“… up to my eyebrows in party preparations, Velma!  You must come of course!  I’d love you to come early and help with preparations, just like the old days.  I know you were just here, it was marvelous darling! …Yes of course, check your funds.”

I adore the vintage invitations in this shop:

Scarlett held the phone receiver between ear and shoulder, filling out invitations as she spoke.  She looked forward to planning the menu.  She hoped Velma would come.

Her fabulous modern dress hung in the closet until the big day.

Find lovely custom clothing in this shoppe:

She was excited to reconnect with the party scene, culling guests from old guestlists, her updated address book, and many of the new youngsters at the publishing house.  She smiled into the receiver and instructed Velma to call with her itinerary.  She would pop a little checkiepoo in the mail to help her afford a quick return.


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 Scarlett

  1. orples says:

    That dress form takes me back in time, to my mother’s sewing room.

  2. Oh yes. My grandmother sewed (not mom, tho) and in high school I had an old treadle sewing machine in my clothes closet and would stay up until the wee hours of the morning, pumping away and making all my (sometimes crooked) clothes. Time went on forever, and I don’t remember rushing. Wish I could get THAT feeling back, ha ha!

    Thanks for your comments, hon!

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