Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

You are here: Home / Archives for #parenting

#parenting

Blogger Writing Challenge: You Can Rape Me Because I’m Drunk

By

drunk woman

 

I’ve never met  Audrey Hayworth, a talented writer and blogger from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, but we are friends through social media. We are inviting all bloggers across the country to join us in an important cause on Friday, September 2 to participate in the “You Can Rape Me because I’m Drunk” challenge. Yes, it’s important.

We’re referring to the fact that the Stanford Rapist (I refuse to mention his name) will be released from prison after only three months in jail for raping and illegally penetrating an unconscious woman behind a dumpster on the Stanford University ground on January 18th, 2014. He’s free, unlike his victim.

He was caught in the act, arrested, and charged with five felony counts: rape of an intoxicated person, rape of an unconscious person, sexual penetration by a foreign object of an intoxicated woman, sexual penetration by a foreign object of an unconscious woman, and assault with intent to commit rape. He was found guilty on three charges, then Santa Clara County Superior Court Judge Aaron Persky sentenced him to six months in Santa Clara County jail. He was facing a maximum sentence of 14 years, but will be released after serving only three months.

Perhaps the judge was swayed by the compelling letter written to the court by the guilty man’s father. He described in agonized detail how his good son was so traumatized that he couldn’t eat steak any more. Imagine the profound suffering!

As writers and bloggers, we owe it to our daughters and granddaughters to stand up against this ridiculous miscarriage of justice. Use your voice. Write and distribute a blog.

Suggested titles are as follows:

You Can Rape Me Because I’m Drunk

It Was Only Twenty Minutes of Action

Can He Eat Steak Now?

Only Three Months’ Time Out

She was Asking for It!

Please join us on Friday and write and post a blog about this topic. Write for the victim or for yourself. Add it to every social media account you have and submit to other sites. Our testimony is our only defense. Help make the Stanford Rapist wish he were back in jail where he belongs. Finally, we can give a voice to our naked sister, bleeding and confused, violated on the dirty ground behind the dumpster.

 

 

 

Attend an In-State University to Save Money and Get a Job

By

Graduates tossing caps into the air

I’m amused by all the fuss, frustration and foolish angst many parents and students endure as they travel across the country to various colleges and universities in search of the perfect match. In my educated opinion, most 18-year-old high school graduates don’t have a clue what they want to study, so why waste time and money seeking Big Name or Ivy League schools that eagerly take your fortune but don’t provide the stately claims offered in their glossy brochures?

My friend Nancy and I recently attended an elegant cocktail party and it seemed that every parent was discussing the college dilemma and how they were supporting their precious offspring, both financially and emotionally. The host sauntered over to us and began to announce that he had been paying more than $100,000 a year for his daughter to attend a prestigious college “back east.”

“What is her major?” I asked.

“Well, she’s not sure but she’s considering working for a non-profit organization.” He seemed smug in his answer.

Nancy choked on her martini.

“You’re going to spend almost half a million dollars for her to work in non-profit?” she asked. “That’s a noble profession but I think she could obtain a less expensive education.”

I gave her a quick look that implied she should go light on the alcohol.

The host seemed offended by her question and replied with a certain all-knowing attitude. “Well, Idaho just doesn’t offer the educational experience she needed.”

Nancy wouldn’t let it go. I stepped aside and prepared to enjoy what was coming next.

“My two children attended the University of Idaho, graduated debt-free within four years with degrees in business, and now they’re in their late twenties and make more than six figures a year.”

The host stood speechless and then frantically glanced across the room to find a way to escape from our common sense conversation. He spotted a more sympathetic victim and walked away.

Nancy and I exchanged glances and laughed. We’d known each other for decades, ever since we met in Girls State in 1968. She was the confident student leader from a huge Boise high school and I was the goofball from the village of Wendell. We met again at the University of Idaho in 1969 and have remained close friends. After majoring in journalism, we entered the workforce debt-free and enjoyed successful careers in Idaho. We remain loyal alumni and appreciate the skills learned and relationships forged at our in-state university.

 

2016-05-02-1462212960-4513383-elainegraduation1973.PNG

 

Most states have excellent universities and trade schools that offer less expensive choices, especially for the first two years when students take required core classes. Parents who own property are paying the taxes to support those schools, so why pay out-of-state tuition somewhere else? Often, the state universities have excellent job placement records, and isn’t that the reason students attend?

According to financial advice on CNN Money, the tuition, room and board at Harvard University in Boston, Massachusetts is approximately $64,492, not counting grants and scholarships. By comparison, the tuition, room and board at the University of Idaho total $19,241, excluding grants or scholarships. The annual in-state tuition is $6,784 and out-of-state tuition is $20,314. In-state tuition at the small community college in Twin Falls, Idaho is only $3,880. Most of the students have outside jobs and places to live, so room and board isn’t always a factor. Here’s a fact to personalize the issue: my brother graduated from Harvard University and I graduated from the University of Idaho. I enjoyed a more successful career and a happier life.

 

2016-05-02-1462212391-5736308-elainecommencement.jpg

 

I’ve been the commencement speaker at both the University of Idaho and the College of Southern Idaho. I urged the students not to get or increase their student loans, but I could tell by the groans from the audience that my advice came too late. Student loan debt is becoming a national financial disaster. According to MarketWatch, the $1.2 trillion in student loan debt may be preventing Americans from making the kinds of big purchases that drive economic growth, like houses and cars, and reaching other milestones, such as having the ability to save for retirement or move out of mom and dad’s basement. Updated statistics as of 2022: Total student loan debt is expected to exceed $2 trillion by 2024.

Check recent statistics:

https://mycreditsummit.com/student-loan-debt-statistics/

I know a woman who owes more than $100,000 in student loans and is working on a Masters Degree in Fine Arts. She’s never worked a full-time job and her biggest return on investment will be more debt as she struggles for the rest of her life to make the monthly payments on her loans. The government is a benevolent giver of taxpayer money but demands repayment, with interest. I believe the student loan program is a calculated way to make young people indebted to the government. Students would do better to take a year off from school and work full-time to save money for college tuition. That doesn’t mean they are entitled to a “gap year” to go find themselves as someone else pays their way.

To earn and save money during college, I lived with my parents and worked during the summer and on Christmas and Spring Breaks. I was the first female in my family to graduate from college and did so at age 21. Two weeks after graduation I was working full-time in an exciting career, grateful for the opportunity to do what I loved: write, promote and pay the bills. My college experience gave me freedom and opportunities that changed my life as I focused on one main goal: work at a rewarding job, support myself and use my talents to live the best life possible. Go, Idaho.

How to Tell an Enchanting Story

By

 

2015-07-28-1438052900-1601275-storyteller.jpg
“Please tell me a made-up story, Tutu,” my wee granddaughter begs as I close her picture book and tuck her into bed. I mentally scramble for an image and suddenly a little old lady pops into my imagination.

“Here’s one,” I say, much to her delight. Then I begin the spontaneous tale of a sad older lady who needs an adventure. I toss in the ability to fly and to find magical meadows with talking birds. It always helps to include at least one princess, a nasty troll, and a few immature bodily noises. For a successful story that pleases the most discerning child, I rely upon past experience: A flying princess, yes. Dead puppies, no.

2015-07-28-1438052268-5696097-storytellerdoll2.jpg

I have a small collection of ceramic storytellers crafted in Peru and New Mexico. They represent the South American and Native American Indian tradition of using oral stories as a teaching tool for younger generations. The figurines depict a centered, nurturing, and powerful woman who inspires the children with lessons and stories about their culture. Back before the intrusion of electronics, I told stories to my children, and now it’s a privilege to do the same for my grandkids. Sometimes I need to think fast to create the story, but it works best if I make it enchanting.

2015-07-28-1438052308-8112606-storytellerdoll3.jpg

For the novice entertainer, here are eight tips for how to tell an enchanting story.

1. Begin with a provocative set-up. One day a (pick one) little girl, puppy, mother, King woke up and discovered that no one was home.

2. Explain how something happens, either to the main character or the environment. She searched in all the rooms but no one was there. On the kitchen table, she saw a bright red arrow pointing to the back yard.

3. In one or two sentences, tell how the plot thickens. The stakes are raised when tension appears: She peeked out the window and saw a (pick one) fairy, pony, rainbow, salesman, monster.

4. Mentally analyze the reaction of the audience and adjust accordingly. If the listeners aren’t engaged by this time, strengthen the narrative. She was (pick one) afraid, surprised, happy, shy, vomiting.

5. Build a vision of a scene that involves the senses: sight, sound, taste, vision, and touch. The door creaked as she opened it and tiptoed barefoot in her calico gown into the cool grass. She felt a gentle breeze toss her red hair, and the air smelled of mint and oranges.

6. Weave a climax that produces an “aha” moment for the audience. Suddenly her family appeared with gifts for her surprise party. Or, if you’re feeling more creative, she followed a a cluster of chaotic clowns as they scampered over a rainbow into a secret castle full of toys and sugar cookies.

7. End when the story is resolved. It was the perfect surprise party. Or, she loved her imaginary friends and promised to join them again another day. Or, she scurried home to read adventure books and plan her next excursion.

8. Record your story. To improve your storytelling abilities, record yourself reciting an original fable. You may notice you speak too quickly or say “um” too many times. Also, a recording creates a fun gift to present to your children or grandchildren.

Some people are born to be storytellers, and their yarns and tall tales aren’t limited to children. They often regale adults with their creative narrations, and a friendly bar or boisterous camping trip only intensifies the renditions. Well-told narrations can enrich the imagination of children and entertain adults. As an added benefit, the regular practice keeps the brain energized so you’re ready any time a small voice begs, “Please, tell me a story.”

 

Published on The Huffington Post Aug. 4, 2015

Stop Being Fragile Parents

By

2015-09-29-1443565473-9512539-adamelainehalloweenscan.png
 

I’ve been embarrassing my children for more than 30 years. They now are happy young adults with loving spouses, adorable children and rewarding careers. Obviously, my strategy worked.

Throughout their childhood, I didn’t worry about harming their delicate self-esteem. Nor did I hover over their every action, schedule daily enrichment activities, make them eat kale, or ensure their socks matched. Instead, I created chaos and commotion just to motivate them to find peace and create order in their lives. I’m altruistic like that.

Children today are so pampered that some timid parents will become marooned in a horrifying, never-ending reality show if they don’t stop appeasing and indulging their tiny terrors. News flash: Your Kid Isn’t a Child Pharaoh. To toughen kids for real life, bewildered parents should halt most organized activities and throw in these handy tips to challenge their children’s self-confidence and encourage self-reliance.

1. Criticize their artwork. If your first-grader comes home with a hand-drawn picture, be sure to say that the tree looks like a spider and the sun should be more round. Then throw it away. Maybe she’ll try harder.

2. Show favoritism. Is the older child has an attractive project, be sure to tape it to the refrigerator for months and often mention the talent to the younger one. Give the older child extra dessert.

3. Exhibit lazy behavior. Stay in bed on Saturday morning and tell them to make their own damn pancakes. This is how children learn responsibility and cooking skills.

4. Take your own time-out. If the children are throwing a fit in the car, pull over to the side, turn off the engine, lean back, and close your eyes. Say, “Mommy is going away for a while.” Then chant in a foreign language for 10 minutes. They’ll be too traumatized to make noise.

5. Condemn their friends. Be sure to mock their friend’s silly habits. And when your teenager has a basement full of rowdy kids, walk in wearing a clown nose, belch loudly, and walk out. This instills a fear in your child that never goes away.

6. Cry when you meet your child’s first date. Sob into a towel, run into your room, and slam the door. This action will test their patience, strengthen their loyalty to each other, and promote tolerance.

7. Threaten them, if necessary. If your high school senior won’t write thank you notes for graduation presents, threaten to publish an announcement on social media that your child is too lazy and ungrateful to appreciate gifts now or in the future.

8. Bribery works. That hellhole of a bedroom won’t get clean on its own. Hide a $10 bill somewhere in the room and tell them to tidy and organize everything to find it. Substitute a $20 bill for particularly egregious cases that harbor toxic diseases. If they demand more money, tell them to move out and find an apartment.

Finally, remember that children can sense an easy target. If mommy and daddy are too weak and delicate to assume their strong but loving roles as parents, the kids will rule the house before the youngest is out of diapers and could stay in diapers for ten years. Parents can reverse this pending disaster by starting now to embarrass their children on a regular basis so the kids find the courage to grow up, move out, and prove themselves.

Go buy a clown nose. Thank me later.

 

Published on The Huffington Post Sept. 29, 2015

Don’t Bake a Mouse in a Cake

By

 

mouse on cake

My blossom on the youthful tree of life was not attractive. By age 11, I was a near-sighted, left-handed, gangly, goofy girl with wrinkly hair and absolutely no ability to conform. Outside of chores, the only activity for youth in the southern Idaho farming community of 1,000 people was a program called 4-H. The organization for youth was led by adult volunteers who promoted the four personal areas of focus: head, heart, hands, and health. Desperately hoping to help me focus and find some element of usefulness, my mother enrolled me in a 4-H cooking class with the admonition that I behave and not embarrass her. I failed on both assignments.

Twelve pre-teen girls enrolled in the 4-H club, and the leader had the meetings in her home. I usually sat on the floor so I wouldn’t disturb the meticulous décor. The couches were covered in bright floral chintz with coordinated fabric covering the matching side chairs. Festive garden-themed wallpaper featuring red velvet roses covered the walls, and pictures of pastoral scenes hung in gilded frames. A carved clock ticked softly on the polished marble mantel. I still had traces of manure on my shoes and didn’t belong in such a regal setting.

Each club member was required to do a cooking demonstration, and I practiced at home for weeks before it was my turn. I wasn’t thrilled about the assignment to make a lemon cake but I had promised my mother I would do it. I assembled my recipe, ingredients, and supplies and reluctantly stood in front of the group.

“Elaine, will now complete the demonstration for a delicious cake,” the leader said as she read from her manual to the group of wiggly girls. “Pay close attention to her technique and remember that we can all learn from this effective method as we increase our attentiveness and observe problem-solving procedures. Someday, you will have the privilege of cooking for your own family.”

I donned my hand-stitched apron and carefully positioned my pre-arranged supplies and ingredients on the kitchen counter.

“You must use a sturdy, large bowl for this batter,” I said, feeling wise and competent. “And a wooden spoon is necessary for proper mixing.”

I dumped the ingredients into the bowl and began to stir. The leader watched intently and made serious comments on my evaluation page. A few of my friends giggled with anticipation because they suspected I would deviate from proper protocol. I couldn’t disappoint them, so I added a new twist to my demonstration.

“Sometimes an added ingredient can be fun for the recipe,” I said. Then I reached into my pocket, pulled out a dead mouse I had found earlier in the barn, and dropped it into the cake batter. I stirred solemnly and waited for the mayhem. Some of the girls shrieked, others covered their mouths in horror, and the rest looked at the leader for her reaction. I just kept on stirring, naively thinking I would be commended for introducing a brilliant way to spice up the dull meeting. I imagined receiving a trophy on stage at some worldwide 4-H conference.

I underestimated the leader’s rage. On the verge of tears, she grabbed the bowl and tossed it into the back yard, knocking over one of her prized begonia plants. I could see the tail of the little mouse sticking up from the batter. This wasn’t my finest hour. I realized I probably wasn’t ready to have the privilege of cooking for my own family and definitely hadn’t observed problem-solving procedures or improved the group’s head, heart, hands, or health.

The leader called my mother and demanded that she immediately get me, and I was ordered to stand outside and wait. A few minutes later, my beleaguered mother maneuvered the station wagon in front of the house and rushed to the door. She didn’t look at me, and she suddenly seemed older. As my mortified mother offered profuse apologies to the leader, I slipped into the back seat of the car and tried to be contrite. I heard the leader say that I was never allowed in her house again and that I was kicked out of the 4-H club. Forever.

I never did retrieve our nice, heavy mixing bowl. My mother was humiliated and refused to consider the humor in the situation. I still feel bad about the incident because it caused her shame within the community and irritated a good woman. The next day, I was sent to the potato field to pull sunflowers. I didn’t mind because I didn’t need to scrape off my shoes or sit quietly in a room with red velvet wallpaper. Sometimes, though, I still stifle a snicker.

 

Memories of Mom

By

mom pumpkin

My mother died 12 months ago today, so we’ve experienced a year of birthdays, holidays, and family gatherings without her. I knew the year anniversary was coming and naively anticipated that its passing would mysteriously make everything all better. I was wrong.

Just when I thought the emotional whirlwind was over, another memory of her smacked me in the heart and caused my eyes to spontaneously water. I’ve never been this emotional before, and I struggle between wanting to weep or pulling up my big girl pants and pretending to be tough. Sometimes it’s exhausting to be the strong one.

To prepare for inevitable meltdowns, here are some common occurrences that can cause an unpredictable sensitive reaction after a loved one dies.

The impulse to call. Mom was the consummate keeper of things: she wrote lists, filled ledgers, and clipped newspaper columns. Our refrigerator was plastered with Erma Bombeck’s witty stories. I recently was invited to be a speaker at the prestigious Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop in 2016. My immediate thought was to call my mom because she’d be so happy. Then I remembered.

A certain song. I was happily shopping for groceries when the song “Que Sera, Sera” by Doris Day played over the sound system. My mother used to sing the song when I was a wee toddler, and I remember the sounds of, “Whatever will be, will be.” I stood there in the soup aisle with tears streaming down my face.

elaine leona 1951

Photographs. I’m still sorting her possessions, and found hundreds of photographs I’ve never seen. One fascinated me. It showed my parents as happy young lovers before they married and before hard work, illness, and heartache stole their laughter and weakened the light in their eyes. I wish I had known them.

leona neal selfie 1947

Holiday memories. Mom was widowed at age 62, so she came to my house for 25 Christmas celebrations. When my children were young, we took her to a holiday movie on Christmas Day. We had to discontinue the tradition because she always talked out loud to the actors on the screen. “Don’t do that!” she would warn the characters. “Look at them dance!” she would exclaim. The kids would shrink down in their seats as other movie patrons glared at us.

Her example of strength and resiliency. She loved to tell stories of her childhood; how her sisters and she rode a horse to a one-room school, how she hand-milked cows before and after school, and how she worked in the fields throughout her childhood. My children tried not to complain after that, and they had a deep love and affection for the one they called Grandma Sweetie.

mom horse school 1939
mom age 11 in fields

Favorite recipes. I continue to add mustard seeds in soups and any dish that requires boiling. Mom always added the seeds because of her belief in the Biblical parable of having the faith of a mustard seed. Through recipes, photographs, and stories, we keep her memory alive for the great-grandchildren.

family mom wendell

Locations. I regularly drive past the assisted living facility where she lived before she died. I ache with remorse remembering how she clutched my hand each time I started to leave. I should have stayed longer.

mom spring creek

Legacy. Mom didn’t have the money or opportunity to attend college, but she was a strong advocate for education. She established the Ambrose Family Scholarship at the University of Idaho, and this year six students from Wendell, Idaho received scholarships.

Emotional release through humor. A week after her death, I wrote a blog post titled “My Mother’s Body Got Lost.” The story described the true account of how the funeral home misplaced her for the weekend but then found her in a hearse traveling “near Bliss.” Bliss is a tiny town near her burial site. My response was, “Of course, she is!” The post was selected as a winning entry in the national BlogHer competition, and I was honored in New York as part of the “Voices of the Year” celebration. She continues to inspire my writing, and several of my blog posts about her were published on The Huffington Post.

blogher poster

Redemption. A few months ago, I was having a difficult time with the memory of how much my mother had suffered physically and emotionally. I sought professional help, and the gentle, wise counselor led me through a guided imagery exercise that restored my spirit. My mother came to me in a vision. She was young and happily playing with two little girls in a meadow. They were my sisters, my twin Arlene and another sister Carol. These babies never had the opportunity to breathe. The vivid scene of her radiant joy gives me peace.

mom wheelchair

The unexpected triggers continue to meander in and out of my life. After a year, the pain has eased, and I know she is in a better place. I hope someday to meet Arlene and Carol, and we’ll all play together in the meadow, scatter some mustard seeds, and sing, “Whatever will be, will be.”