Scarlett’s final offer

My heart almost bursts with love for this shop! I love her aesthetic:

Scarlett got up from the booth, considering her lunch with Don a success.  She straightened her skirt, returned her cafeteria tray, and went home.  Smiling all the way.


Back in her giant rent-controlled apartment, she hung up her coat and kissed the cat (black, fat, named Sherman).  The girls would be here from the country soon to discuss buying a flat together in the city.  She got out a drinks pitcher and thought about what to make.


A very beautiful original art shoppe:


Such a lovely early summer day, she thought maybe gin and tonic would be a fine fit.  But she wasn’t sure about Vesta and her taste.  Sangria?  Scarlett chuckled at herself, buying a flat with a woman she didn’t know well enough to serve drinks?  Yes, that was about right.


If Velma knew her and loved and respected her, which she did, then that was good enough for Scarlett!  Nothing was beyond being undone, no matter what transpired.  Scarlett got out her favorite frosted glasses and iced them down, then she started to prepare a pitcher of Sangria.

Great vintage shop, great use of “throw down” in the owner’s profile:


It was going to be a fun weekend.



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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1 Response to Scarlett’s final offer

  1. Thanks for stopping by my blog, another jennifer. What a neat blog you have. I love that you combine handmade art and writing. I’m glad I discovered it!

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