Real Life and Its Skunks

IMG_6911I’m sitting at the very far corner of the coffee shop this morning, because I still smell vaguely of the skunk that sprayed our dog for the fourth time in a month. We’re calling the movie of our life right now, Skunkageddon: Revenge of the Rodents.

We hired a company to humanely trap the skunks and return them to whatever hell mouth they hail from. They’ve trapped twelve so far. Twelve. There are two sitting calmly in traps in the yard right now. This morning I locked beady eyes with one of them and tried to psychically communicate with him. I told him that we wished his family well, but would appreciate it if could they would all go across town and terrorize a Republican family instead.

acoveThen I went inside and stared for a few minutes at the sole rotting avocado in the fridge, because I didn’t make it to the grocery store yesterday. Like if I stared hard enough, it might magically turn into an egg sandwich.

A study in opposites, my mind drifted back to Greece last week…

ausboatAfter we left Athens, the rest of our time was spent on an epic odyssey, exploring the beaches of Aegina and then driving through charming villages tucked into the folds of the Peloponnese Mountains. As I sit here annoyed by the guy on his cell phone next to me and vaguely nauseated by the residual skunk smell, I can remember drinking an iced coffee in the dappled light beneath the Sycamore tree that shaded the town square of Karyes. I remember standing quietly by the bell tower on the town’s tallest peak and listening to the goat bells echo through the hillsides. I remember eating grilled octopus in a seaside taverna, while the kids trolled the shoreline for sea urchins.

I don’t mean to over-romanticize…I can’t say Greece was relaxing, exactly. Vacations with active children who struggle with transitions are not generally relaxing. There were times I was so tired and brain-baked and T was acting like such a little jerk, I wanted to swan dive off one of those beautiful cliffs. There were also times I felt numb, like I couldn’t feel my life.

Or rather, I could feel my life, but they weren’t what I deemed the appropriate feelings-  the awe and gratitude I believed to be equal to the scenery. I got mad at myself. I yearned for that pre-kid me, the one who would just drink it all in, content to roll with inconveniences, to drift wide-eyed  through the world with five dollars in my pocket.

But there was this one moment…

One morning, we took a little boat to the tiny, uninhabited island of Moni, off the coast of Aegina. We played for a while on a gorgeous little crescent of beach, in the shadow of cliffs that contain caves where acetic monks once lived.

We walked over a little path that traversed the island and found ourselves in a deserted cove, with only a single sailboat anchored in the distance. The water was deep and you had to jump off the rocks to get in, but all the kids took the plunge eventually. After T jumped, I swam along next to him as he looked under the water with his goggles. He lifted his head and excitedly said, “THIS is what the ocean looks like!” As if the world and his dreams had fallen into line for a brief moment.afood

I looked around at the thousand shades of blue water, the cliffs rising above us, the cloudless sky, that smile of my son’s that can turn a whole day around, and I thought, “THIS is what Greece looks like.”

What I meant was, this is what sharing the world with my son looks like. Its moments of wonder can feel even richer for being harder won.

And that’s where I go in my mind this morning. Because, in the words of Gershwin, you can’t take that away from me…

Not even as real life and all its skunks close in.akastanitza


Meeting the Gods in Athens: Greece Part 1

acropolisWe’re back from our Greek odyssey, and in only two California days, the blue-green Mediterranean water and the hot, star-canopied nights eating grilled octopus while stray cats circled our feet seems years ago already. But what memories we made!

Before we left, I was nervous about taking T on such an epic adventure. He hadn’t been on a long plane ride since we brought him back from Africa. I had no idea how my jumping bean would sit still for that long, or how he’d deal with all the transition and unfamiliarity once we arrived– not generally his strong suits.

But we had gotten an invitation to travel with close friends, one of whom is Greek, and it seemed a once in a lifetime chance to go explore the Greek islands with a native. In spite of the fact that Scott was going to be on tour and couldn’t join us, I decided to plunge in.

I encourage anyone afraid of traveling with your kids to just go for it. I’m so glad we did, and not because it didn’t have its challenges. Some of my fears were definitely realized, as Tariku’s manners aren’t exactly European. I was frequently embarrassed, and had to discipline him pretty much constantly, which is my least favorite mode. It was a shock to his system to discover that there are different rules in different cultures. I also think it’s an essential lesson for any human, so I tried to do my best to convey it without shaming him. Some moments I was more successful than others. In the end, it was one of the trip’s most valuable takeaways- to learn to function, even thrive, when surrounded by a different language, different food and different customs.zeus

There are mind-bending layers upon layers of history in Greece, and it was fascinating to be there at such a historical moment, with the banks closed and the whole Greek financial system (and that of the rest of Europe) hanging in the balance. As we visited the ruins of the buildings where democracy was born, we were watching that democracy vibrantly unfold around us, with protests in the square and lively debates in the cafes, the foreign press lounging around smoking on the sidelines.

Our little group was comprised of our friends John and Fred, their two sons, age 7 and 4, and Tariku and me. Our first afternoon there, we dragged three kids under 8 up the Acropolis in the hot sun and the little angels were just wide-eyed with wonder and respect. Bwahaha! Just kidding! They whined and bargained for frozen lemonade the whole way up, while bemoaning the fact they couldn’t throw rocks off the side.

And while the museums of antiquities produced more giggles (butts! wieners!) than awe, the kids were fascinated by the myths. Zeus and his lightning bolt. Odysseus lashed to the mast of his ship in order to hear the siren song. Medusa and her head of snakes.


“Medusa” became the kids’ favorite game It was kind of like tag, except one kid was Medusa and could turn the other two to stone.

At the temple of Zeus, Tariku asked me, quite genuinely, “Was Zeus Jesus’ dad?”

It’s a hell of a question.

And forgive my theology here, please, people, but I told him what I basically believe to be true… That throughout history, people have looked around at the mystery and beauty and terror of the world and have felt God in their hearts. And that they have called God many different things and imagined him or her in many different ways.

“But which is real? They can’t both be real,” asked Tariku. “Is Zeus real real? Is the hydra real? Is Zeus dead now?”


Fair enough questions.

I told him that 2500 years ago people were sitting in the same place we were, and telling the very same stories. Those people are long gone and we don’t remember most of them, but the stories are still just as alive today. So, in a way, myths are real, in that they tell us very important truths. But that’s not the same as them being historically accurate. And that we’re not always sure what’s historically accurate or not, but we can be pretty sure there never was a hydra running around.

“Oh yeah?” he said. “Then what’s THAT BEHIND YOU?! AAAHHHHHH. HYDRA!!!” And with that. he was off down the path, away from the Acropolis and toward the winding streets of the old part of the city, where he found an overpriced trinket of Medusa and declared it the coolest piece of art he’d seen all day. I refused to spend 28 euros on the thing, and he cried so I bought him a gelato instead. Ah, I feel more cultured already.

While the kids were placated with their ice cream, I turned toward the Parthenon. If you face just the right direction, you can almost imagine the flesh on the bones, how it might have looked all those years ago. It blew my mind, that we’re essentially the same people standing here now, iPhones and space travel and open heart surgery and Lady Gaga notwithstanding. It’s hard to hang around Greece and not wax philosophical. After all, it’s where the whole thing started.

We’re still gods and monsters, creators and destroyers, lovers and rapists, spirit and animal.

And we tell the most exquisite stories.


Audiobook GIVEAWAY!


The audiobook of EVERYTHING YOU EVER WANTED is available, read by yours truly! To celebrate, I’m going to do a giveaway of a signed copy!

Reviews really help books– even just a few words. For every review of EVERYTHING you post online, I’ll enter you once in the drawing.  Multiple reviews get you multiple entries! Yes, you can cut and paste. Just LEAVE A COMMENT HERE and tell me where you left the reviews. Here are some suggestions:


1. Amazon, obvs.

2. Barnes and Noble

3. Powell’s

4. Goodreads

4. your social media

5. If you haven’t read it yet, you can just share on social media about this giveaway!

THANK YOU so very much for your continued support!

Coming Home


I’m back, friends! Sorry for the long absence. I’ve missed you! I got home from my wonderful (if exhausting) book tour during Tariku’s last week of school and crashed full force into the daily minutia of life. The every day-ness of waking stupid early, making breakfast, facing piles of laundry and cleaning dog throw-up was both an enormous relief and a bit of a let-down. I had exactly three days before we had T home full time. And that was five minutes ago. Oh wait- it was three weeks ago. How is that possible? You know, how summer is so relaxing (cue hysterical laughter of moms who work at home)?

This book is extremely precious to me and it was thrilling to be able to share it with so many people. I went to parties and readings, spoke on panels and taught workshops. One of my favorite events of the tour was a panel on transracial adoption at the Mixed/Remixed Festival here in LA. Mixed/Remixed brings together people of all races, creeds and genders to celebrate what it means to be Mixed, multiracial, or part of a blended family. Being in that room felt like taking a deep breath. I was overjoyed and inspired to dialogue with people about so many of the subjects about which I’m passionate- family, belonging, race, identity, adoption, self-worth, parenting…


And then Charleston happened and it knocked the wind out of Scott and me.

The day following the terrorist massacre, Scott and I were meeting with our social worker, talking about our next adoption. I looked over at Scott and he started to sob in the middle of a sentence. Soon all three of us were crying.

I have to be honest here and admit that when Scott and I were first talking about transracial adoption, nearly ten years ago, I was dismissive of the idea that having an African American child would make me think differently about race. I would have told you I didn’t need a child of a different race to be concerned about racism. I was an artist and an activist- someone deeply concerned with equality. I protested discrimination and injustice whenever I could. After all, once upon a time I had driven hours to see Angela Davis speak at a rally about diversity on college campuses.

I was so clueless. Because all the college protests in the world did not remotely prepare me to look into the face of my child, my heart, and know that someday soon, I will have to explain to him that he is not safe. That he will not be treated equally. That I enjoy privileges that he may never enjoy in his lifetime. That people with his skin color in this country have experienced hundreds of years of brutality and disenfranchisement and discrimination. That he lives in a world where we must shout #blacklivesmatter, because it’s not obvious. That things might be better than they used to be but not nearly better enough. Not even close.

I don’t have anything particularly new to offer the discussion. Maybe you feel the same way. Please don’t let that stop you from raising your voice and speaking out against racism and discrimination as loudly as you can.

I offer my grief, my rage, my fear, my solidarity, my tears, my voice, my eagerness to learn, my willingness to work.

Here are some of the posts about Charleston, from my touchstones:

Awesomely Luvvie: “On Charleston, Forgiveness and Black Pain”

Jamelle Bouie on the GOP and the Confederate flag.

Jon Stewart being awesome.

Mocha Momma: “Let’s get to the Work of Anti Racism”

Brene Brown: “Own Our History Change the Story.”

Karen Walrond at Chookaloonks: “Say Something.”

I am memorizing the names of Cynthia Hurd, Susie Jackson, Ethel Lance, DePayne Middleton Doctor, Clementa C. Pinckney, Tywanza Sanders, Daniel L. Simmons Sr., Sharonda Coleman-Singleton and Myra Thompson.


The (not rock but still pretty cool) Tour!

tourHello from Olympia, Washington! I’m about two-thirds of the way through my book tour and it’s been amazing, surprising, exhausting, exasperating, enlightening. A friend threw a beautiful party for me last night, and I literally showed up on her doorstep with a giant bag of laundry. Cuz glamour.

T and Scott  were with me through the first week and we had a blast in NY going to readings and parties, staying up late and eating junk food, visiting with friends and family. Tariku came to some of my events and I got to read to him the section of the book that chronicles the magical day we first met him. I’m shocked that I didn’t break down and sob.  He insisted on standing by my side afterward, painstakingly signing each book in cursive, next to my signature.

Friends, I have nearly torn my hair out many, many nights over the difficulty of balancing writing and motherhood, and I know I will again. So I really tried to slow down, breathe and pay attention to how it felt to have my child throw his arms around me and tell me that I made him proud. If I live to be a thousand years old, I will never forget it. Then he told me that I shouldn’t read aloud any more chapters that mention diapers. So there’s that.

They’re back at home now as I tumble through these final cities. It’s been fun seeing old friends and new in Woodstock, Austin, SF, Portland, Olympia…but I miss my guys madly and I’ll be happy to get back to them. After which, I plan to promptly invent a rare illness and pull the covers up over my head for three days.

readingAside from getting to share some of this tour with Tariku and with my parents–who showed up and have been very supportive–  the most meaningful part so far has been the opportunity I’ve had to meet so many other members of the adoption triad (that’s adoption speak for adoptees, birth families, and adoptive parents). I’m so moved by people’s willingness to be vulnerable and share their stories with me. There have been lots of tears. It’s been incredible to connect with people and to talk about our losses and our blessings.

At every reading, one question I get asked without fail is, “What do you imagine your son will think about the book?”

My answer is that I imagine he’ll have lots of different feelings about it as he grows. Ultimately, I hope that he sees it as the gift to him that I mean it to be.

Bloggers and authors catch a lot of criticism for writing publicly about our kids and our family struggles. I agree that living in such a public way isn’t the right choice for everybody. But we all have a right to our stories, and to our voice in the world and or some of us, that means sharing about our lives. What on earth would I have done in my darkest moments, if it weren’t for the storytellers who came before me, whose experience and hope lit the path in front of me? I’m honored to be a part of that conversation.

Look at these cuties. These are Tariku’s first friends in the world. Or, as he calls them, his brothers and sisters. Thanks, always, to our friends from our adoption trip to Ethiopia, for all their fantastic support: