One of the main reasons I wanted to visit San Francisco was to introduce the Diva to Chinatown to show her that there are entire communities of people who do not have blond hair. The Diva was born in Vietnam, but in general people always assume she’s from China because Chinese adoptions are more common Read More
The food in San Francisco! Holy Egg Rolls! Every cultural delicacy in the world! I’m hoping to read a book about it sometime. Because up until last night I had so far inhaled a Johnny Rockets chicken sandwich, a museum cafe turkey sandwich, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a Cobb salad, and about a Read More
San Francisco’s lovely unpredictable streets wind up, down and around like an inchworm trying to navigate a yard full of rocks. As you crest a hill, either by foot or vehicle, you must steel yourself for what awaits you: a mile-long free fall? A slight dip followed by a steep breathtaking climb? A man wearing Read More
It doesn’t get much more San Francisco-y than visiting Fisherman’s Wharf, riding the trolley and attending the city’s annual gay pride parade. The children were fascinated! Attending the parade was (mostly) unintentional. We were riding the trolley, which has been the Pterodactyl’s lifelong dream, along with turning his younger sister into dust and becoming an Read More
I have excellent news for those of you who enjoy cackling at my neurotic parenting adventures. At four o’clock this morning, we began our Annual Vacation Odyssey. Unlike previous journeys, such as the drive to Cape Cod featuring strep throat, pneumonia and roaches, or the drive to Pittsburgh, which included changing a flat tire in Read More
When the Diva was 3 years old, I took a trip to Guatemala to visit the boy who would become our son. She asked me why her new brudder lived in Guatelala, and I marveled at her toddler brilliance. I took a deep breath, and tried to explain this complex concept. “Well,” I said, “some Read More
If I didn’t write, I would shrivel up and die. That’s what’s known in writing circles as hyperbole. It’s one of the tools that writers (and people in general) use to get attention. First of all, the only way I’m going to shrivel up even a tiny bit is to stop eating so much, and Read More
Here is an updated description of the living beings in my life. Me: See how I put myself first? You can’t spell F-A-M-I-L-Y without an I, right? I’m a 47-year-old married woman, mother to three internationally adopted children who kick my ass every day. I teach a little journalism on the side. I’m a fitness Read More
Hot Firefighter Husband and I have been arguing a lot lately because I am residing in a mental valley. This happens when you suffer from depression; sometimes the stars are all aligned and the ocean’s blue-green tint makes your heart soar, and other times the color of the sea reminds you of the mold that Read More
When Hot Firefighter Husband and I got married, I didn’t take his name. What kind of last name is “Husband,” anyway? JOKING! You don’t think I walk around calling him “Hot,” do you? I mean, sometimes I do, but that’s usually something I’m just saying to him, like if I point to something heating up Read More
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