“God dammit, Scarlett, you know you’re my right-hand man! You love New York, you love the publishing house! A raise? Will a raise change your mind? More vacation time to spend with your little spinster enclave in the countryside? You said when I retired you would be right behind me! You can’t abandon me now, we have so much in the works!” Don threw his cigarette to the sidewalk and spun the ball of his foot on it. Scarlett had expected his reaction, but not quite this intensity. She waited. Silence. Brooding. Stomping.
“I’ll give you a 50% raise to stay another year.” “Fine.”
It hadn’t gone as she’d expected and she dreaded telling Velma about the delay in her moving plans. She and Don had parted at the restaurant. Before she knew it, Scarlett had turned into one of her favorite New York Boutiques. Back at her publishing house office, she tried on her new hat in the mirror and felt decidedly cheered. A year would give her time to save, plan, and find a small flat. She would buy a new hat for Velma before they talked.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
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.
AngelLeighDesigns 
I think I’d stay too for a 50% wage increase. Scarlett must be a pretty great employee, or else was severely underpaid to begin with. LOL. 🙂
I think we all dream of being paid what we’re worth on our best days. I know I do! 🙂 Thanks for reading, Marcy. Loved your “through” photos. x a