pink pajama mama

I’ve often dreamed of being Collette, or Josephine Baker, or Mata Hari, or Anais Nin, or Eartha Kitt. Fabulous, glamorous, brilliant, with adventure and sparkles and chutzpah and a wardrobe to match. I want to dance barefoot under the moonlight, ride a horse naked to a salon in the Paris of 1920 like Lady Godiva, make love in a field of wildflowers during a storm, sing cabaret in a smoky jazz club in a shimmery dress; I want to create and be wild and sprinkle stardust and make the world safe and beautiful and magical for all children.

Ah, children, my greatest passion. I want to hold them when they’re scared and wipe away their tears, I want to make them laugh and give them a safe space to create their amazing worlds. So how do I reconcile my wild glamorous showgirl self with my all-encompassing mother self? Come along on my journey and we’ll figure it out together. From Utah to Hollywood; from Paris to Florence; from UCLA to Harvard; from Martha’s Vineyard to New Orleans; this jet-setting pink pajama mama gets around.

And so I lie here on my pink puffy bed in my pink silky pajamas, or pink flannel depending on my mood (the only thing you can bank on is that there will be chocolate smeared somewhere on my attire), with my pink feathered pen, writing my most delicious daydreams. Funny? Sometimes. Scandalous? Hopefully. Inspiring? Perhaps. Full of love? Always.

Welcome to my World.