Imagined spaces

Asa and Sherm,  aged brothers, lived on a rambling potato farm back off the main roads of Aroostook County, far in the north of Maine.  They had neither electricity nor plumbing, but one large black cast iron skillet that they used daily and a porcelain sink to wash it in.  When needed.  An enameled cup on the pump outside.  Cows, barn, hay, garden, a traditional array of relatives with families of their own, good hearts, and watchful eyes.  Any smell of hay reminds me of playing in the barn with my brother, lo these 40 years later.  When the house burned down only one brother still lived there.  He spent the rest of his life looking for his favorite pliers, that picture of his mother, and sundry items that were stable pillars in his life before the fire.

My first car really was a 1931 Model A Ford truck that my father gave me (I suspect because it only went 45).  I made friends with a lot of older folks during that time!  To buy this stark print and other fine photos, see this lovely shop:


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.
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4 Responses to Imagined spaces

  1. Rotem says:

    Wonderful memories 🙂

  2. lisa b says:

    visiting via a thread from linked in .nice blog !

  3. Thanks so much, Lisa. Sounds like you are living the dream, girl! I looked for tribal horse design on etsy, but could not find you. Ooooh, maybe I’ll go try facebook.

    thanks again, hon!

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