This is such a classy charming shop:

Vesta had never worried about money.  She always worked hard, lived well, remained unencumbered, and kept an eye on her finances.  But this invitation to purchase a little slip of New Y ork took her by surprise.  She got out her checkbook and her most serious pen, and got to work.

Yes, a loft apartment or a closet of a studio would be just enough to keep one foot in the urban world the three of them loved so well.

This shop is eclectic and lovely:

However.  Vesta was hoping to finance enough of the venture that instead of some variation on a private hotel room, they could each keep a bedroom of their own, small though it might be. She opened her checkbook with a voracious appetite for reducing: did she need to keep her lawyer on retainer anymore?  Keep up her academic memberships?  She’d sent her monthly off to Feed the Children for decades… could she let that go, considering there had been no structural changes generated to actually feed the poor little souls?  Vesta was suddenly exhausted.  Nothing was ever simple.  And just what role did Jean play in her decision? 


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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