My kids will have the most flowery lives. Their eyes will stay bright and their smiles will never be fake. The outside may try to eat them alive, but they will know that home is an island amongst the violent surf of the speeding, spinning world.

They will never be yelled at for singing along with the radio or for loving someone – whoever it is. They'll never have anything to blame themselves for because I'll keep things steady and strong. When they want to cry into the pillow Daddy and I will leave them be, but when they want to get over it I'll give them a book and he'll make them a cup of tea.

I'll read them all kinds of things. I won't let profanity or sex or drugs scare me – I'll just say “Baby, only use those words with purpose and around people who are past judging you.” “Baby, if you love them it'll be more than that.” “Baby, it's in your blood to crave them but let life lift you up instead.”

When we read Bukowski and they ask why he hated his father so much, I'll explain with fervor and truth. They'll still never understand completely. That's the most okay thing I can imagine. When we read Ginsberg and I tell them about the history, and when they ask about how the world used to be when there was so much hate, I'll tell them how I tried to change it with my small hands – and how I expect them to fight for what's right too.

When we turn on the TV and they're showing the war to sell bank accounts and three-piece suits, I'll turn it off and give them a copy of The New York Times instead. If disaster hits, the household will be somber and not riled up for a fight. They'll remember feeling as safe as they could in mine and Daddy's arms for the rest of their lives.

If I have a little girl she will know her power and always feel free within my four walls. If I have a little boy he'll be the one who helps the little girls on the playground instead of pushes them down. My girl will wear dresses and cargo pants, rain boots and light-up-shoes – whatever she wants as long as she knows those aren't what defines her. If my boy wants to paint his nails with me, he will. They'll work in the garden and in the kitchen, in the garage and in the library - together.

We'll go camping and hiking, swim in all kinds of chilly fresh water. One day when they're old enough, we'll hike up some tall mountain, and they'll look down on the world and feel very big and very small all at the same time. We'll go to the city too, see all the museums, the shows, the art galleries and the bands playing. They'll meet plenty of people and have stories to tell before they even learn to write.

They'll learn how to work hard, how to run themselves ragged, but also how to rest. I won't accept anything less than the best they can do. I'll take them everywhere until they find their one thing – the thing they work at for hours and hours and it doesn't feel like work at all. But they'll have big, comfy beds too, and soft blankets, and I'll never wake them up early unless they absolutely have to be somewhere.

My kids will have the most flowery lives, they will. I'll do whatever it takes to give them peace and love, wholesome soberness, the minimal amount of pain. They'll know the world is big and scary but that they can handle whatever it throws at them. They will only have to be as strong as they are. They'll always be able to live and breathe with ease, because they'll always have my arms to fall into.