“It was glorious, just like old times!  I was wearing sequins — can you just imagine?  A beautiful pink mohair sweater with a sequined collar.  And a kind of ruffly pink fairy skirt.  I got a mountain of compliments, and a few surprised comments about how splashy I looked.  Good to keep them upon their toes if one can, right? Scarlett helped me choose it especially for her party.  I think I’m getting a little reckless as I age!

Beautiful yummy winter things:

Dorothy Whitney tended bar — with a heavy hand.  She was wearing a damned sexy, slinky black dress with a crocheted collar.  Just gorgeous.  You know her.

From this hot hawt haute shop:

She played Mag Wildwood in ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ and she and Scarlett have been friends since they were girls.  You see what I mean?  Scarlett’s not quite ready for a quiet country retirement, with her broad array of friends and a lifetime of city connections.  And though I am, and I love it here at the rooming house, I miss … something… about the city.  We thought we might just keep a little slice of city on the side.  We’re not sure how well we can afford it, not sure how long we’ll keep it.  But we’ll have it.  And I’ve spoken on the phone with Scarlett a few times since then, and we were wondering if you’d like to be a third partner with us.  What do you think?  I know you love the city, and it would expand our real estate possibilities, financially speaking, to have a third.  Wouldn’t a pied-a-terre be grand?”


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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