Vesta was ready! Her bag was packed and stowed in the trunk. She was just waiting for Velma.
She’d adopted the friends’ custom of exchanging little tokens at each meeting. Vesta had always given grudgingly, rolling her eyes at the calculated exchange of Christmas gifts, the empathy spent on ferreting out the perfect birthday gift, and all the attention paid to her face when she was opening her own. But the wee token, something sweet or funny, given often, took the pressure off both sides of the gift.
Her hostess gift for Scarlett was a blue brooch, wrapped and wedged under the driver’s seat so it wouldn’t slide around in the old Model A. Where was Velma?
Vesta got out of the car and straightened her day suit. Waiting was not her strength.
- Isn’t this sweet? See it at: http://www.etsy.com/shop/VintageEyeFashion
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.
Angela I adore your blog !! So unique and fabulously fun!! Thank you SOOOO very much for the honor of being with you here – you made my day !! Your designs are divine and I thank you sincerely!