pink pajama mama

My mother would make a brilliant scientific study–this is a 72-year-old woman in perfect health who has pretty much lived on candy and dessert her entire life. You may think I jest, but let me give you an example. She came to help me out when I had my second baby. My first baby had just turned two and never tasted candy. The first thing my Mom did when she got in the car was give my toddler a bag of gummy sharks. When my husband told her Annabelle didn’t even have the right amount of molars to chew such a thing, coupled with the fact that we didn’t give her candy, my Mom was awestruck. “Wow, you’re really serious about this candy thing,” she said.Yup. As long as I have control over what goes in my children’s mouths, it will not be candy. My mom, however raised us on candy. We were the envy of the neighborhood children with our kitchen full of candy jars. Dirty kids with long stringy hair would come to our sliding glass door, shield their eyes form the glare with their hands over their eyebrows, and try to catch a glimpse of our candy jars. It was a bit creepy.Cavities were par for the course when we visited the dentist, but no dental visit was complete without a beeline straight to the drive-thru for a milkshake. On the same visit to help me with the baby, my husband asked my Mom what she might want from the store. “Oh, just some little cookies,” she said, not missing a beat on the rocking chair. She had come to help with my toddler, but ended up holding my newborn in the rocking chair for hour upon hour being waited on hand and foot by me. It was like having three children.All these years have finally taken a toll on my Mom and her stomach is just not what it used to be. For years we have all marveled at her “iron stomach.” This is a woman who could sit in the back seat reading a book and munching on cookies as we drove the winding roads of the Redwood forests while the rest of us turned green and hung our heads out the window. This is a woman who wore a red bouffant wig and black go-go boots and piled her six children into her orange VW bus every Sunday for church. This is a woman who, at 72 years old, still has peaches and cream skin, big brown eyes, thick black lashes, and looks at least 15 years younger. This is a woman who told me that my 10-month-old baby girl was too pale and I should put a little blush on her cheeks.This is a woman who has finally met her match–an aging stomach. She recently got a blood test and was floored to find out she had food intolerances to almonds and wheat and flour and gluten. She spoke to me over the phone in amazement. “You wouldn’t believe it–everything has flour in it!?!”I told her that if she went to a health food store she could find gluten-free cookies.  She said,, “Yes, but they’re too expensive! Can you believe, even those little cookies, what are they called? The little round ones–vanilla wafers! Even they have flour in them!”Yes Mom, I would immediately assume with any food intolerances vanilla wafers would be the first to go.And so I hear she is shrinking smaller and smaller. She was already getting smaller from walking on her treadmill. She started doing pilates last year and said this is the first time in her life she has muscle tone. “Wow, this exercise thing really works!” she told me in amazement one day.Yes, so that’s my Mother. It took her 72 years to figure out that exercise is a positive thing and cookies are not. Will I miss all the cookie jars filled with gummy sharks around her house? Will I miss the jar containing 2 year-old yogurt-covered pretzels? (They still taste good!) Will I miss her constant experimenting with which salty food tastes best with Junior Mints? Almonds or peanuts or cashews? Will I miss her long distance calls to my friends to tell them her latest Junior Mint discovery?Now I’m waiting for her to realize that real foods have a shelf life. She doesn’t cook anymore so when I went through her spices to find some cinnamon, I was shocked to see an old jar labeled with masking tape that said “mole.” “Mom? What is this?” I asked her. “Oh, Lupe gave that to me.”"Grandma Lupe? Mom, Grandma Lupe died more than 20 years ago! Spices don’t last that long!”"Of course they do! Spices don’t wear out!”"Mom, I get rid of my spices if they’re more than a year old.”She grabbed it out my hand. “I like these spices, she gave them to me.” And she put them back in her cupboard where they sit to this day.I am consistently awestruck by my Mother and her amazing diet. She loves it when I come to visit because she says it’s the only time she eats vegetables. I called her today to see how she was doing. She was in the car with my father going to get a Diet Pepsi and then a frappucino. For some reason, her blood test didn’t tell her she was intolerant to soda pop and coffee milkshakes.By gummy shark or frappucino, that sugar will find its way into her system. I think she’s lived on preservatives and sugar for so long her system has been permanently preserved. And if that’s the case, all the better for us to keep her around forever, gummy sharks and all.

Letter to Times Picayune

As my daughter just entered Kindergarten in New Orleans, I recently took a tour of several schools in the area. I was appalled! Most of the schools I toured were upscale private schools, the best education New Orleans has to offer, and yet unhealthy environments for young children. The kindergartens were full of plastic clutter, sugary foods, and media. The teachers showed me the “worksheets” the children would be doing for homework during the year. Worksheets? Computers? Homework? For 5 year olds? Freeplay time in each classroom was minimal at best, and even the playgrounds were devoid of developmentally appropriate natural play apparatus—no trees to climb, no logs to balance on, no flowers to smell, no gardens to cultivate, no water to splash in.

According to the Unicef Innocenti Report on child well-being in the richest countries, the U.S. ranks as one of the lowest on education. I found this report shocking as I thought we would rank highest. It turns out Sweden and the Netherlands are actually the highest, and it turns out their education system is vastly different from our own. It is typical there to teach children letters and reading beginning at the age of 7. In the U.S. we expect children to know their letters BEFORE entering kindergarten (that’s 4 years old!) and to be able to read somewhat by the end. And our literacy rates are sadly lacking behind many other countries!

Why is this? Child development experts in America and around the world have come together to form different organizations to address this issue, such as the Alliance for Children in the U.S. The Alliance for Children has found that young children thrive the strongest and learn the most when they have a lot more free playtime, time to explore a natural environment, and a lot less pressure to “perform” in school.

I remember my kindergarten days. We were in class from 9-11 and that included a long recess. It was our first exposure to school, and kindergarten served as that magical transitional place from home to school. Kindergarten was fun. There were no electronics in the classroom, no tv, nothing that would encourage us to be sedentary. According to child development experts, young children learn best through their body movement and senses, neither of which a screen can provide. We baked, played dress-up, pulled each other in the wagon, and painted rocks. It was a magical time that instilled a vibrant curiosity and a lifelong love of learning. According to educational experts, testing kindergartners and giving them homework can be detrimental to their health—mentally, emotionally, physiologically, and of course have a negative impact on their future in school. Kindergartners typically go to school in NOLA from 8-3:30pm! Between school and meals, extra curricular activities and early bedtimes, when do they get the chance to just play? To explore in nature like we did as children? Shouldn’t we be taking cues from the countries with the strongest educational system and highest literacy rates, and let children have this once-in-a-lifetime chance to just relax and be children?

I completed my Master of Education at Harvard in 2002, and there I learned about the model school run by Leo Tolstoy in the 1800’s, Yasnaya Polyana. His emphasis on a nature-based curriculum and holistic style of education led me to the Waldorf educational methodology, and I was lucky enough to find one here—the Waldorf School of New Orleans. It is the closest to what I was hoping to find when I embarked on my search for the perfect kindergarten. The classrooms are breathtakingly beautiful using soothing colors and beautiful all-natural toys like silks, wool, and wood. There is no plastic, clutter, or garish colors. The simple open-ended toys are displayed in an inviting way, not just thrown into a plastic bin. The playground is all grass with a wooden house with a tree stump for a table, a jungle gym, and different garden beds for the different classrooms to tend to. The classrooms always smell like something delicious—they bake a lot and serve warm healthy snacks to the children. Instead of saltines or vanilla wafers for snacks, Waldorf children get warm oatmeal with cinnamon, raisins and honey, rice, or vegetable soup with freshly baked bread—baked by the children! The lunch tables are wooden with tiny hand-carved wooden chairs. There are tablecloths and centerpieces, and a stunning nature table full of flowers and acorns, rocks and fairies, reflecting the season. The Waldorf philosophy begins teaching letters in first grade, so kindergarten is a magical time of fairy tales and gardening, baking and finger knitting, beautiful wooden block building and enchanting silk puppet shows. The individual interests of the children are allowed to bloom and unfold on their own time, creating an environment of confidence and creativity, innovation and innocence.

And I knew I had found the right place for our family–a place where I knew my child was allowed to be a child, to live in her naturally dreamy early childhood state and to not be pushed into stressful academic situations before being developmentally prepared for it.

My hope is that more kindergartens in New Orleans will pay attention to the worldwide best practice research and slow down their curricula to a developmentally appropriate pace. My hope is that every 5 year old will be able to experience the wonder and magic of early childhood, stress-free, for optimal development and the best quality of life.

When I was pregnant with my first child, I was hungry to connect with other mothers so I read every magazine and article on pregnancy and parenting I could find. What I took away from this information is that parenting is hard, grueling, exhausting, and scary. This left me unprepared for the complete undescribable joy I felt when Baby Annabelle arrived. When I held that baby in my arms, even before knowing if it was a girl or boy, I was so overwhelmed with love and awe all I could say was “You’re perfect!” over and over again. I couldn’t believe the complete and absolute miracle of giving birth, that this little human body was formed inside my own body, and now I would get to spend the rest of my days being a mother. I had wanted to have a drug-free birthing experience. I figured this was the most powerful thing I would ever experience as a woman and I wanted to be fully present. I also realized that I was being transformed into a parent, it was a ritual by fire. But I came out with a deep understanding of what I was willing to do for this child. Due to complications, I did end up having an epidural, but at that point, I no longer cared. I realized someone else was captain of my ship now, it was no longer about me. And the complete ecstasy I felt when I held this tiny naked being in my arms was overwhelming! I’d never felt such love, such pure boundless joy. Love for her, love for the whole world… just love washing over me in huge waves. I don’t know if it was the oxytocin from breastfeeding or the after effects of the epidural, but I felt high for months after giving birth.

And sleep? What’s that? Who cares! I have a baby!! Coherent sentences?? What are those? Who cares? I have a baby! Getting out my sweats and ugg boots, a good look at all times, nope, I was warm, comfy, and carefree. Vomit away baby! I’m here for you! To be completely honest, in my deepest most secret heart, I didn’t find parenting to be hard or grueling or any of those things the magazines warned me about. The ecastasy just wouldn’t stop. I wondered why none of the books or magazines talked about post-partum euphoria. I kept the baby right next to me all the time and lived my bliss. She never cried, I never cried, and I have no idea if we ever slept. We were truly floating along in our very own ocean of love. When she was hungry, I fed her, when she was wet I changed her, when she wanted to play we played, when she wanted tranquility, I gave her that too.

The day she was born, the nurse told me to let her cry, that she needed to learn to “self-soothe.” This went against every instinct I have. I told her, “This baby lived inside my body for the past year, there’s no way I’m going to let her cry. She doesn’t need to self-soothe, she has me to soothe her!” A few days later, the town pediatrician told me I should give the baby a pacifier and let her cry for at least five minutes before feeding her. Okey Dokey Attila the Hun. That’s just what I’m going to do, stick a piece of plastic in my baby’s mouth and let her cry even though I have the ability to comfort her. Never! Whether she’s 2 days old or 60 years old, I’m not the type of parent who can let her child cry. It’s stressful for me, besides teaching her that she’s not important enough to me to meet her needs. What would that do for her self-worth? I actually studied “attachment parenting” at Harvard. We learned that when a baby cries and no one responds, the baby can become ‘disassociative.” This means the baby will stop crying because she knows nobody will respond anyway, and it’s a very dangerous place for a baby to be. Learning at an early age that you can’t trust your caregivers can have dangerous repercussions for the rest of baby’s life. Remember that baby is learning more from Day one than we, as adults, can comprehend. Her neural connections are on turbo speed right now, and will be for the next five years. If her needs are not met, this can cause her neural pathways to connect in a “disorganized” ways paving the way for anti-social and possibly dangerous behavior in her teen and adult years. In addition to the cognitive damage that can be done, baby is releasing stress hormones when she cries. This means that all her energy is going into crying instead of optimal development. I know many of us have been taught the “cry it out” method of parenting. “They’re strengthening their lungs! Their learning they can’t always get their own way! If you pick that baby up, you’ll spoil her, she’ll become clingy.” Maybe, but according to research, there is no truth in these words.

Quite the opposite is true! Attachment research tells us that babies who’s needs are met actually grow up feeling very safe and secure, so they’re actually MORE independent and self-reliant when they get older. They feel safe enough to explore away from their caregiver, knowing they can trust and depend on their caregiver should the need arise. This is a wonderful foundation to give your child. I meet many parents who are confused about how to raise their child to be the healthiest. They want them to be self-reliant, independent, confident, kind and successful. According to best practice research, your best chance at this is through attachment parenting. And best of all, it goes with your instinct! No more stress and anxiousness as you listen to your beautiful bundle of joy wail. Pick that baby up, put her in a sling, and go about your business. You can shower—bring baby in, put her in a safe place, then play peek-a-boo with the shower curtain. Baby will love it! You can exercise—put baby in her stroller or strap her to your chest and relish the fact that you’re getting an even better workout with the extra weight.

Some things will have to be put on the back burner for a while with a new baby. You may not feel comfortable leaving your baby, especially if you’re nursing on demand and baby doesn’t take a bottle. I have one word for this dilemma—surrender! Surrender into this time! Cherish every moment, because it won’t last forever. Soon enough you’ll be back drinking margaritas by the sea with your girlfriends, but for now, just revel in being Mom. Revel in those tiny clothes as you fold 30 socks no bigger than your hand, and remember what an honor it is to care for another human being. Surrender to the sacred beauty of parenthood. When Baby waked you in the night to eat or be comforted, don’t resent her, cherish these moments. Drink them in. It is such an honor to have this little being turn to you for food, for comfort. Sing her a soft lullaby and know that this precious time will end. Sooner than you want to realize, baby will be all grown-up, and out of the house. Take this time and let her know you’re there for you. She can trust you to comfort her when she’s sad or angry. She can depend on you for her needs, that she is safe and secure and perfect, just as she is.

Surrender into the beautiful dialectic that is parenting—pouring all your love over the beautiful head of your baby, supporting and nurturing them as she grows, all the while knowing that someday you’ll be letting her go. This is the beautiful dialectic of parenting. The wisdom that comes from the transformative ritual of birth—you were a woman, but now you are a mother, now and forever. Nothing can change that or take it away. It is a badge of honor, so be proud to walk in the footsteps of all the thousands of women before you who have chosen this path. And remember that parenting is a sacrifice, a beautiful deeply meaningful sacrifice. In today’s time, we don’t get to experience too many deeply transformative rituals anymore, and we don’t get to really sacrifice very often, so drink this experience in. And know you’re in baby time, toddler time, little ones time, a time to cher

I can’t believe she didn’t remember me! How could she not remember me? I performed with her every week for more than a year! I sat in her crappy van with her while she practiced her opera, drank a gallon of water, and glued austrian crystal rhinestones on her shoes! She used the van to transport her props–her giant champagne glass, her costume made of more than a thousand peacock feathers, her enormous gilded birdcage, the one with a fountain of water that poured over her while she sat on a swing inside it. Oh, and don’t forget her giant fans. Her actual costumes didn’t take up much room-you could fit her flesh colored g-string in a thimble, but the bigger stuff, well, she needed a van. And still, she didn’t remember me.Granted, she had hit the “big time” as far as burlesque dancers go, performing with the queen, Dita Von Teese, designing her costumes. She did hold a lot of titles–Miss Nude USA, Miss Exotic World, but still, every Thursday night at the Viper Room, I performed a Nita and Zita type show with my contortionist partner–I was Honey and she was Vermilion. Miss Delish was always the finale with her superprops. She dreamed of being an opera singer, but it appears that dram has stayed on the backburner while her dancing continues to grow.She came to New Orleans and performed with the burlesque dancers at House of Blues. I especially loved the sassy cowgirl and the Absinthe fairy. But when I attended the burlesque class at a dance studio the next day, Miss Delish barely remembered me. How is this possible? Too stuck in her own little funhouse full of mirrors? Would she have remembered the jungle dancer who danced around a big volcano that erupted in orange feathers at the end of her show? Or the trapeze artist? What about Aqua Girl, who danced in a big tank of water? Would she remember her? Or what about our nasty little fire eater, Otter, with her chihuahuas wearing rhinestone collars and mink stoles? Would she have made more of an impression? I know she remembered Lady Jane, our Oyster Girl. Lady Jane put our show together and was endlessly creative and brilliant as our director and producer. Now there’s a woman who was a genius at rhinestoning. Lady Jane wanted my partner and me to wear matching Jean Harlow wigs for our act. We were very excited about that, but we had the wigs styled and ended up looking more like twin Barbara Bushes instead of Jean Harlows!No wonder she didn’t remember me!Oh well, I guess it was a lot of years ago I was tramping across those dingy stages in Hollywood.I’ve come a long way baby! And so has she! Maybe if I had worn sparkling shoes and a feather in my Bush wig she would have remembered me. I”ll try that next time.

For those who know m, it’s no secret that I have a special bond with gay men. We like the same movies (Auntie Mame!), we love stories with dramatic flair, and we appreciate fabulous fashion.So, when my second child was a boy, I was thrilled!  ”Oohh!! Maybe he’ll grow up to be a drag queen!” I thought. Sparkles, rhinestones, gorgeous costumes, cabaret songs all danced in my head. At first, there were all sorts of positive signs. He wore his sister’s sundresses nearly every day and showed no interest in “boy’s” clothes. He wore a leotard, tutu, and ballet slippers to gymnastics class and to Annabelle’s ballet class, and even though, at 2 years old, he was too young to join the class, he danced around outside the closed door with real gusto, leaping, twirling and bending his pudgy little knees into plie’s.Other moms would chide me: “You big goof! Why do you make him wear dresses and tutus!” Well, I don’t know about other mothers and their toddlers, but I don’t “make my children wear anything.  Henry was quite adamant about his clothing choices, and even if I was a dictator-type mother, clothing choice is not a battle that is important to me. He’s a toddler! He can wear what he wants. There will be plenty of battles in life, but for me, clothing will not be one of them. My parents were open-minded enough to let me wear whatever I wanted as a kid, and as a result, I was able to express a lot of my creativity and individuality through my clothing. I loved it. They loved it. They just shook their head and laughed when I went to school wearing a bustle and long dress on one of my more creative days. And so, I was thrilled with Henry strong sense of his toddler self, He felt comfortable enough to wear exactly what he wanted, regardless of society’s restrictions. Honestly, who cares, and what toddler wouldn’t prefer pink sparkles over a dinosaur with sharp scary teeth?Well, ok, I’m sure there are plenty, but my Henry wasn’t one of them.But as Henry’s grown, he’s now 3, it seems he’s actually more attracted to those dinosaurs. We go to the toy store and he heads right for the boats and motorcycles. He loves any game that involves kicking and throwing balls, and he’s informed me that boys don’t wear nail polish. Whenever I see a male with painted nails, I point out to him that some boys wear nail polish, but, sadly, he’s put his own moratorium on painting his nails.Regardless of what I do, Henry will turn out to be Henry, and while I’m still secretly rooting for him to be a swaggering broadway musical director, he seems to leaning toward being a pirate or a speedcar racer.There are some encouraging things though. He did sit through quite a bit of the opera yesterday, and at 1 year old he sat through the ENTIRE Nutcracker without a peep.  He was fascinated. I had planned to leave after a few minutes when he got antsy, but he never did. So we’ll see. Maybe he’ll  just be a well-rounded hetero who can attend the theater with his wife and actually like it.Then again, maybe his wife will be named Mark.

Walt Whitman: “This is what you shall do: love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone who asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unkown.”I love this quote.  It frees me from the shackles of anger. I get so mad at people who want to restrict the rights of others. I get so mad when people think everyone should be just like themselves. I get so mad when people value money over family, when they want to protect their own little insular world and all others be damned.It’s so confusing to me.In my world, family comes first, before money, before career, before religion. Family is my religion.In my world, the laughter of children is treasured over a clean home.My favorite kitchen is covered in flour and tiny chocolate fingerprints.I feel so lovely sitting on the white sands of Lambert’s Cover, watching my little mermaid frolic in the gentle waves, watching my little buster stand in water up to his chubby ankles with his boogie board strapped to his wrist, while he watches, fascinated, his board go in and out with the tide.I love the soft pink of the sky as the sun sets and the ocean turns an extraordinary lavendar, glowing at magic hour.I love sitting on the bench at Annabelle’s drama camp, amidst the thick grove of trees, watching the dancers, listening to the opera singers, watching them walk among the trees in their rich gorgeous costumes, their voices pouring through the air and washing over me and Henry as he balances on the rock wall.And now my mermaid comes to me to ask for a bedtime snack…

A friend brought us cuttings of amazing purple irises today to plant, along with some compost. While George was planting them, Annabelle found a slug in the  compost. ”What should I name it, Mom? Sam or Elizabeth?”"Hmmm, well, does it seem like a Sam or Elizabeth to you?”"Sam,” she said, and she made a little house for it out of a seashell and a stick.She was very excited about her new pet, so when George took the pot of dirt to add to the plantings,  she got very upset. “No Daddy!” she screamed. “That’s Sam!” George tried to explain that he needed the post of composted dirt for the flowers but Annabelle was having none of it. Sam is still living in his pot in the dirt next to our porch. Even with his spectacular seashell house, we haven’t seen him again. Elusive slug…

Cathy and I took Henry and Annabelle to the French Quarter today to watch the Stella shouting contest that is the climax of the Tennessee Williams Literary Festival. I’ve always wanted to attend, but have never made it, but today was the perfect day–no humidity, no extreme heat–crisp air, a brilliantly sunny day–no clouds, blue sky–incredible day in New Orleans. We looked at the street artists–we liked the mermaids–and had beignets at Cafe Du Monde. We climbed and played and got balloon animals and the babies got their faces painted. Henry was a wolf boy, Annabelle was a butterfly.Stella stood in a retro slip on the balcony of a Pontalba apartment while a group of aspiring Stanleys geared up to shout their hearts out, fall to their knees, while tearing their shirts. Soooo funny I was crying! Most of the contestants were guys who had too much to drink and happened to be walking by the contest. One was a woman dressed as a pirate carrying a chihuahua, one was a woman dressed as a clown. It’s the end of pirate week in New Orleans–only in New Orleans. And this is why I love New Orleans.I couldn’t help but wonder what the kids thought as they watched these grown men act out this scene. I knew it would start cropping up in their play, and sure enough, on the way home, Henry started shouting Stella from his car seat and pretending to tear at his shirt. I can’t stop laughing around here. 

OK, I elect two year old Henry as messiest toddler of the year. This afternoon, he was eating a chocolate ice cream cone which is only allowed in the kitchen. I saw him through the crack of the door toddling down the hall with his cone. I watched him drop it upside down, squat down to pick it up, but then change his mind and get down on all fours where he promptly began eating it like a puppy. I was brushing my teeth, so I continued, realizing I’d just have to clean it up in a minute. When I re-emerge, he says, “Mama, I’m ice skating!” And he is. He’s ice skating through a large patch of melted smooshed ice cream which now covers him from forehead to toes, including between his adorably pudgy toes. He has smeared chocolate ice cream all over the walls as he’s hanging onto the wall and it’s all over his hands.After I clean up him and that mess, I hear a big ruckus in the hallway as I’m putting Annabelle’s hair in a ponytail. Next thing I know, he’s dumped out a paper bag full of books in the hallway and is stumbling into the bathroom with the bag on his head.He is our little hero though. The other morning Annabelle saw a roach down near the front door. She came running back up to me and said, “Mama! Mama!! I saw a real cucuracha!! I feel like I ate butterflies!”Henry was playing quietly by himself, but as soon as he heard her, he was off to the rescue. A few minutes later I heard him shout “I dot it mama!!”  ”You got what?” I replied.”I dot the bug!”I ran down the stairs and sure enough he had killed this giant hard shelled prehistoric creature WITH ANNABELLE’S TINY PINK CROC that must weigh less than an ounce!! I have no idea how he did this. When George gets them, he uses his own giant shoe and smacks it about 10 times. Not Henry, he used a tiny little pink shoe.This of course sent Annabelle into hysterics and I had to spray her shoe with antibacterial spray. Always an adventure around here! 

Well, it happened–I’m really 40 years old!! Who would have thought I’d ever reach this milestone?! I feel fabulous! I’m exactly where I want to be, living my impossible dream–absolute bliss with henry and Annabelle and George, living in exotic New Orleans and the beautiful Martha’s Vineyard, a family I adore, incredible friends…I had the perfect birthday–friends, family, skiing, laughing, sitting in the hot tub with dear girlfriends, a huge dinner and hilarious talent show with my family, laughing with George, a beautiful cake, the cutest funniest kids running around–not to mention an impromptu trip to Tiffany’s in San Francisco and coming home with the most gorgeous ring I’ve ever seen!! Very sparkly, very retro, very glamorous but not ostentatious.I’ve jumped back into my love of roller skating. I put on my ear phones and dress pink and sparkly and head to the park nearly every day for a 4 mile roller whirl–beyond fabulous! Makes me crave pink bubble gum and root beer lip gloss.Am I 40 or 14? Sometimes it’s hard to tell… especially with my pink knee socks.