Bohemian Dreams

You can take the girl out of bohemia but you can’t take the bohemia out of the girl!
I’ve been dreaming lately of my old life–lesbians in suits with fedoras hiding long lustrous hair; men with Salvador Dali moustaches writing love poetry for me; tiny men with wild hair writing songs for me; gorgeous frenchmen creating breathtaking sculptures of me dancing; beautiful women creating stunning dances for me; world-renowned opera singers filling my room with flowers; walking the streets of Paris, swimming in waterfalls in Mexico, dancing with the bush tribes in Africa, riding a camel around the pyramids in Cairo, laughing until I’m floating in Amsterdam, following the paths of Anais Nin, Josephine Baker, Nita and Zita… and now my sugar plum dreams have turned pink and there they go, parading around my head: pink champagne glasses, pink maribou slippers, pink feathers, pink pancakes, pink shoes, pink flowers dripping with fragrance… add glitter and aurora borealis jewels, and ahhh!! I’m screaming with delight!!!
And so I spent my bohemian years loving the adoration, the admiration, the pure love of my existence, and then it dawned on me, literally came upon me slowly and surely like a pink sunrise, that I wanted to let go of my ego and follow another of my heroes for a while–Mother Theresa–“Do no great things, only small things with great love;” “I have found the paradox that if I love until it hurts, then there is no hurt, only more love.”
And so I took cello lessons and spent my evenings reading and writing (when I wasn’t dancing on the tables) and submerged myself in love until I came upon my greatest adventure yet: creating a family. A leap of trust, five-star dinners and long bohemian conversations over a mind-blowing bottle of wine, molten lava chocolate cake and homemade cinnamon ice cream, and boom, here I am, a showgirl scholar wife and mother, reveling in every moment of these fantastic fairy children I get to spend my days and nights with. 
I watched them stomp barefoot through the mud puddles today, watched Henry attempt to run down a little hill, his tiny hands in the air, his feet patting the ground like a high-stepping pony, I’m so amazed that I get to hold them when they cry, wrestle with them, laugh with them, fold their tiny clothes, hold their little hands as they walk down the stairs (Henry calls them “down-down’.) It’s amazing and miraculous to me to watch these little humans learn to talk, to  walk, to run and jump, to explore, and best of all, to dance!!!
Now my bohemian world has turned to pure bohemian magic of the baby kind …