrop while holding my breath and waiting to see what each of you says and does next. It is parenting nirvana for me.

(Thanks to Jay Tsai for great family pics.)


Emmy: "You listen to the big sister."

Odessa: "You listen to the little sister."
Emmy: "Big sisters teach the little sisters, OK?"
Odessa: ... (processing)


Maybe because I was an only child and don't remember anything about friendships and discovery at this age? Sibling interaction this pure is intoxicating. 

Some of your favorite phrases right now: "Nevah myyyynnd." It's a variation of nevermind that I have no idea where you heard it. Like you're literally from Odessa, Texas and you stepped into the barn after wrangling some mustangs when you say it with such a long drawl.
Meantime, we try to keep it a little #freshofftheboat with your Santa visit.
And you know how some dudes people are always walking around in bars quoting random movie lines and asking if you've ever seen that film? You are that dude in the form of a little tyke who quotes from your books. At first I thought you were being totally out of pocket when you would just say "Don't ask me any questions." Completely unprovoked. "Don't ask me annnnnny questions." I mean, that's just so rude!
Then I realized, after weeks of thinking I've raised such an inconsiderate and discourteous 2 year old, that you're quoting from "I Want My Hat Back," an awesome book White Grandma gave you. One of your favorites. And the line, for the record, is "Don't ask me any more questions." But that's OK. I sing the wrong words to songs all the time. Like my current fave, "Blank Space." Call all my Starbucks lovers, they'll tell you I'm insane!
Wait, that's not the line?
Someone is seriously starting a slight princess complex. We never had that with Emmy. In fact, you guys are about 2 years behind in finally seeing Frozen. Of course, you're now in love with Princess Elsa. I don't know. I don't want to be all Tiger Mom about it, and I guess I can't now, not after Asian Grandma and Grandpa gave you ELEVEN Disney princesses took three Asian immigrants two pairs of scissors and 27 minutes to free from the gigantic box.

I just love you so much and you're so talkative and bright and spicy and tough. Like I never worry about you. You just have this "I got this" attitude and it's so hard to put into words but it's endearing and prompts endless head shaking from me. I just want you to like me and you make me work so hard for it. You LOVE your grandmas. You are just enamored with both of them. As you should be. It's like you're the neighbor's little dog that barks and tries to bite me but you're so, so cute like the $120 million Grumpy Cat and finally when I win you over it's so worth it to get the hug and have you say, "I love you too Mommy." Or when you grab me around the neck and give me that wet smackaroo on the cheek.
You're so unexpected and unpredictable and we're all addicted.

Love you,



Memo to Emmy: 66 Months

Goodness Girlfriend,

You are 5.5 already? Solid 30 plus days as an official kindergartener and wow you're a legit big girl. I have the same worries as the other Silicon Valley Tiger Parents. Are you being challenged? Have you learned the Theory of Relativity yet? Why don't you eat your whole lunch because studies show nourishment improves learning?

And yet I also have this odd peace about the fact you're Doing It. You're in kindergarten and you're learning how to be a person on your own, how to open your container at snack time, how to make friends and read them fairy books at recess, how to play tag, how to figure out what it means to be out of the watchful eye of your mom, dad, or Asian Grandma for several hours a day. Those are all Major Things.

You had a big first day. Your teacher noticed you were reading aloud to yourself and asked you to come and read her note to the whole class. Public speaking on day one and you nailed it! 

So far, so good. You told us a kid was pointing a pencil at you and shooting it like a gun. To which you said, "Stop that, please." And he did. So, that's a relief. I mean, that's the craziest thing about growing up. I'm not everywhere at all times with you. I can't tell people to not be jerks and to make sure you get a spot in line and that you're treated fairly and nicely and that you get all the best things the world has to offer. That's really annoying. I want to be a hovercraft and ensure you never get knocked down or stuck in the bad seat on the bus.

But that's not possible. You have to experience the ups and downs of life to distinguish between them and to develop a strong character and to learn what's worth working hard for and what matters to you. I can't be the boss of you and the protector of you forever. Kindergarten is like the first teensiest tiniest step toward that. And I can't say I love it. Because I want to freeze you at every stage in life. It all goes by so lightning quickly.

You're already growing your two bottom front teeth but your stubborn baby teeth are hanging on for dear life so it's shark week in your mouth. You're an awesome artist and apparently that's what you want to be when you grow up according to the "Special Person of the Week" poster you had to fill out for homework. Every Tiger Mom's worst nightmare, an artist. 

You're writing in full sentences and you're reading at a crazy level. You always want to pick chapter books to read to me at night and you don't even mind when I'm a bad mommy and I read my People magazine while you're pounding through your heavy duty stories. 

It's your spirit. So easygoing and fun. Even-keeled and pleasant. The only time you really lose your S is when your sister tries to horn in on some exclusive thing you're doing--drawing, reading with Mommy, watching The Littlest Pet Shop (which you've convinced her is "very scary" so she leaves the room when you're watching.) I can't say I blame you. She's a total Ruiner. A Gleeful Unabashed Ruiner. A GUR. She's the embodiment of a pesky little sister at times and she relishes it. You have a bit of an edge that's coming out--you'll get in an elbow here or there, which is not the worst thing in the world because I want to see that you have some defense mechanisms and I also want Odessa to know she can't always get away with felony pestering.

I secretly love that you're a lefty and that you're so different from me. You're so intuitive and sensitive and empathetic. Your EQ is definitely higher than mine. You're patient and sweet, but sometimes really shy about certain things. Like you don't want to sing in class. Other kids are singing random songs like "Timber" when the teacher asks if anyone wants to sing a song, but for some reason you're anti. "I don't want to do it. I like dancing better than singing." I just don't know exactly why you're super outgoing sometimes and other times, you are deadset against something. 

One of your preschool teachers called you "tender" and that's something we worried about when you headed off into big kindergarten with 26 other kids in your class. But turns out, you're thriving. You have your backpack and your assignments and when I volunteer in class you seem like you're holding your own. That's all I can ask for--that you do you and so far Emerson, you're totally doing it.

I love you my Big Girl.