I love this image of a heart with wings. It’s a beautiful symbol of love, hope and dreams. And to me, it’s also a reminder of a special day I spent painting murals with children outside the Kondwa Day Centre for Orphans in Lusaka, Zambia, during a three-week journey in Africa with a girlfriend of mine.

Kondwa means “be happy,” and on this day several delighted little faces peeked out from behind a brick wall to see what my friend and I were up to. We had begun to paint the first mural, and we could tell the children really wanted to join us. They looked so cute and curious, so how could we say no? So we waved them in and handed out paintbrushes. They eagerly began to fill in the pink of the heart, and as you might imagine paint began dripping and flying everywhere! Pretty soon it was all over their heads, eyebrows, arms, clothes and feet (most of the children didn’t have shoes), but they continued … //READ MORE

My son Tobin was 6 when I decided to start a nonprofit empowerment retreat for foster youth. Being a mother had sparked in me a deep desire to speak up for kids stuck in the foster care system who couldn’t be with their mothers or families due to circumstances out of their control. The more I researched and the more I learned, I knew I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. I had to act.

But I was worried that my dream was going to take too much time away from Tobin. As both a mother and an entrepreneur, I found myself constantly being pulled in two directions. “How could I do both and do them well?” I asked myself. Could I take care of myself, be an amazing mother and start a nonprofit all at the same time?” … //READ MORE

Everybody likes a good party. But everyone loves a party that has the potential to become legend.

Whether you’re throwing a cozy shindig at home for a small group of close friends, or a formal dinner-and-dance extravaganza at a popular venue, you want your event to be memorable. How can you do this? By making sure every detail—from the signature drink to the music in the air—is fun and original. As you plan your upcoming spring celebration, consider these red-hot party trends for inspiration. 

Turn to pop culture. A few years back, at the peak of its popularity, the hit TV show Madmen sparked a major trend toward theme parties based on popular shows or films. Suddenly 1960s parties featuring beehive hairdos and retro cocktails (Sidecar or Cuba Libre, anyone?) were everywhere. Then, when the Baz Lurmann’s remake of The Great Gatsby hit theaters last year, roaring twenties bashes were all the rage. To some extent, party planners are still riding the Gatsby wave, calling the latest events “speakeasy” or “prohibition” parties. Bottom line: If you’re short on party themes, tap into pop culture for inspiration. It won’t be hard persuading fun-loving guests to don a vintage costume and step into a different … //READ MORE

My son Tobin was 6 when I decided to start a nonprofit empowerment retreat for foster youth. Being a mother had sparked in me a deep desire to speak up for kids stuck in the foster care system who couldn’t be with their mothers or families due to circumstances out of their control. The more I researched and the more I learned, I knew I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. I had to act.

But I was worried that my dream was going to take too much time away from Tobin. As both a mother and an entrepreneur, I found myself constantly being pulled in two directions. “How could I do both and do them well?” I asked myself. Could I take care of myself, be an amazing mother and start a nonprofit all at the same time?” … //READ MORE

I have to admit, since moving to the West Coast I miss cursing a little bit. The Big Apple is the swearing capital of the world, and I think New Yorkers find it cathartic to spew profanity on the gritty streets of the ballsiest city in the world. Swearing is such a crucial part of New York culture, right up there with bagels and egg creams, and the F word, especially, has become essential to the New York City vernacular. A glimpse into the typical New Yorker’s work day:

On the daily commute: “Watch where you’re going, motherf—–!”

Analyzing problems: “There’s no way outta this one. We’re totally f—ed.”

Unwinding after work: “You wouldn’t believe the f—ing day I had!”

After getting my journalism degree, I was excited to work at a newspaper, because I’d romanticized those stories about foul-mouth reporters working into the wee hours of the night in cigar-smoke-filled newsrooms, and celebrating a big story at the tavern down the street. My luck, as soon as I got a job, cigarettes, three-martini lunches and office hookups were replaced by salad bars, Diet Coke and bi-annual sexual harassment seminars. However, the cursing, although not as prevalent as it had been in the His Girl Friday days, remained intact.

The best example of New Yorkers’ penchant for profanity is when, a couple weeks after 9/11, the fearless editors of The Onion printed the only headline that could match the intensity of those unthinkable atrocities. The words, in bold-faced caps, sat atop a photo of the United States engulfed in flames, overlaid with crosshairs:

“HOLY F—— SH–” (And they didn’t replace the letters with dashes.)

Like New Yorkers, writers understand that profanity is sometimes the most accurate form of expression. Sometimes their raw prose is lauded, but other times it is criticized for being uncreative. Writer Kathryn Schulz recently defended the practice of using swear words in literature with her “Ode to a Four-Letter Word” in New York Magazine. She wrote, “Writers don’t use expletives out of laziness or the puerile desire to shock or because we mislaid the thesaurus. We use them because, sometimes, the four-letter word is the better word—indeed, the best one.”

Apparently author Adam Mansbach thought the F word was the best choice for his best-selling picture book, Go the F*** to Sleep. A play on Goodnight Moon, this book is not intended as a bedtime story for children, but as comic relief for bleary-eyed parents struggling with the challenges of getting some grown-up time at night. Even better than reading Mansbach’s hilarious lyrics is listening to the audio version of Go the F*** to Sleep, narrated by actor Samuel L. Jackson. What a hoot to hear the bad-ass assassin from Pulp Fiction recite lines such as this, with lullaby music in the background:

Telling us kids to “go the f— to sleep” isn’t something my parents would’ve done when we were little, but I wouldn’t have put it past my grandma. Nanny thought it was OK to sling all the affanculos she wanted because she was swearing in Italian—an indecipherable dialect, no less—and therefore it didn’t count. There was one particular curse phrase she’d use repeatedly, the way one would tell someone to “Go to hell,” but nobody knew what she was truly saying. It wasn’t until my sister’s Italian-born boyfriend overheard her one day and went pale. He pulled us aside and informed us that our innocent-looking grandma was instructing people to sodomize themselves. Cover your ears, people, Nanny’s in da house!

Since moving to San Francisco and having kids happened for me around the same time, I pretty much went cold turkey on the swearing. I avoid cursing in front of my kids, with the recent exception of calling a driver who cut me off a “banana ass” (thanks for that clever phrase, Aunt Joanie), and I usually remember not to use any profanity while talking to my peace-loving, yoga-practicing San Francisco friends. But every now and then, my inner Snooki will emerge.

Like this morning. I had waited 10 minutes for the elevator in a department store, and when it finally arrived I graciously let everyone out before even thinking about going in. But as the last person was exiting, the doors began to close and no one inside the elevator made an attempt to keep them open for me. A second before the doors completely shut, I yelled, “Godamnit!” The way the people around me looked at me, you’d have thought I’d stripped my clothes off and pulled out a handgun.

So these days I’m “irritated” instead of “pissed off.” I am “unlucky,” instead of “shit out of luck.” And “in trouble,” rather than “royally screwed.” It’s not so much fun to be ladylike, is it?

And it’s interesting that my kids, now 8 and 6, can’t even identify the “bad” words. Sure, my son has once or twice yelled “Jesus Christ!” or “Godamnit” after stepping on a Lego or dropping his ice cream, but haven’t we all? My daughter, at age 8, hasn’t even come close to forcing me to wash her mouth out with soap. In fact, after school one day she told me how kids in her class were debating what the “F word” means. She said with a snicker, “Mom, I think I know what the word is…Fart!” She was so proud of herself for figuring it out that I didn’t have the heart to tell her she still has a lot to learn. Maybe we should do a mother-and-daughter weekend in the South Bronx.

Meanwhile, the other day during a group playdate, one of my friend’s kids got angry at his sister and blurted out that she was an “ass—-” My friend, in a move worthy of an Olympic sporting event, quickly grabbed him and put her hand over his mouth so that he never completed the word. But we all knew what he was going for. And I hate to say it, but instead of being shocked, I laughed with relief. There just might be hope for this generation after all.

That’s all I have to say on the topic of swearing. Thanks for reading. But don’t even think about logging off until you leave a fucking comment.

[This article was previously published as part of the “Lady and a Red Typewriter” column in 2011.)