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“Melody” Wins Distinguished Award for Children’s Fiction
The 2021 Independent Press Awards announced today Melody’s Magical Flying Machine by Idaho author Elaine Ambrose is the Distinguished Favorite winner in the Children’s Fiction category. Judges evaluated entries from around the world, and the Children’s Fiction category received thousands of submissions. The Awards celebrate and recognize key titles representing excellence in global independent publishing and writing.
Melody’s Magical Flying Machine is a beginning chapter book for ages 7-11. Melody is an amusing 10-year-old girl with Down syndrome. She narrates her story of meeting an enchanted bird, and they use a 3D printer to create a flying machine pulled by two dragons. She soars over the playground to amaze her friends and confront a group of bullies. Melody’s energetic talent in storytelling empowers her to educate others about Down syndrome while sharing her tall tales and strong hugs.
“The book is a joyful, well-told story that celebrates the power of imagination. Melody is an engaging narrator whose cheerful affection, knack for happiness, and zestful imagination express themselves in every line. Carolyn Zina’s pencil illustrations are beautifully textured and shaded, with a magical quality that deftly matches the text.” – Kirkus Reviews
Publishers Weekly named the book as an “Editor’s Pick” for outstanding quality and wrote about “vivid prose” and “imaginative tapestry that is Melody’s magical adventure.” The published review concluded: “This charming flight of fancy with an equally charming protagonist will delight readers who want to be both educated and entertained.”
The story features a 3D printer, and toys were created with a 3D printer to accompany the book. Ambrose has donated books and toys to several charities, including Special Olympics Idaho and the Ohana Day Center in Woods Cross, Utah.
Illustrations were created by Idaho artist Caroline Zina. The book is available in paperback, published by Brown Books Publishing, and in eBook and audiobook read by the author. Order from independent bookstores, online, or from the author.
Elaine Ambrose is a bestselling author of 12 books, 14 eBooks, and 4 audiobooks. During the past six years, her books have won 10 international writing awards in three genres: humor, memoir, and children’s books. More details are available on www.ElaineAmbrose.com.
A Message to Young Mothers with Screaming Kids
Mother’s Day isn’t only about cards with glitter or dandelion bouquets. The day still involves feeding, dressing, caring for, and providing shelter and guidance for little people who haven’t lived long enough to know what life is all about. Decades later, the real Mother’s Day happens when happy adult children invite their mothers over for dinner. (Thanks, Adam and Danielle.) Here’s a message I wrote a few years ago for mothers of young children.
I waited behind a young woman in line at the grocery store. Her three kids were simultaneously crying, kicking each other, opening cereal boxes, and sneezing until green goo dripped down their chins. I made eye contact with the frazzled mother and gave her the “this too shall pass” smile. She meekly smiled back and then wrestled her wild, snotty brood out the door. Suddenly I adored the age spots on my hands.
Most of us have been there. We take our darling little angels into public places but suddenly and inexplicably they become possessed by behavior demons that turn them into outrageous monsters. We begin the polite, hushed cajoling which fails miserably so we resort to bribery. “Yes, Honeypie, just be patient and then you can have an ice cream cone. Not enough? How about a pony?”
Some adults skip the bartering and go straight for the barking. Recently I witnessed a frightening display of questionable parenting at a big discount store. A loud woman wearing flannel pajama pants and a Hawaiian shirt yelled at her two wild and disheveled children, “Stop punchin’ the bread or I’ll kick yur ass!” Then she threw a six pack of beer onto the bread and barreled down the aisle as her spirited spawn wrestled on the floor. I predict incarceration in the future. For all of them.
A generation ago, bad behavior resulted in a firm swat across the butt. While momentarily effective, physical punishment doesn’t address the reason for the public temper tantrum. And although quite tempting, it’s not a good idea to just leave your kids in the store’s Kiddy Corral and drive home with a gallon of ice cream.
For an interesting perspective, harried mothers and sneering critics should trade places with raucous children. Imagine you’re stuffed into a grocery cart piled high with food as your tired parent pushes you through tall corridors of colorful packages. You’re lost in the commotion and you don’t have a clue about money, jobs, house payments, or that Mommy only gets four hours of sleep every night. You just know it would be great fun to open the peanut butter and smear it in Sister’s hair and make her scream. Now that would get Mommy’s attention.
Here’s some unsolicited advice for stressed young mothers:
1. Children are noisy, messy, curious, hungry, tired, dirty, funny, adorable, little people who are here because of Mommy and Daddy. Yes, they’re your fault and your responsibility.
2. Remember that your toddler only has two years of experience in being alive, and you only have that much experience in being her/his mother. So, you can’t expect perfection after only two years of on-the-job training. And you’re surrounded by countless other parents and toddlers who also are trying to figure out the directions.
3. Sometimes parenthood sucks. Once I dumped a glass of milk on my child’s head because he was throwing a fit and I didn’t know what else to do. We were both shocked, and the little bugger still remembers it 20 years later.
4. I enjoy boisterous kids, as long as it’s not the little urchin kicking the back of my airplane seat. Conversely, I worry about the children who act terrified and silent. What’s wrong?
5. There are more than 250 million adults in the United States. Each one started as a baby and then grew up and moved out, so there’s a high probability that yours will, too.
6. If you see another frustrated young mother with incorrigible kids (and you will), offer a smile, open a door, or say something pleasant to the child. That works so much better than snarling at the exhausted woman and ordering her to control her rotten brats. That action could prompt vomit on your shoe, and not from the child.
It comes down to survival of the funniest. I know a young single mother who recently went through the check-out with only two items: diapers and wine. Thousands of older women would salute her and send encouragement. Someday she won’t need to buy the diapers.
Do You have an End-of-Life Plan?
I’m going to die. Probably not today, but someday. A few of my surviving relatives would prefer to toss my dead body into the river and celebrate with a party, but I’ve made legal arrangements for my proper burial. There still will be a glorious celebration.
End-of-Life Policy
I have a policy through Bankers Life Insurance that pays $15,000 at my death. The beneficiary is a cute guy I call Studley, and we have similar policies between us. If he goes before I do, my son will receive the money. I trust him to find a cheap but unused casket and haul me to the Wendell Cemetery to be buried next to my parents in Section 18, Block 2. He can spend the rest of the money on an elaborate party with festive live music, tables laden with copious quantities of delicious food, and an open bar with the best drinks and fine wine. There will be laughter, storytelling, and gallant toasts to my memory. Loud sobbing and mournful wailing will be permitted on an intermittent basis. He can keep the change.
Pre-Paid Plot
My instructions are written and included in my Will, and burial expenses will be minimal. My father bought several cemetery plots in 1959 for my siblings, my mother, himself, and me. I’m the only one still alive. A few years ago, I commissioned a bench to honor my parents and brothers, and the bench will be my headstone. Per my written instructions, my first name will be engraved before Ambrose and the dates of birth and death will be added. Easy assignment. Cue the band and start the party.
Insurance Gamble
My end-of-life insurance policy costs $90 a month. If I get hit with a wine truck and die tomorrow, the insurance company loses almost $15,000. But, I’ll be dead so I won’t care. However, I resemble my paternal grandmother, and she lived to be 92 and still worked crossword puzzles until the day she died. If I live that long, the monthly payments will exceed $15,000, and the insurance company would be reimbursed plus gain additional profit. To break even, I need to die within 15 years. I’m good with that because I’ve had a splendid, abundant, and spirited life. I’m grateful.
Have a plan.
My sweet mother was in hospice care twice, and each time I organized the plans for her funeral. The process was painful. I hope to reduce the stress for my loved ones by having everything arranged and pre-paid. Their only concern will be who gets my prized collection of finger puppets and clown noses. I hope they don’t fight.
How to Creatively Write Your Story
Join me Saturday, March 20! I’ll be live and lovable on Zoom at 11:40 am Mountain Standard Time for a 30-minute presentation. (That’s 1:40 pm on the East Coast and 10:40 am in Nevada.)
Storytellers Toastmasters Club in Las Vegas, Nevada invites you to join us this Saturday, March 20, at 10:00 a.m. Pacific time for a very special workshop:
HOW TO CREATIVELY WRITE YOUR STORY
Hosted by Elaine Ambrose, author of 12 books, 8 eBooks, and 4 audiobooks. She will explain:
1) How your journey is your story because you are a walking storybook.
2) How to organize, outline, and write your stories.
3) How to package your message in blogs, magazine articles, eBooks, and/or books.
After Elaine’s presentation, she will answer questions and/or tell stories.
After 9:30 AM Pacific time, join the meeting by clicking on the link below from your laptop, computer, tablet, or smart phone.
https://us02web.zoom.us/j/83594683442?pwd=ZENDdEtPaEwxMDZMTWRxbDBUb0NLUT09
Meeting ID: 835 9468 3442
Passcode: 921209
A Naked Perspective from the Floor
Last Friday, I fell while getting out of the shower, hit the hard tile floor with enough force to cause a seismic reaction, and damaged my ego and my well-worn body in less than two seconds. I hollered from the pain. The scene duplicated the well-known commercial of the woman who has fallen and can’t get up, except I didn’t have a camera crew to rescue me. I was alone, couldn’t reach my cell phone, and my husband was out of town on business and wouldn’t be home for eight hours. So, I laid on the floor, naked, wet, and shivering in agony, and thought of what I should do.
My first reaction was to assess the damage. When I moved, sharp pain tore through my left hip, rolled like hot barbed wire down my leg, and exploded through my knee like dancing devils – the same knee that endured surgery six years ago. My second reaction was to curse my foolishness. We had sold our house, and I had spent a month moving boxes, carrying items from upstairs in the former house, and loading and unloading heavy, bulky stuff. My legs were weak, but on Friday I was in a hurry to deliver the keys and garage door openers to the new owners. I dashed out of the shower and into a painful change of plans.
For the next thirty minutes on the floor, my mind wandered to various topics.
Death
I don’t fear death. I subscribe to the Death with Dignity organization in Oregon. I witnessed the painful deaths of my family members who suffered from long illnesses, dementia, and cancer. If I can’t remember my children’s names or if I’m diagnosed with a fatal illness, I’m not opposed to having a party and a pill. However, I hope to die like my Grandma Ambrose. She was 92 and sitting in her favorite chair working a crossword puzzle when she passed from a sudden heart attack. That scenario contains more dignity than dying naked and alone on the bathroom floor of a rented house.
Life
I’m grateful for a splendid life with only a few broken bones and jagged daggers in my back. I’ve lived more years than my father and both brothers. Letters on my license plate are an abbreviation of “Carpe Diem” for “Seize the Day.” I’m still seizing, although a bit slower.
Downsize Dilemmas
If I didn’t own so much crap, I wouldn’t need to move it, and it wouldn’t hurt my legs and back. The rental house we moved into is 60% smaller than the house we sold, so I donated furniture and other items, gave away family possessions, put furniture on consignment, and hauled countless bags of garbage to the dump. Still, I’ve filled a double garage with stuff. As I laid on the floor, I vowed, if I survived, to continue the purge.
Admitting Vulnerability
I was helpless, and I didn’t like that reality. There’s something humbling about being a chubby, naked, older, injured woman alone on the floor. It wasn’t my best look. So, while admitting I needed help, I opted for the only available choice: I prayed. I asked God to help me because I have faith in the power of prayer. I knew my guardian angels were weary and wanted to fly away to live on a tropical island, but I asked for them to give me strength. Slowly, I managed to sit up. I couldn’t move on the left side, but I could scoot on my right hip and pull myself with my arms. I moved into the closet to find clothes. It took an hour to get dressed, but I felt like an Olympic champion.
Call 911
I pulled myself to the counter and used a clothes hanger to reach my cell phone to call 911. I wanted to make it easy for paramedics, so I scooted to the front door and unlocked it. I held my purse with my driver’s license and medical cards and waited on the floor. The ambulance arrived and the paramedics examined my leg. After a lengthy evaluation, I decided to stay home. Waiting for hours in an emergency room on a Friday was not an attractive option. They wheeled my office chair to the hallway, helped me sit, and drove away. In hindsight, I joked too much so they probably didn’t take me seriously.
Diagnosis
Over the weekend, I remained in my office chair with an ice machine hooked to my knee and tried to get an appointment with my doctor. My husband made meals and cleaned the dishes, which was a great way to offset the pain. By Monday, the pain was stronger. I called and used my outside voice to demand to see my doctor. I drove myself to the appointment, struggled on crutches to get into the office, and received the first set of Xrays. My doctor arranged for an MRI, and the images revealed torn ligaments behind my knee, soft tissue injury in my leg, and damage to the gluteus medius muscle underneath my left buttock. The doctor said to rest for several weeks, ice the leg, and wait for the pending surgery (again) on my knee. I usually don’t follow orders, but I agreed.
Ruined Vacation
We had scheduled a week’s vacation starting March 11 in Scottsdale, Arizona with my son, his wife, and their darling daughter. Plans included golfing, going to the Zoo, enjoying fine dining, and relaxing in the cocktail pool of the rented house. Now, they’ll have the house to themselves, and I’ll toast them from my office chair.
There are several lessons to be learned from this latest episode of my crazy life. Slow down. Focus on strength and good health. Eliminate clutter. Ask for help. Allow a cute guy to make dinner. And, pray. On a positive note, now I have time to finish my next humorous book for women. Ironically, it’s titled Midlife Reboot – Humorous Stories of Rest, Resilience, and Renewal.”
(I know I’m not midlife, unless I live to be 138, but this title finishes the trilogy after Midlife Cabernet and Midlife Happy Hour.)
