Imagined spaces

As a child, your dad built you and your brother a little shack of a clubhouse next to the pond on his property.  You went under the pear tree, long neglected and surrounded by fermenting fruit.  You crossed the open place that during some summers was a meadow, some a full-blown vegetable garden.  At the other end, the edge of the woods, and the spring-fed icy pond.  Who knows what filled that child’s lonely mind and time, sitting on the rocks by the pond, on the roof of the clubhouse.  Long slow summers tumbled by one after another.  Adult summers are neither long nor slow, with children, work, spouse, community, self.  In that order.  But occasionally you ferret away time.  Forage for supplies.  Summon animal strength.  And in that overlooked corner you have slowly built your own hidden oasis.


You can have your own tiny oasis and purchase this fabulous fairy house here:


About AngelaLTodd

I am queen of the helicopter parents. But there are enough of us that we are becoming a social problem. Here’s my story. Thing 1 was coming, they couldn’t stop him, it was only 24 weeks and 3 days. Someone asked: should we try to save him? Well, yes. Yes! Ten days later, a team of doctors closed the door behind us to explain brain bleeds, sepsis, meningitis. Shall we pull the plug? Well, no. No! Babydaddy laid hands on him every day, massaged him when he was ready. For the three months he was in intensive care, and the three weeks at an intermediate hospital, I would get up in the night and pump breast milk, thinking about my baby across town. Babydaddy delivered it every morning, earning the name “milkman.” It was funny. We had every therapy going for as long as possible: early intervention, the intermediate unit, private therapies. Terms multiplied: sensory processing dysfunction, sensory integration problems, orally defensive, auditory sensitivities, comprehensive developmental delay, cognitive function impairment, retinopathy of prematurity. He did occupational therapy, physical therapy, speech therapy, play therapy; we consulted with a neurologist, school psychologist, wraparound service provider, developmental specialist. He worked with an occupational therapist for a year and a half to tolerate teeth and hair brushing. Not surprisingly, parenting didn’t feel natural. I learned to read to my baby watching Phyllis, our physical therapist. Voices, commentary, labeling colors, counting… she was very good! Merging professional research skills with my genetic propensity for silliness (mom was class clown, dad’s distantly related to Lucille Ball), my mothering style came together. Eventually. But I still channel Phyllis on occasion. Thing 2 was full term. They are complete opposites; she is a sensory seeker with a wild sense of adventure and an inventive sense of fashion. Keeping them both busy and happy is an exasperating and sweet challenge. I still believe that every day can be fun and educational while reinforcing kids' boundaries. I’m on a mission to save us helicopter parents from ourselves. No more bubble wrapped kids and guilty parents. Let’s teach them coping skills. Let’s get fun.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Imagined spaces

  1. Rotem says:

    Wonderful ! Brings back vivid memories of building camps in childhood – how much energy and enthusiasm we invested in it all 🙂

  2. A wonderful post and to use the image of my woodland fairy house I am truly honored.
    I enjoyed it thanks.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s