Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Rocking Babies in Rhythm with Heartbeats

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My daughter Emily recently celebrated a milestone birthday, and I am in awe of her splendid spirit. She inspired my story in the recent anthology published in an eBook titled A Cup of Love. Here is an excerpt.

Rocking Babies in Rhythm with Heartbeats

The nurse pushed my wheelchair to the viewing window of the intensive care unit so I could see my baby for the first time. I stared at the sleeping newborn and felt an indescribable ache for the baby I had never held. She had been in critical condition after a difficult two-day birth and was hurried away to ICU. After the delivery, I had been left alone wondering if all the birthing videos had been a lie.

One video had featured a smiling woman in full makeup and perfectly teased hair as she gave a slight grimace and then held a flawless baby. This untrue propaganda portrayed labor and delivery as a pleasant walk in the park. Unfortunately, my experience took a detour through the haunted woods and fell down a muddy gully. I had no opportunity or desire to apply makeup and appear cheerful.

After 20 hours of labor, I was trapped beneath an oxygen mask and heart monitor while the unborn baby had a fetal monitor attached to its head as a machine sent warning beeps every time the baby’s heartbeat reached 170. The baby was too far down in the birth canal for a cesarean section. Besides, it was Easter of 1978 and my doctor didn’t want to leave his family dinner to come to the hospital. A stranger stood at the end of the gurney studying my private parts and begging me to push harder. I intensely disliked him.

After 22 hours in labor, the doctor actually anchored his foot on the bed and used huge metal forceps to pull her from my body. At almost 10 pounds, she was too big to be born without the instrument. The bruises and indentations on her head from the grip of forceps remained visible for months. The nurse rushed her to the neonatal intensive care unit and her Apgar score was an alarming 3. I didn’t get to see or hold her for eight hours.

The following day, the nurse informed me Baby Emily would be released from ICU and would be brought me. I remember combing my hair so I would look presentable for our first official meeting, but she was asleep and couldn’t care less about my appearance. The nurse handed the blanketed bundle to me and the moment I felt my daughter secure in my arms, I wept.

I gently unfolded the blanket and peeked at her face and head. I was shocked and had to admit that she wasn’t the cutest newborn in the world. The forceps delivery had left her head swollen, bruised, and misshaped. The pictures of perfect babies were just another fabricated tale from the birth videos.

Back then, we didn’t have pregnancy tests or “gender reveal” parties. We didn’t know if the baby would be a girl or a boy, and we were delighted with either.  I never again saw the doctor who delivered her. The second day after the birth, a serious-looking pediatrician visited and said in hushed tones that difficult deliveries can result in birth defects and I should be prepared. I remember closing my eyes and begging, praying for help to meet the unknown challenges. A day later, I was completely at peace and in love with my baby.

“Just put her back in and let’s do it right,” I said, tired of all the intrusions. I had spent two days in labor and received more than 100 stitches to repair the damage of having a 10-pound baby. I wasn’t in any mood to endure a complicated discussion about the potential problems with my child. I thought of him only one more time: when my daughter graduated from college with scholastic honors.

Emily and I remained in the hospital for four days so we could heal. By the time my husband could take us home, her head had transformed into the acceptable round size but the bruises took a few weeks to disappear. I rocked her day and night, sang silly lullabies, and didn’t care about too many other distractions such as getting dressed, fixing meals, or doing laundry.

Fortunately, my mother came to help, and I was happy to rock and sing to my baby. I got up several times during the night to touch her and make sure she was still there. Having a child introduced a passionate kind of love that was new and forever. I would battle giants, enemies, and slobbering alien creatures to protect my children. The power of that kind of love scares me at times but remains a force almost 40 years later.

Emily became a precocious toddler as if to show the pediatrician that she was the smartest baby in the world. I read daily to her and by age two, she had memorized 20 stories and poems in the Childcraft Books, Volume 2. I was having so much fun being Mommy that my husband and I decided to try it again. In January of 1980, we created a most magnificent baby. He was born in October, and once again the delivery didn’t correspond to any of the birthing videos, not even the new and updated versions.

I should have suspected something was different when the buttons began to pop off of my maternity blouses. I was so huge, I couldn’t reach the table so I perched my dinner plate on my belly. At seven-months’ pregnant, I couldn’t hold my daughter in my lap. I couldn’t turn over in bed because my back hurt so much. Still, the mothering instinct carried me through the toughest times. I couldn’t wait to meet Baby Two.

On the due date of October 20, the baby decided to be born. The delivery was so intensely painful I blacked out with every contraction. The baby weighed 11 pounds and appeared ready for a steak dinner and a game of football. The nurse snatched him and took off to show the big baby to other nurses.

“Excuse me,” I meekly said. “I would like to hold my baby.”

I was a whipped puppy but could rally soon to become a fierce beast. What was the reason for my personal tradition of being forced to wait to hold my babies? We needed new videos to deal with this unpleasant dilemma.

Finally, my son Adam was placed in my arms. Again, my tears flowed freely and I thought my heart would burst. How can one mother’s heart include more than one child? Now I know it’s possible. I had room for both of them equally, and I loved them totally and unconditionally.

I blinked a few times, and thirty years flew past. Now Emily and Adam are grown, married, and have children of their own.

Science says the emotion of love comes from a chemical reaction in the brain. I think love spontaneously erupts from our heart when we rock our babies in harmonic rhythm with our two heartbeats. The feeling is more powerful than any other, and I’d like to order some more, in great quantities. I need to stock the pantry.

Now that my empty nest is filled with other priorities and distractions, I have time to reflect on what matters. If I could go back and choose favorite times in my life, they would include rocking my sweet babies and singing soft lullabies. As a young mother, I didn’t know what the future would bring, but I was fulfilled and grateful for the warm weight of my child upon my chest.

I am truly grateful to be a happy and loved wife, mother, mother-in-law, and grandmother. But of all the inspirational sensations I have known throughout the years, there is nothing more powerful than the feeling of love I experienced when I held and rocked my babies. If we could harness that force, we could move mountains, tame the winds, create truthful videos, eliminate calories, and end a few wars. Love wins, every time.

 

            

 

 

Everything is Upside Down

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When my wee granddaughter was a year old, her favorite pose was to poke her butt in the air, place her head on the floor, and look back between her legs. This position is best executed by little people who are close to the ground. I tried it once but strained my back, ripped my pants, and fell on my face.

It’s tempting to try this pose again because everything seems to be upside down, and what once was considered strange and inappropriate is now accepted and even celebrated. Here are some perplexing examples of news stories that hurt my brain and cause me to mutter (more than usual.)

Recently in Boston, a man dressed as Elsa from the movie “Frozen” helped push a police vehicle out of the snow. At least he was braver than the man in Portland, Oregon who frantically called 911 because his cat scared him into cowering in a bedroom with his family. The man was paid to tell his terrifying tale on a television entertainment program, and the cat is in therapy. I live with a Marine who could strangle a ferocious beast with one hand without spilling his gin and tonic. And I’m thankful for that fact.

In a related story about a new product, when the killer cat dies the owner can memorialize the feisty feline by having its nose molded into a sterling silver necklace. This lovely tribute is available for dogs, too, and can be found at several online stores. The precious pendant costs a few hundred dollars. I don’t socialize with any friends who wear animal noses as jewelry.

Then there’s the news about former actress Heather Locklear almost biting off the tip of her boyfriend’s nose during a domestic dispute. Maybe the boyfriend should enlist the help of Angelica Velez of Brooklyn, a tattooed sideshow star who was interviewed about her unique and enviable ability to hammer nails up her nose. You can bet your sweet hammered nostrils that she would organize and sell tickets to a cat fight between the nose-chomping girlfriend and the notorious kitty.

She’s probably not part of a peculiar group of lonely women who choose to marry inanimate objects. I read a report that a woman in Florida married an amusement park ride she named Bruce because she experienced special feelings while riding it. (And who doesn’t? But we don’t marry the things!) Women also have married other items, including the Eiffel Tower in Paris and the Berlin Wall in Germany. There’s not a single chance of biting off body parts in these relationships.

Finally, I’m stunned by the “too damn many lawyers” story about the teenage girl suing her parents for child support. Too bad that sweetheart hadn’t met my father. If I had tried that, I would have been given a one-way ticket on the next bus to Brooklyn to live with a tattooed woman and watch her paint with her nose.

I’ve decided to stop reading news bulletins because they clutter my brain with disturbing images and confounding details. I’ll just focus on things I already know to be weird, irrational, and irrelevant. The US Congress comes to mind.

Today’s blog was fueled by a Sebastiani Cabernet from Sonoma County. Enjoy a bottle or two and then you’ll be able to strike a downward facing dog pose to get a balanced perspective on our weird world.

It’s Time to Eliminate Schools

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For more than 40 years, I’ve owned property in Idaho and paid property taxes. I estimate my taxes have contributed more than $150,000 to education. I haven’t received one well-written thank-you note, and I doubt the value of the return on this investment. I suggest a taxpayer revolt because we’re funding gigantic, windowless, government buildings full of camera-ready kids who don’t know its from it’s.

More money doesn’t guarantee better education. According to a report from U.S. News, the federal government spends more than $68 billion a year for education. Idaho allocates about $2 billion a year with $4,100 per student while New York spends more than $11,500 per student. I attended public schools for 16 years; 12 in the village of Wendell, Idaho, and four at the University of Idaho. There were 56 students in my high school graduation class, and we became teachers, writers, a veterinarian, and entrepreneurs. None of us knew how to take a selfie or wanted to shoot each other.

When students walk out of class because they fear being shot in school, maybe it’s time to eliminate the schools. Removing guns won’t solve all the problems or make hostile, lonely people stop killing their peers. Remove the school and remove the opportunity. Allow taxpayers to participate in the education process as well as provide the funding.

Communities should provide the education so young people can learn how to read, write, and become self-sufficient.

We should establish community education centers that involve adults and students where everyone is required to participate in the village learning classes. Students learn basic reading, writing, and arithmetic and also learn from local professionals about how to use their natural talents to become productive adults. Courses would teach them how to sew, weld, bake, farm, program computers, operate child care facilities, care for the elderly, write books, teach music lessons, establish a business, work with those with special needs, become law enforcement officers, fix a motor, wire an electric light, unplug a toilet, learn first aid, travel, and/or drive a truck. Other life skills courses would teach students how to balance a checkbook, establish a budget, maintain healthy relationships, care about their physical and mental health, and parent their future children. Each student would participate in an individualized course, and adult mentors would provide expertise and guidance. Students would learn in small groups, and participation would be required. Online courses would be available for specialized studies and modeled after the curriculum of successful online educational institutions.

The year-around community facilities would be limited to 300 students and most could walk to school. Students would not get lost or be ignored because each one would have a life goal to become productive and be a part of the community. Bullies would be expelled and sent to alternative facilities with the chance to earn an opportunity to return.  Extra activities, including sports, would be optional programs after class. Team quarterbacks and cheerleaders would be equal in importance with the science nerds and journalists. Being popular on social media would not be a primary goal for students. After high school graduation, students would be encouraged to volunteer for community service or join the military before enrolling in a trade school or community college. As adults, they would be motivated to run for political office but not make it a career. This system that focuses on learning and acquiring life skills would work in inner cities as well as in rural towns.

Use empty churches.

The community schools would require smaller buildings, and I suggest using all the churches that sit empty all week. The sprawling, prison-like schools that currently hold thousands of students could be converted into apartments and dormitories for homeless people. These buildings would offer classes for counseling and job training opportunities. Residents would be required to participate in the operations of the facility.

It may sound radical to suggest eliminating schools. But, in my opinion, the federal government is wasting more than $68 billion each year to fund a failing, bloated, antiquated system that produces illiterate, unhappy children. I would willingly allocate my property taxes to fund local educational centers, and I would volunteer my time and talents. If students can walk out and demand change, so can taxpayers and concerned adults.

 

 

 

 

 

Ambrose Storytelling Endowment Premieres this Month at University of Idaho

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The Ambrose Storytelling Endowment at the University of Idaho was created by bestselling author Elaine Ambrose as a tribute to the memory of her brother, George Ambrose, and to support the tireless power of storytelling. George and Elaine grew up on a farm outside Wendell, Idaho, and were known to spin a clever yarn at any moment.

The endowment will support a student scholarship, faculty research award, and an annual on-campus storytelling workshop through the College of Letters, Arts and Social Sciences (CLASS). The first workshop is scheduled for March 21, 2018 at the University of Idaho. Benjamin James, assistant professor in the Department of English, will organize and lead the workshop. The program includes interactive discussions about story selection, word choice, finding the best voice, and elements of storytelling.  Elaine Ambrose will speak about “Telling Your Story.”

“From boisterous tales around rustic campfires to eloquent readings from leather-bound books of great literature, storytellers share enduring myths, legends, fairy tales, and adventures to amuse, educate, and motivate every culture on earth. It’s my honor to acknowledge my brother George and to support excellence in storytelling at the University,” said Ambrose.

Elaine Ambrose graduated from the U of I with Phi Beta Kappa scholastic honors with a degree in Journalism. She is the bestselling author of ten books, a syndicated blogger, and humorous speaker. She was the National President of the U of I Alumni Association and served on the Foundation Board of Directors.

George Ambrose also graduated from the University of Idaho after being a leader in the Interfraternity Council and serving as an ASUI Senator. Both George and Elaine sang with the Vandaleer Concert Choir, and Elaine traveled with the choir to Europe, and George traveled to South America with the Vandaleers. George continued to tell stories and jokes just hours before he died from cancer in May of 2017.

Leona Ambrose, mother of George and Elaine, funded the Ambrose Family Scholarship before she passed away. The endowment funds scholarships for students from the Magic Valley area in southern Idaho. In 1998, Elaine funded the Vandaleer Travel Endowment to help with the choir’s tour expenses. For more information about the scholarships and endowments, contact the      University of Idaho Foundation, 875 Perimeter Drive MS 3143, Moscow, Idaho 83844-3143 or email gifts@uidaho.edu.

Things I’d Rather Do than Watch the News

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Wear argyle socks and ride a camel in Nepal.

Visit the Taj Mahal in India and wear a fake hand on my shoulder.

Wear a red sweater on a bridge overlooking the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, Italy.

Get married in a linen toga at a chapel beside the Mediterranean Sea in Paros, Greece.

 

Play “Red Rover” with my family on a warm beach in Cabo, Mexico.

Float down the Nile to visit the Abu Simbel Temple in Egypt with a distant cousin of Ramses.

Cross-country ski to the top of a mountain without a helmet, cell phone, or Depends.

Hiking the Haleakala Crater in Maui, Hawaii

Hike for three days and two nights across the Haleakala Crater in Maui, Hawaii.

Ride my Harley on a crowded road surrounded by minivans loaded with screaming children.

Gratitude Cruise to Costa Rica

Go on a cruise alone to the Panama Canal and ride a zip line through the jungle in Costa Rica.

Travel on an African Safari and relax in a tent to watch monkeys steal my pens.

Waterski while singing the aria from Puccini’s “O Mio Babbino Caro.”

Appear on “HuffPost Live from New York” to talk about my fart.

Drink wine with friends and laugh until I wet my pants.

All these options are preferable to watching the Oscars; however, the last choice has a greater chance of happening again Sunday night.

 

 

 

How to Stop the News Noise

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I’m a recovering news junkie. I used to start and end the day with a news program playing on television while I read a newspaper or news magazine.

Over the past few years, I graduated to social media. Every morning brought an onslaught of stories and comments on Facebook, Twitter and other accounts. I became addicted.

As civil discourse lost all civility, I got seduced with the power of making clever and sassy comments to share my opinions, which, obviously, were far better than any other viewpoint. A few times, strangers would respond with nasty remarks or belittle my intelligence.

Once, a friend of a friend wrote that I was ignorant. As I eagerly poised my fingers to blast a well-written rebuttal, I stopped. I asked myself, “What are you doing? You don’t know this person!”

I continued to read various online accounts and noticed the increasing dump of vitriol and mean remarks. Few of the comments contained educated, rational thoughts or suggestions for a compromise.

Some people in my circle of civilized middle-aged women became the older version of Mean Girls in Junior High.

How did this happen? A few years ago, I was trading a recipe with a casual acquaintance, and suddenly, she was labeling me a prude and questioning my legitimate heritage.

The insults were posted on the Internet for all the world to read. In the past, I could have called her and asked to meet over coffee and donuts. However, we lived thousands of miles apart, and I assumed she wouldn’t want to see me without a lawyer, bodyguard and insect repellant. It’s all so silly.

I’ve taken steps to stop the noise, and it’s working because I no longer want to smash glass with a hammer or yell at strangers on the Internet. Here are some suggestions that are making a positive impact for me.

Start the Day with Inspirational Music

Instead of a news program, I turn on my playlists of favorite songs. I have a quiet moment to meditate before starting the day and no longer feel the urge to call anyone a brainless barbarian.

Appreciate a Different Opinion

Many people over age 60 are set in their ways and have taken a lifetime to justify their beliefs. I respect that. I’m trying harder to understand and consider the views of different generations.

My reality is not theirs. I’ll try and not call them a naive whippersnapper, and I hope they know my aged opinions remain relevant.

Pick Your Battles

This old adage proves true among the abundance of claims and counterclaims. I really don’t care if someone has purple hair, wears enough multiple piercings to attract lightning, or carries a rodent in a purse. I care if that person spits in my face and calls me stupid.

Don’t Believe Everything You Read Online

I see too much ‘fake’ news and wrong assertions being forwarded by people who should know better. If someone writes that gremlins from another planet are coming to take my home or that eating pie will cause me to lose weight, I want proof and links to the facts. Skeptical wins over gullible.

Someone Needs You

By not wasting hours online, I have more time to volunteer or to use my talents and resources for better causes.

Share your energy to visit lonely older people, help struggling young parents or support community causes. Others will be grateful for your assistance and no one will write that you’re a useless pestilence on society.

End the Day with Music

It has been a major adjustment to change how I start and end the day. I stay informed about current events, but now I play music before going to bed. That way I’m not tempted to retort to a cruel remark made on Twitter when I have Josh Groban to sing me to sleep.

I can’t change the foul moods that permeate society, but I can write a humorous story or send a compliment online to a friend. By avoiding negative reactions, I want to contribute positive thoughts. At the end of the day, I don’t want to be known as the old lady who whined on Facebook.

How do you cope with all the negative energy in our country today? How can people over age 60 reach out to younger generations and encourage a constructive discussion? Are you making any changes to your usual routine in order to avoid bad moods?

The article above was published on the Sixty and Me website. http://sixtyandme.com/6-ways-to-stop-the-noise-of-constant-breaking-news/