tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193608462024-03-14T07:08:02.023-07:00The Bloody Munchkin's Random ThoughtsThe Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.comBlogger460125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-58664516121668253332017-04-07T09:22:00.002-07:002017-04-07T09:57:10.351-07:00My Secret Identity<div class="MsoNormal">
Secret identities aren’t all they are cracked up to be. They
are not what the movies make them out to be. I have a secret identity. I have had it for years now. I don’t have a fancy outfit or
a cape to reveal my true identity. I just have<a href="http://bloodymunchkin.blogspot.com/search/label/My%20son%27s%20passing"> a story</a>. And it’s a doozy. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Carrying around this secret identity can get a bit weighty
some days. I wish more people knew my secret. Being Clark Kent all the time
with everyone when the S on my chest is screaming to be shown takes its toll. On
the day that marks the occasion of my son’s death, my secret identity, being a
bereaved mother, is particularly a heavy burden to bear. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s why I’m so thankful I got to go to <a href="http://georgemark.org/">George Mark</a> yesterday and wear my secret identity proudly. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was a hot mess at first. I went into the front office to sign in and as I tried to explain who I was and why I was there to the office administrator, I choked. Another employee who had known me for quite some time came up to me and let me cry, saying very little, giving me the space I needed to feel what I was feeling.</div>
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Even when I think I have it
together, memories of my son sneak up on me. But those memories are allowed to inundate
me when I’m at George Mark. They are allowed to make me tongue-tied. My tears
are welcome there.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I spent the whole day there. I hugged necks and talked to
nurses. I told Kathy Hull that her <a href="https://www.ted.com/talks/kathy_hull_stories_from_a_home_for_terminally_ill_children">Ted Talk </a>was an absolute revelation. I was
happy to learn that members of the team share our story when they walk past the
tile wall when giving tours of the facility.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I told our story. I told our story. I told our story. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I let everyone see the secret identity, fancy outfit, cape,
but most importantly scars and all. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Everyone knew about the hole in my chest where a child had
once been. They knew the scars existed. It’s an utter relief to not have to
hide the scars. I spend so much time
hiding them, diminishing them, that being able to let the scars see the light of
day is an utter blessing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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If you haven't yet, consider donating to the <a href="http://georgemark.org/support/donate-2-2/">George Mark #fundabed</a> campaign. If you can't, please consider posting this on your social media feeds. Every little bit helps. Thank you. </div>
The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-44479076835675128582017-03-04T13:53:00.000-08:002017-03-04T13:56:46.127-08:00Book Review: The Hate U Give <div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41cTGEmf%2BOL._SX329_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41cTGEmf%2BOL._SX329_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
Country roads are endless, or at least when you’re a little
kid they feel that way. There are long stretches of road where I’m from where
radio stations playing “decent” music wouldn’t reach (Read: In my father's word's "Not Country"). My dad’s old work truck
didn’t have a tape deck in it so for some stretches we’d have to fill the time
with talking. Sometimes it was silly, filled with bad dad jokes (“What do you
think was that last thing that went through that grasshoppers mind when it hit
out windshield?” “What?” “His legs.”), and thumb wars, and my bad harmonica
playing. Other times it was filled with thought-provoking conversations that
always made me feel a little bit smarter but more importantly, closer to my
dad. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There’s a scene halfway into <a href="https://twitter.com/acthomasbooks">Angie Thomas</a>’s <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hate-U-Give-Angie-Thomas/dp/0062498533/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488664119&sr=8-1&keywords=the+hate+u+give">The Hate U Give</a> where Star is sitting in her dad’s truck, making a trek to a warehouse and
filling the mundane ride with conversation. Her father, Maverick is talking to
her about Tupac lyrics and asking her to break them down and throws one of her
questions back at her with a patented dad move; “What do you think?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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Just like that I’m a 10 year-old, sitting in my dad’s work
truck, barely able to see over the dashboard. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The prose in this book have the very same trans-formative
powers that turned me into my 10 year-old self throughout. I’m not only
transformed into my ten-year-old self though, I’m transformed into Star, angry at the
person she thought was her best friend and not having the voice to say so. I’m
Star’s mother Lisa, upset that she can’t protect all of the children in their
neighborhood the way she tries to protects her own who also works damn hard to
make sure her children are protected. I’m transformed into Maverick, trying to
educate his children in the ways of the world by making them think for
themselves.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And I’m also devastated. This book made me cry no less than
six times, and not romantic, sweet tears. If anyone taking the 680 in the
last week has witnessed a girl ugly crying in her car…. That was me and I’m not
sorry. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This books takes something very specific and very personal,
Star navigating grief and injustice when her friend Khalil is murdered in front
of her eyes by police, and makes it utterly universal and relatable. She makes you feel
every one of Star’s feelings. Every bump on this rollercoaster is intentional
and is meant to shake you to your very core. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But it’s not the highs and lows of this story I’m in love
with. It’s the middles. It’s the family prayers and the friendship struggles.
It’s the boyfriend drama (drama aside though - Chris might be the best literary boyfriend because of how real and imperfect and how often he gets it wrong but tries to make it right and is by Star's side no matter what. Love him. Go easy Mav.). It's trying to navigate the halls of your high
school. It’s the embarrassing moments of hearing your parents talk about sex
but realizing they are the most amazing people in your universe anyway. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But the thing that won’t soon leave me is it’s about Star’s
journey to figure out who she really is amidst all grief, pain, and terror
she’s experienced. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was my eight year-old self again, realizing my uncle was
dead and my other uncles, <a href="http://rosaryproject.blogspot.com/">because of their Hemophilia and the AIDS crisis</a>, were
soon to join him. I was that scared child trying to figure out who I was
through all of that death. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I know who I am now. As much as I miss my uncles (all six of
them) and a few of my aunts, and one tiny baby cousin who didn’t get to
experience life, I’m stronger for the journey we went on together as a family.
And now? I’m much stronger and wiser for having travelled with Star on hers and
I’m very grateful for it. <o:p></o:p></div>
The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-46769424281873579612016-09-21T10:12:00.000-07:002016-09-21T15:04:33.369-07:00Book Review: This is Where it Ends<div class="MsoNormal">
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I know these people. I
know these people. I know these people. </span><br /><br /><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This was the resonating thought I had while reading <a href="https://www.amazon.com/This-Where-Ends-Marieke-Nijkamp/dp/149262246X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1474477803&sr=8-1&keywords=this+is+where+it+ends">This is Where it Ends</a>, the devastingly beautiful book by <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Marieke-Nijkamp/e/B00W25N13E/ref=dp_byline_cont_book_1">Marieke Nijkamp</a>. <i>I know
these people</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I don’t just mean that in the sense that writing makes you
feel so ingrained in these characters lives that you feel you know them on an
intimate level. It’s a true statement definitely. Nijkamp gives each character
a livable and lived-in backstory and makes each character feel vibrant and
alive in their own ways. But this isn’t what I mean. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Some of these characters feel plucked out of my own life, to
a frustrating and heartbreaking degree, which makes this book that much more
painful, and on some level, that much more important. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is Where it Ends is a story that plucks us right in the
middle of an impossible to imagine scenario that unfortunately happens all to
often; a school shooting. All the events happen in the length and breadth of a
school rampage being perpetrated by a former student of Opportunity High
School, Tyler. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The story itself is told by a handful of students' first person accounts, but also through text
messages, tweets, and blogs, but mainly focuses on the perspectives of Clare, Tomas,
Autumn, and Sylvia. Each is entangled in Tyler’s life in their own fraught way.
Clare is an ex-girlfriend, Tomas an enemy, Autumn a sister, and Sylvia the
sister’s girlfriend and the enemy’s sister. Each has had a role to play
antagonizing Tyler in varying degrees and being antagonized in return. And it
is made very clear very early on, each has a lot to lose and will lose much in
a short amount of time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And the thing that startled me the most was that there was
an analog in my own life for just about every character. Clare’s brother
Matthew, Tomas, Kevin (who barely spoke a word but had such a lived-in
backstory I knew exactly who he was), the English Teacher, his daughter and her
blog. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(Sure, there were a few who I didn't have analogs for, Farid, and Sylvia, but they were so well created and such unique characters that I really wish I have versions of them in my life. Farid especially for reasons to deep and numerous to mention.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But the thing that made itself the most clear and also
scared me the most is that I knew exactly who Autumn and Tyler were. The relationship of a brother and sister
surviving a traumatic and abusive household who were at once each other’s port
in the storm and also each other’s worst enemy is a relationship I’ve witnessed
up close and it is utterly heartbreaking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The character of Tyler was especially upsetting because the
analog of Tyler was someone I was once very close too but whose destructive
qualities I was too familiar with and ultimately had to break ties. The version of Tyler I knew never went on a
rampage, thank God. But the capability was there. The need for revenge, and always having
something to prove was too close to the surface. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sadly, the Tyler analog I knew died. And just as sad, there’s
probably a lot of Tylers out there, lost and confused, and several Autumns and
Clares and Tomas’s, just as lost and confused looking for some sort of anchor
in the storm. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Which is why I find this story so important and worthwhile.
The point of the whole book is that we are supposed to band together to be each
other’s port in the storm instead of floating apart from one another, isolated
and alone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It took a tragedy for the characters in this book to realize
that. Sadly, it takes tragedy after tragedy for us to realize that. And even
worse, sometimes we still don’t realize it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But the power of this book is it gives us a close-up view of
such a thing with the hopes that we will never have to live it ourselves, that
maybe we can recognize the Tylers amongst us and accept them, love them, help
them before it’s too late. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is an incredible, heartbreaking story that
is well-crafted, exquisitely told and has a message that is so important I’m
going to be singing its praises for a long time. As I said on twitter, this
book is so good I told my mom to read it and that might be the highest praise I
can give a book. So please read it.</span></span>The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-73335635606797935752016-05-10T09:00:00.000-07:002016-05-11T09:52:53.105-07:00My super power<div class="MsoNormal">
“But you’re not Ukiah’s mother anymore.” The funny things that
come out of the mouths of babes. I know where this came from. My daughter was
trying to wrap her head around the holiday that is mother’s day whilst also
wrapping her head around the fact that she has a brother who isn’t here anymore.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I’m always going to be his mother.” It was a knee-jerk
response I wasn’t sure I was capable of. “Just because he’s an angel now doesn’t
change the fact that I’m his mother.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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There was a confidence in the statement that surprised me.
This confidence didn’t exist in me on my first mother’s day without him. I
still remember half-yelling at my own mother “<a href="http://bloodymunchkin.blogspot.com/2010/05/mothers-day-sucks.html">What am I mothering? A box?”</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Now it’s different. Now I speak the truth. I’m still his
mother. Death changes nothing about that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Right after Ukiah died, my parents tried to convince me that
I was more of a mother than most mothers could ever dream of being. The idea
was that by being Ukiah’s mother, for however long it lasted, I somehow become
a super-mom. Like being his mother gave me powers somehow. It’s a nice thought,
one meant to soothe and bolster at the same time, but it’s not the truth.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m just a mom. I’m not super-hero mom. I’m prone to the
same short tempers, the same gaps in judgement, the same misgivings as any
other mother. Being his mother didn’t give me super-patience, or the ability to
see through each and every decision and realize the outcomes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The one super power it did bestow on me was enjoyment. When
I have a moment with my daughter, by god I have a moment. It beautiful and
perfect and every part of me knows it. I take my with it, relish in it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s why Sunday was a good day, one of the best. Unlike
many a mother’s day, it wasn’t met with a lot of fan fair or flourishes. We
went to the grocery store and picked up stuff for a picnic. Then we loaded up
the entire family, including the dog, and went to the river. We went to our
favorite stretch of beach and had it all to ourselves. I watched the dog play
fetch in the water for hours. I helped the daughter dig up sand and find
shells. I smiled as she got a stick and pretended to fish. We wrote letters in
the sand and drew pictures. She captured a ladybug and named it Bingo.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Every moment of that day, as simple as it was, was perfect.
My heart sang and I listened to its melody, completely at peace. Being in the
moment, seeing it for what it is and not taking it for granted, that’s my
superpower. That’s a gift that is partially from Ukiah and partially from my
daughter, and it is a gift I cherish.<o:p></o:p></div>
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p.s. I know I’m beating a dead horse about this, but the
<a href="https://www.generosity.com/medical-fundraising/george-mark-children-s-house-fund-a-bed-campaign">George Mark House #fundabed</a> campaign is still going on and it needs your help.
Not just donations, but they can use that too, but just getting the word out.
Please help them fund two of their beds for a year. A five buck donation buys
one meal for one child at the house. Just five bucks. But if you don’t have
five bucks, please consider posting it on facebook, sending out a tweet.
Anything. <o:p></o:p></div>
The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-75157026336293208022016-04-28T16:42:00.002-07:002016-04-28T16:42:53.064-07:00Remembering Prince<div class="MsoNormal">
Since Prince’s passing, I’ve been thinking a lot about him
and basically consuming every obituary/think piece there has been. I don’t know
why. Maybe it is to try and soak up all that there is in the void that his
passing has left. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There is one thing about Prince that I’ve been finding out
that I never knew or possible forgotten if I had ever found out about it;
Prince had and lost a child. Every time this comes up, it feels like a footnote
in everything I’ve read, taking a back seat to his musical genius or to his
artistic legacy. It’s barely a blip on our collective radar screens.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I get why, or at least I think I get why. Nobody wants to
dwell on what it means to be a parent that’s lost a child. And to be fair, it’s
not all that he was. To the public he was all those other things first. But,
and I’m guessing here, but it’s a guess built from my own experience, he would
prefer to be thought of a father first, a grieving father second (maybe, but
maybe not), and then all those other things happened to be pleasant white
noise.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There’s a reason many an obit reads loving father, adoring
husband, blah, blah, blah, because that’s usually the order of priority. The
love we gave our kids is what should take the first prize. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Speaking as a mother who has also lost a child, the title of
grieving parent is not something to be taken lightly. It’s something that I don’t
want the collective we to pass over quickly, in obit or memorial form. No it’s
not all I want to be known for. I'm a mother, a wife, a writer, a creative writer, a person deeply passionate about disability rights, beader, the list goes on. But I also don’t want it to be a footnote in my
life when the final word is set to paper. Because Ukiah was certainly not a
footnote in my life. He was so much more. He could be the central thesis, the
theme on which the whole book hinges. That’s how much he shaped my life.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So I wonder what Prince would make of all this. It seems to
me that this was all kept so close to the vest or else I would’ve been more
aware of it. And anyone who has lost a child is certainly allowed to do
whatever they want in the wake of such things. If Prince decided to keep that
loss quiet, that was his choice and I respect it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But when these things come to light posthumously, I wish
such knowledge would be given the respect and width and breadth of appreciation
such a thing is due. Prince was a father that lost deeply and lost greatly and
among the many other things he was to each and all of us he was this thing too
and he should be loved and respected deeper and more greatly because of this. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Prince, you’ve meant a lot to me throughout the years, but
you mean so much more to me now knowing how deeply you have loved and how
deeply you have lost. Rest in Peace and Rest in Power, but most importantly now
you can rest with your child. <o:p></o:p></div>
The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-21863798750332668502016-04-06T11:34:00.002-07:002016-04-06T14:42:28.372-07:00Weight<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t stop petting it. I keep stroking a leg or rubbing an
ear, squeezing it closer into my body as I do. I know that a grown woman
holding and patting a teddy bear must be pretty strange. But I don’t care. I
know I could have placed the teddy bear on the floorboard of the car or sat it
next to my daughter for the car ride home. I know having it on my lap makes
little to no sense and yet I keep it there, petting it, hugging it tighter into
my body as I do. Because this bear has suddenly become everything. Because this
bear has given me just a little semblance of something I’ve missed horribly;
Ukiah. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Since Ukiah’s passing, one thing that I missed terribly was
the weight of him on my lap. I use to joke that I have phantom lap pains because my
chest, the place where his head would lay as he slept so many nights on the
couch, would ache for no reason. All I’ve wanted/needed was to put that
familiar weight back on my lap again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My daughter’s weight, although similar is a weight all her
own. I’ve never compared the two. Nor has Loralei’s weight replaced Ukiah’s in
my mind. They are both separate but equal. When Loralei sits in my lap, she’s
not taking his place, she’s taking her own rightful place there. But that
doesn’t mean I don’t miss the place he use to take. I still miss it terribly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://georgemark.org/"><br /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://georgemark.org/">George Mark House</a> was expecting us. I’d called earlier that
day and told them we were coming. I’d spoken to one of my favorite people there
at the house that morning. I wasn’t expecting that the metaphorical red carpet
would be rolled out for our arrival but it certainly seemed that way. My
daughter wasn’t feeling well, and everyone was bending over backwards to please
her, because that’s how they are. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They offered her juice boxes and cookies and tried to do
anything to make her smile. It didn’t work but that didn’t keep them from
trying. Everyone was all warm smiles and even warmer hugs. This never surprises
me. <a href="http://georgemark.org/about-us/Who-We-Are-2.html">Ken Sommer</a>, the director at George Mark even took time out of his busy
schedule to come talk to me personally. He said something that I’ve heard over
and over again at George Mark but that never ceases to surprise me when I’m
there. “It’s your home.” It was said with a shrug, like it was the most obvious
thing in the world. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And it is my home. There’s a sort of peace there, a comfort
in looking around. A smile crosses my face when I spy one of the eight
mural-painted patient rooms. When I’m there by myself, I walk the halls. It’s
the same ritual I perform at my Aunt Clare’s house. I have to see all the
places that have filled me with comfort and love. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today I settle for seeing some of the people I love. There
are the two familiar faces in the front office along with Ken’s. At the nurse's station There’s the
nurse I’d spoken with earlier that day. And she's soon joined by one other. She’s the one
who asked the question. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you want a bear?” I’m a little confused at first and
then she explains further that a mother who’d lost a child had gifted these
bears to the house and they could hand them out to families who had also lost a
child. I immediately get choked up at the idea, so I leave the decision up to
my daughter. Even though she isn’t feeling well, she nods. We go get the bear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They are called <a href="https://thecomfortcub.com/">Comfort Cubs</a>. Each one is a little
different, some are squatter than others, each has a unique nose. Each one is
weighted. This is not your normal stuffed bear. This is like a brick in a
purse. If you carry it around, you are doing so with conviction. I sit the one
my daughter had picked on my lap and I immediately begin to cry. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s the weight of it. It’s his weight. It’s back on my lap
again and it makes me feel…. I’m not sure how it makes me feel. It makes me
feel so many things at once. I hold this bear in my lap and it’s like he’s
there with me again. I held the bear on one leg and my daughter on the other
and it felt like I had them both and that was everything. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I try to put words to my feelings and emotions, but they
just get jumbled in my throat. The nice woman just grabs a Kleenex box and puts
it in front of me. I don’t have to say anything. Those things I’ve been leaving
unsaid are still being heard by those around me. That in and of itself is
powerful enough. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I find my husband by the fountain up on the hill by the
chapel. He’s already found Ukiah’s rock. We sit up on the park bench outside
the chapel and I hold the bear. My husband said quietly. “This is a good thing.
You’ve been wanting something like this.” It gets quiet again. Things I should
be saying aren’t being said and it really doesn’t matter if they will be. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the way home, as I’m clutching the bear, I want to tell
him how important this is, and at the same time I want to diminish its
importance. I want to brush off the fact that I’m clutching on to this bear and
patting it lovingly. But at the same time I want to sing the praises of having
this bear in the first place. Instead, we make the way home in relative silence. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This bear, this simple stuffed bear gave me a gift I never
thought I’d get back, it gave me Ukiah’s weight. Whenever I need him to ground
me again, to comfort me, he can take the form of this bear and I can feel him
again. It is one of the things that destroyed me when I lost him and now I get
to have it back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you to the mother who gifted those bears. Thank you to
the wonderful person at George Mark House who wanted me to have one. Thank you
to all the people at George Mark House who created this safe space so that I might
have one. Just thank you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please help me in thanking this wonderful organization by
donating to their<a href="https://www.generosity.com/medical-fundraising/george-mark-children-s-house-fund-a-bed-campaign"> #fundabed campaign</a> today.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you.<o:p></o:p></div>
The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-36256253953349731282016-04-05T07:54:00.000-07:002016-04-05T07:57:32.521-07:00Things said, things not said<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I had to answer the phone but I couldn’t keep my sobs in check.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
“Hey,” came my husband’s voice over the line.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
“Hi,” I said, through muffled sobs.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
“What’s going on?” After almost two decades of togetherness there wasn’t much I could hide from him. He’d learned almost every nuance in my voice.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
“I found the pee shirt.” What little I was trying to hold back came flooding out.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
“Oh,” his voice was sympathetic and sad all at once, knowing exactly what I meant by the statement.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
There are some items of Ukiah’s we hold as treasures, and some things we’ve just held. As I’ve mentioned before, the more time that has passed from his passing, the harder it is for me to get rid of anything related to him. But there are some things, like the invisible scars that are hiding and make themselves visible when I least expect it.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
We’ve been staging the house recently because we are putting it on the market. This is in and of itself a bittersweet thing. The place is so full of memories we’ve made, memories we’ve made with him, memories that for better and for worse aren’t going to be in the new place, wherever that is.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I was doing a massive spring cleaning to stage the house and ran into things that I knew we still had but that I did not know we were hiding. Maybe my husband had been hiding them from me, or maybe I was hiding them from myself. I’m not sure. But I found them and they broke my heart all over again.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The Pee shirt was chief amongst those items. It was dubbed that because every time the hubbie wore it, Ukiah would inevitably soil it in some manner. The bodily fluids housed on the shirt are varied and numerous. Sorry to get gross on you, but it is the truth. The shirt itself is four-leaf clover green with a horse and rider screen-printed on it and some sparse wording that I don't remember. This shirt had seen war, not just of the bodily fluid variety. Swiss cheese ain’t got nothin’ on this shirt. It’s old and ratty and can’t be used for anything other than a rag and I will not get rid of it. You’ll have to pry it out of my cold dead hands. (Actually, I hope I get to go out that way, clutching something that reminds me of him, though probably not the pee shirt. I still have his stuffed animals. I’ll use one of those and one of the little munchkin’s while I’m at it. It would be nice to have the things I most treasure around me when I go out. And chocolate. Even if I’m not allowed to eat it, I want it close. But i'll save that for my will. Okay, digressing here, I’ll stop.).</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I was clutching the pee shirt when he called. We both let the significance of it wash over us and were quiet for a while, neither of us knowing what to do with our feels. We switched tacks but we didn’t have to say much else. We knew he was there with us in that moment. We let him be. Sometimes the best things that are said are things that aren’t said at all.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Today is the anniversary of his passing, and there have already been several of those moments. Saying things and not saying things because not saying them is just as significant.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
But right now I do have quite a few things to say. Mainly the big thing to say is that<a href="http://georgemark.org/" target="_blank"> George Mark Children’s House</a>, an organization near and dear to my heart and a charity that is well worth giving money to is having a fundraiser right now. Their current<a href="https://www.generosity.com/medical-fundraising/george-mark-children-s-house-fund-a-bed-campaign" target="_blank"> #fundabed fundraiser</a> is gaining traction right now on social media and on Indiegogo but it can still use all the help it can get.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The great thing about this fundraiser is you can select the exact amount, type of donation you want to give. $5 buys a home-cooked meal. $25 buys a week’s worth of diapers and wipes. You can actually choose the type of impact you want your donation to make!</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
This is huge! It is so important you guys. And so worthy too.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Usually around this time of year, I make a plea regarding my <a href="http://bloodymunchkin.blogspot.com/2015/04/invisible-scars.html" target="_blank">Piggy Banks for Ukiah</a> fundraiser, choosing to make this bittersweet time in our lives worth something by donating to George Mark House but this year I’ll be donating all my son’s piggy bank money (and if my daughter wants, some or all of her piggy bank money too) to the #fundabed campaign.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I would love to have enough in the piggie bank to buy an end of life suite. To be able to give a family the chance to use the same facilities my family and I were able to use when my son was there… to give that gift…. There are no words. None. I’m crying while writing this right now. I can’t even explain.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
But with your help? Well, the sky’s the limit isn’t it?</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I’m not sure if the Indiegogo fundraiser has the capabilities to let us pool our money for an item, but how great would it be to be able to give them enough to fund a day of care for a patient, or two. And real talk, as someone who as used their bereavement support services, if we could somehow band together to fund the bereavement support gift? I would be beyond the moon indebted to you to make this happen.</div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Right now, I don’t’ have much in the way of gifts or freebies to hand out to make your donation worth it, except what I’ve done in the past which is to lend my ever so humble blog to you for donating or spreading the word.</div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px;">If you have any suggestions or ideas for pooling our funds/resources I’d love to hear it. </span>Pillow Fighting Fanatichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08877472986805106391noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-51642814547100011352015-04-03T14:36:00.002-07:002015-04-03T15:22:18.810-07:00Invisible scarsSome years it hurts worse than others. Some days, some moments even, it throbs. It never goes away, the invisible scar I wear, the burden I carry on my back. Maybe you can see it on my face, no matter how good I am at hiding it. It will never go away.<br />
<br />
I don't want it to. I am sometimes saddened that the burden has lessened, that the grief I feel isn't more. I grieve because there is less to grieve. I'm upset because the scar has healed just a little bit more.<br />
<br />
I'm a lot antsier this year. I just want it to be over with. I don't want to think about April anymore. How Ukiah was born on April 15th and how he died on April 5th just shy of his second birthday. I don't want to be with those thoughts any more and yet those are the only thoughts I want to be with.<br />
<br />
For the first time in a long time I put his picture up at a place where I knew it would beckon the question from those that didn't know the story. It did. And even though I didn't really want to deal with it, deep down I did. I wanted people know him again. I'm not locking him away by any means, but for those who don't know the story, it's a hard topic to broach.<br />
<br />
I had a son and then he passed away. It's a simple sentence in theory but in the real world it is hard as hell to say. I choke and sputter. Tears I promised myself wouldn't come pour out in a deluge. It's never not going to be difficult.<br />
<br />
I'm okay with that. I mean I guess I'm okay with it. I'm not okay with him being gone. And even though the universe gave me an incredible daughter things still aren't square between me and the universe. Not by a long shot.<br />
<br />
I don't know what April 5th or April 15th is going to bring my way this year. Joy, more grief, bittersweet tears? Probably, well most likely. But the how of it, the why of it, I won't know until it happens.<br />
<br />
There is a way you can help. Well, there's a few different ways actually. First, have a slice of pizza, or a whole pie with family. Knowing that you are doing that on either day would make me smile. Second, consider spreading the good word about <a href="http://www.georgemark.org/">George Mark</a> and if you can, make a donation. That would not only make me smile but it would bring tears of joy to my eyes and it would make my whole month brighter.<br />
<br />
He's always with me. But knowing he's with you too, in your thoughts on those two days would mean a lot.The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-28694703192683403012015-01-06T08:35:00.000-08:002015-01-06T08:37:27.539-08:00On music that finds you and the friends that make it<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not sure I believe in fate, the big version at least. That all
things are fated to be as they are? I don’t buy it. If free will is just a ruse
so that everything plays out according to someone else’s master plan, than what
the hell is the point anyway? We might as well not make any choices and just
let it ride. But we don’t so our own choices have to amount to something right?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I do believe in the fate of small things, small moments.
I don’t think fate can work on the grand scale all the time. But it can work
small minor miracles that make us take stock and really think about it,
connections, the grander scale, the bigger picture. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday I experienced one of those moments. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I go through cycles where I ignore my personal emails and
some, if not most of the email newsletters I signed up for, even if they are
from writers and people I admire. I tell myself it’s because I don’t have the
time, but really its because I don’t want to expend the effort to connect with
what that person is trying to say. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could’ve ignored the <a href="https://twitter.com/WhereverWriter">@Whereverwriter</a> <a href="http://www.whereverwriter.com/my-free-ep/">email post</a>. But I
didn’t. I have to admit her lede spoke to me. She got me with Free Gift to You!
So I clicked and read. I was surprised to find that someone who’s writing I
admired so much was also a gifted musician. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I clicked on her <a href="https://thisismylight.bandcamp.com/album/winter-ep">link to her EP</a> and from the first song I
cried tears of joy. It was so beautiful. Her voice was stunning and the words
gave me goose bumps. I listened to the EP alternating between giddy joy and
joyful tears because someone I consider a friend made something so
awe-inspiring.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I got to <a href="https://thisismylight.bandcamp.com/track/bridge">The Bridge</a>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s like her words were destined to find me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve talked about it some on this blog and on my other blog
<a href="http://ukiahsheart.tumblr.com/">Ukiah’s Heart</a> but I’ve been struggling with depression pretty hard on and off
for years. After my son died, I went through a tail spin. Recently I’ve gone
through another. It’s the reason I haven’t written on this blog for quite
awhile. Composing my thoughts can be downright impossible when I can barely see
the forest for the trees. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes I’m able to dig myself out of a tailspin okay.
Lately I haven’t. I finally had to admit to everyone I loved that I needed
help. I’m getting help. I’ve had several people tell me variations of what was
in Amy’s song for months now, but this time it connected. I mean, really
connected. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wept. I listened to it again and I wept some more. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept listening and kept crying. Finally,
somewhere between the fourth of fifth listen, the tears stopped, but the
connection didn’t. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I needed this song and it found me and now I won’t let it go. One of fate's small little miracle's I guess. It could be argued that I would've found this eventually, that it still would of made an impact. Which is probably true. I try to connect to her site at least once a month to get caught up on what I'm missing in her life. But I could also argue that if I had found it any other time, it maybe wouldn't have resonated as deeply as it had. We're chalking this one up to fate, and Amy's generosity for now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are few greater pleasures in this world than when you
connect with a piece of writing, music or art. It’s a thing of wonder and pure
joy and a person I call my friend gave me that connection. Words can’t express
what a gift that is. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I’m trying to give one back. Listen to this album. Please, if you have a few
spare bucks, <a href="https://thisismylight.bandcamp.com/album/winter-ep">download it </a>and send that money her way, so that way she
sees a few monetary fruits of her incredible endeavors. If you are on social
media, link or tweet her album that way it might bring someone else the joy and
the connections I received. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Amy your writing and your music mean something because they
meant something to me. Don’t ever doubt that. When you finally release your
ebook, consider me ground central for your promotions. I’ll be singing your
praises for years to come. Thank you. </div>
The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-83793849373210427402014-11-07T15:25:00.000-08:002014-11-07T15:29:18.380-08:00Book Review: Son<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://bloximages.newyork1.vip.townnews.com/newsadvance.com/content/tncms/assets/v3/editorial/0/61/0614dce4-96f9-11e2-a293-001a4bcf6878/51531aa293408.image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://bloximages.newyork1.vip.townnews.com/newsadvance.com/content/tncms/assets/v3/editorial/0/61/0614dce4-96f9-11e2-a293-001a4bcf6878/51531aa293408.image.jpg" height="200" width="135" /></a></div>
I don't know what I can say about Lois Lowry, about the book Son, the conclusion to her Giver series, or about all four books in general that haven't already been said by people way more articulate than I. But I'll start with this, I love them. And I love Lois Lowry with the kind of love that I usually reserve for highly revered members of my family. But like family members I love, she can sometimes do things that fluster and frustrate me.<br />
<br />
The Giver movie adaptation was one of those things. I have not seen The Giver yet, but the trailer was enough to put me off the enterprise. I just got the feeling that the heart of the whole book was missing. My feeling has always been that in order to bring the book to the screen, the format should be much shorter/sparser like the book was, but that's neither here nor there. While I applaud the effort, I feel like there were several missteps there.<br />
<br />
So I read Son with a lot of ambivalence still floating in my system. I wasn't sure if I could trust the journey. Well I'm happy to report that the journey I was taken on was an extremely great ride. I loved this book so much, probably because initially it revisited the world The Giver had taken place in at the very beginning. The way this book intertwined with The Giver and had been so effortlessly meshed with that first story was no easy feat but Lowry handled it with ease.<br />
<br />
But this story, like those that came after The Giver is about showing all the fractures in the cultures that exist outside the seemingly Utopian society of The Giver. Where the book really got going is when the main character left that world. The main character, or at least the main character for the first two-thirds of the book is the mother of the baby that was introduced in the first book, Gabe, the baby with the swirling blue eyes.<br />
<br />
The story starts with the birth of the child and the mother's grappling with the birth and her inability to keep the baby she gave birth to. At first she just tries to find ways to visit and be with the child but as the events of The Giver unfurl within her life, she finds it more and more difficult to be with the child.When the child is taken, the bottom falls out, both literally and figuratively. She seeks refuge on a boat she hopes will help her find her son but then it sinks and so does her memory of where she was before and of her son, but that was the one thing that wouldn't stay buried. A tiny enclosed village takes her in where she starts reclaiming her memories and herself.<br />
<br />
Where the story really gets going is when she makes the decision to seek out her son by climbing a treacherous cliff that has separated the village from the rest of the fractured societies existing in the world. Those chapters filled me with a sense of wonder and dread and anticipation for what happened next.<br />
<br />
The part of the book that lost me was the last third where most of narration and focus is on Gabe, her lost son. A big portion of the wind let out of the sails around that point mostly because it focused on a character who didn't know what we already knew and didn't grab and keep my attention as well as the first two sections had.<br />
<br />
Also, *spoiler alert* the ending felt like a cheat or hurried or both. It was interesting that a character introduced in the third book would be brought back and was used in interesting ways, but the pay off didn't quite work because I don't think it was quite earned.<br />
<br />
Also, and this just may be me talking, but can she please give me a map so I have a handy lay out for all these different societies that sprouted up after the apocalypse? There was Jonas's Seemingly Utopean society that the first book made me believe stretched over a huge stretch of land. Then there was Kira's society and a third society Jonas was the leader of that the third book focused on. In this book, I felt like two more had been added to that list, a land with seafaring people with whom Jonas's society did a bit of trade and commerce with and the other being the village that was cut off by both sea and cliff. I needed a reference for just how this land was laid out and how far spread apart or close everyone may have been.<br />
<br />
But overall it's a great capper to the series that started with The Giver. Not my favorite in the series, not by a long shot but still worthy of your time and a read. It's a solid B.<br />
<br />
<br />The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-14950044781524585502014-11-03T16:19:00.003-08:002014-11-04T08:17:18.494-08:00Runnin' For Rhett's Run Because You Can"How much are you charging for a full mask?"<br />
"Nothing for this event."<br />
"Really?" I ask. I've been charged everything from 3 to 15 bucks for all manner of face-painting styles. She was currently giving my daughter the full-on Frozen treatment, with an array of snowflakes dotting her forehead and cheeks.<br />
"I never charge when I do the Run Because You Can Event. The family lost their son and he's a beautiful angel and I want to honor that, so I don't charge."<br />
"You know the reason we come here every year is because I lost my son too and their story reminds me so much of my own."<br />
"Bless you sweetheart."<br />
<br />
I tipped her five bucks once she finished with my daughter's face.<br />
<br />
That was my moment from this year's event. Usually the event is filled with so many more of them for me. Unfortunately, an injury had me side-lined this year so I didn't run it. I kept my eye out for the kid in the stroke-survivor shirt, but I didn't see him. I missed the bagpipe player because he was out on the course and not at the park. And even though I tweeted that I wanted to meet Randy Seevers and I hoped I'd get to, I didn't.<br />
<br />
What I did get was a chance to express, however briefly, what Rhett Seevers and his story meant to me to someone there. And it really means so much. As bereaved parents, its hard for us to find a place to put our energy and emotions that had pretty much been given fully to the children we cared about. But the Seevers created this race and their foundation to have a place to put all of that, as a way to remember Rhett and all the gifts he gave them and so my family and I make the hour and a half trek every year to remember Rhett and to remember our own son and to honor the journey he took us and is still taking us on.<br />
<br />
One of these days I will meet the Seevers and I'll shake their hands and tell them how important this all is to me. But right now I'll work on getting injury free and getting race ready for next year so I can hear the bagpipes play and brighten up my day. To the organizers of the event, thanks for a great day and all the great days your race provides.<br />
<br />
<br />The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-61140775438042940612014-10-31T11:57:00.000-07:002014-10-31T11:57:39.344-07:00The Ballad of Halloween Costumes come and gone........or a conversation about my current halloween costume woes.<br />
<br />
"So what are you guys doing for halloween?"<br />
"I don't know and I'm not going to know until my daughter's made a decision."<br />
"Well, what is she dressing as?"<br />
"I don't know and I'm not going to know until she makes a decision."<br />
"What do you mean?"<br />
"I mean I've been the halloween store twice, I've been to Target twice, and we still might have to go back at the eleventh hour just to appease a three year old."<br />
"You can't be serious?"<br />
"Let me tell you the whole story just so I can prove to you how serious I am. The whole month I've spent convincing my daughter she was going to be Merida for halloween and I almost had her convinced, to the point that I bought a bear costume because I was going to be the mother bear to her Merida. Then I got the bear costume."<br />
"And?"<br />
"And she saw it and decided she was going to be a bear for Halloween. No manner of me convincing her otherwise was going to change that. So I decided I'd go the Halloween store and try to find a bear costume and we'd both go as bears. But I made the mistake of taking her to Halloween store, and that's where the whole story really goes wrong."<br />
"How?"<br />
"Well, for it started with her reaction to the store in general. She lit up like Christmas lights and yelled like only a three-year-old in a Halloween store can yell 'Look at all the dress up clothes!' Thus began a thirty-minute crisis of indecision that apparently only a three-year-old can have. She made so many snap decisions I thought her head was going to spin off like the little girl in the exorcist. It kept rocketing back and forth from Elsa to Anna to Tangled to Merida that I couldn't keep up with flights of fancy. I finally convinced her that it should be Merida, because we already had the dress and that's what I wanted her to be all along. I even bought the slippers, the crown and the gloves to complete the look that didn't need to be completed, but if it got us out of the store I was all for it."<br />
"So why is it still a question?"<br />
"Well the next day happened and instead of Merida she decided she was going to be Cinderella and she would not be deterred. So then we went back to the store, found the Cinderella dress but then the whole head turning happened again and then she decided she wanted to be the girl from Tangled. So we bought that outfit."<br />
"So a decision's been made."<br />
"No, now we're just getting to the good part. This morning she wakes up and says she's going to be cinderella, again, even though we didn't buy the dress, and we're still in part trying to convince her to be Rapunzal from Tangled, or Merida or Elsa or one of the millions of costumes we already have for her, but SHE WILL NOT BE SWAYED AGAIN. So then my husband does a last second hell-mary pass and says he'll dress up as Cinderella for halloween if she'll just stick with going as the character from Tangled."<br />
"He did what?"<br />
"I know. We're not to the kicker yet. She went into my closet and started pulling out outfits for my husband's Cinderella look."<br />
"You're kidding."<br />
"Do I sound as if this is something I could make up? Apparently, just to get my daughter out the door this morning, my husband has promised to take her back to the store to purchase a Cinderella wig for himself just to appease her. So like I said before, I have no idea what's going to happen tonight until it happens. If we dress up as the mother bear from Brave, a man in Cinderella drag and the girl in Tangled, and you get pictures of us on your phone as such, just know it was because of a very adamant three-year-old who would not could not be swayed."<br />
<br />
The following conversation is either a real conversation I had about how my Halloween is going so far to my mother of all people or a sketch just rife for a Robot Chicken send-up. I'll let you be the judge. The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-73618156929438992372014-09-19T11:05:00.001-07:002014-09-19T11:06:50.814-07:00Review: Red Band Society Pilot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/sites/default/files/imagecache/thumbnail_570x321/2014/05/Red_Band_Society_a_l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/sites/default/files/imagecache/thumbnail_570x321/2014/05/Red_Band_Society_a_l.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
I get that I'm, what, three days late with this one and you've probably read every review you were gonna read on <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3576794/fullcredits?ref_=tt_cl_sm#cast">this show</a> anyway, but now that I've watched the thing a bunch of times (....yes, like four times now. Shut up.), I feel like I still have things to say, naggy things that won't leave me alone.<br />
<br />
And let me just say that I like it before I get into the nit-picking. There aren't enough disabled characters that are nuanced and not just there to make the main character feel better about himself. And although I'm a little upset that actual actors with disabilities are not playing these characters, (representation matters!) I'm happy that a story about kids like this is being made at all. And the afflictions really run the gambit. It's not just a "kids with cancer" story. Which it shouldn't be. <br />
<br />
And there really is crack casting all the way through this sucker. Yes, Yes, blah-blah-blah-Octavia Spencer kicking but and taking names-cakes. She is as advertised and she is a perfect composite of hard-assed nurse with a heart of gold that I have ever met, and I've met several. And can I just say how happy I am that Griffin Dunne is slowly morphing into Harry Dean Stanton. Maybe every generation will have a person that slowly morphs into him so that we'll have a Harry Dean Stanton forever. Because he's a national treasure and we need him to live on for the generations (Okay, I have no idea where that came from).<br />
<br />
But there were two pieces of casting that made my girl-of-the-90s heart sing. For starters, Thomas Ian Nicholas.The second I saw him I suddenly reverted to the version of me that saw Rookie of the Year for the first time and swooned, just a little. Although You do not know how hard I laughed when Thomas Ian Nicholas was the guy who bought them all beer. I don't know if it was meant to be some American Pie call-back but I took as such. I also can't wait to see how his role will develop.<br />
<br />
But the absolute best casting was Wilson Cruz. I did not know how much I missed him on my TV until he came back. He is my everything and I will be returning to this show just to make sure he has a job. And yes, I could count the number of lines he had in this episode on both my hands. But with Wilson Cruz even small amounts is awesome Wilson Cruz.<br />
<br />
But there's a lot of incongruities that just didn't track for me in the pilot. And I'm not saying a TV show is going to get every beat right when it comes to hospital life, but there's so much that it got wrong that it just bugged. There's so much that bugged that I'm not even sure where to start. I could go with Leo's eyebrows and how disconcerting it is that a kid on active chemo who lost all his hair could still have bushy eyebrows that are subscribing to some sort of 'Peter Gallagher Eyebrows of awesomess' regimen for some reason. Why couldn't they just go all the way with it? Cancer patients lose or thin out their eyebrows too. Why can't you show that?<br />
<br />
And the sped up timeline with which everything took place bugged me too. Are you telling me that within the course, of what, a few hours Kara would just get a room? And by the end of the same day they have a diagnosis for her? Just like that? "Oh did the EKG, MRI, ultrasound and nuclear test all in the same day and we got these results. Wow, we're efficient." Yeah, like that happens. Honestly, I would've loved to seen her driven crazy by the the hurry-up and wait of the ER. She would've tried to eviscerate someone there. And the other thing about Kara is that the doctor and parents just talked about Kara's condition in the middle of the foyer so that she could overhear. Blah-blah-blah-HPAA-privacy-regulations-blah, more blah-blah-blah about Every hospital's patient's bill of rights is different but there is generally a clause that the patient has a right to know everything about their diagnosis and treatment. And I know these sort of hallway conversations do happen all the time, but it just felt like a plot point and not what would really happen.<br />
<br />
And the less said about Jordi being admitted to the hospital and going into surgery the next day. Are you actually telling me that he didn't have to go through a bevy of scans and tests before he gets the magic surgery of life-savingness? Yeah, no can't buy it.<br />
<br />
And, okay last bitch session, so what Leo had one class in the morning but somehow had the rest of the day to find out he was getting a new roommate, get in a lunch with a hypochondriac and take a plastic surgeon's car for a joy ride? Last I checked, classes at a hospital are still pretty regimented and longer-ish? Every high schooler now all the sudden wants to live in a hospital so that they only have to read Henry the V for an hour and can spend the rest of the day doing whatever the hell they want.<br />
<br />
And I know I should shut up and stop bitching about it not hitting every note of real life hospital stays. So I'm gonna stop and say that I co-sign this show because the coma boy used farts as revenge and Dash fakes a wheezing episode and I laughed my ass off at that. It won me over despite it's obvious misrepresentations into parts of hospital life. I'm willing to give this show a solid shot. Grade: A solid B.The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-68979892975959819822014-08-27T07:36:00.000-07:002014-08-27T07:52:34.094-07:00My Birthday Wish<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.georgemark.org/uploads/images/Birthday%20Bug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.georgemark.org/uploads/images/Birthday%20Bug.jpg" height="172" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Another Day, another year older. Oh what joys! Instead of waxing philosophic on another year, I'm just going to reblog the post I did for last year's birthday. <br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
So my birthday's coming up in a week or so (August 27th) and I really
don't have a lot of expectations. Dinner out with Fighting Nun, a good
day out with the whole family, my mom sending me homemade cookies, one
or two small things, nothing big. And that's the way I like it. A fuss
being made over my birthday is old hat and I'm over it.<br />
<br />
But
there's something I'd like you all to do for my birthday if you've read
my blog, or my tweets at all. I think you can probably guess what that
is. <a href="http://www.georgemark.org/index.php">George Mark House</a>
looms and will always loom large in my mind. It's like an old friend
who I forget about for big chunks of time but when I get back in touch, I
fall right into my same rhythms with it.<br />
<br />
I've <a href="http://bloodymunchkin.blogspot.com/2010/08/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-x-none.html">done fundraisers</a>
and little things for them in the past with varying results and because
I haven't had much time to organize myself, this one will be small and
will probably have the same results. But I'd like to try and send them
as much love (and money) as possible. I still have a <a href="http://bloodymunchkin.blogspot.com/2010/08/piggy-bank-prizing-and-administration.html">small bevy of bracelets</a>
I made for the last fundraiser. On a first come first serve basis, I'll
give those bracelets to the first five people who donate to George Mark
House between now and my birthday. As always, if you've been saving up
loose change for a rainy day, cash it in and send it. And if you do, let
me know and I will parade you with as much gratitude as I have. <br />
<br />
Just
donate to George Mark House using their page, send me an email receipt (
tyliagardner @ hotmail (dot) com ) and where you'd like the bracelet
sent to or or DM me on twitter with the information and boom, we're in
business. Don't feel like donating, especially if you're not one of the
first five, but you'd still like to donate? No problem. Just tweet, or
social media a link to George Mark House and you can have my blog for a
full day. Want to promote your book , your blog, want to force my blog
to post silly cat videos for a whole day? I will hand you the keys to
castle if you give George Mark some love between now and my birthday.
Seriously, any bit of love you can provide to George Mark house is
enough and will garner you my love and and respect for the end of days.
It's not only appreciated by me but George Mark House as well. Not
enough people know what they do and how important they are to special
needs and bereaved parents like myself.<br />
<br />
They just
recently had to stop their bereaved parent meetings, much to the chagrin
of myself and parents like me. Tell them that their services and their
support of my family and families like me is appreciated by throwing
them a bone and some love, however small.<br />
<br />
<i>[Ed. Note:
I've decided to extend my Birthday Challenge until the end of August,
you have until 12:00AM August 31st to win loot or space on my blog!]</i> <br />
<br /></blockquote>
I'm not doing a fundraiser this year. I 'd like to save that for Ukiah's
birthday, but If you do chose to donate a little bit of money to <a href="http://www.georgemark.org/">George Mark House</a>
between now and their annual gala and tell me about it, I still have
some bracelets and some jewelry lying around that I'll gladly send you
or I'll make you something special! But mostly I want their message and
what they do spread out to the world. If you can, tweet about it, put a link and their banner on your own blog, put it on tumblr. I don't care, just get the message out. I won't hand over the keys to my
blog this time, but I will keep the karma rolling and tweet anything you
want out to the world. On my birthday all I want is for George Mark
House to shine and the message of what they do to reach as many people as possible. Thank you. The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-76807486627570171022014-08-08T10:37:00.000-07:002014-08-08T11:33:43.071-07:00My #PitchWars Bio<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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What should I say about me that hasn’t been said already? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a bad picture taker (<a href="http://bloodymunchkin.blogspot.com/2014/07/an-obligatory-pictures-post.html">you knew that</a>). I
frequently ramble about <a href="http://bloodymunchkin.blogspot.com/2014/06/random-conversations-about-our.html">nonsensical</a> and pop-culture things (you knew that too, just
check my archives). I’m frequently sleep deprived and someone is <a href="http://bloodymunchkin.blogspot.com/search/label/dreams">ALWAYS interrupting my dreams</a> (I still haven’t reached the exciting conclusion to my
<a href="http://bloodymunchkin.blogspot.com/2013/01/stop-interrupting-my-dreams.html">Logan Marshall Green Vs. a Viking </a>dream. Come back dream, come back!)</div>
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<br /></div>
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A thing that you probably don’t know about me. I wrote a
book that I’d really (really, really) like to get published, which is why I’m
trying this #PitchWars thing out. A thing you should know about me is what
inspired the story and what my going motivation is for getting it published and
out into the world. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Well, there are two motivations really.<a href="http://bloodymunchkin.blogspot.com/search/label/my%20son"> The first is my son</a>.
He was born on April 15th, 2008. He died, in our arms, at home April 5th, 2010. He’s the inspiration behind the story. I saw him and so many kids like
him in the NICU just like him fight invisible monsters on a continual basis. I
saw all these incredible little differences in all these incredible babies and
they changed me. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I’m not just a mom, I’m a full-fledged momma bear with the
world’s sharpest claws and the fiercest love. I’m not just a momma bear to my
two kids but to all the kids. And I mean all of the kids. I don’t care if you’re
a grown-ass adult with your own mortgage and your own kids. If you want a
mother to utter the words “I love you” just so you feel some motherly love in
your life, well I’m the person for the job. Need some right now? Fine. I love
you! Need a little more? Okay. I love you. Done. My son taught me that we all
have an infinite bottomless well of love to give. I not tap into mine and give
out freely. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I’m also a mom that loves freely and openly and most
importantly, happily. I know how to laugh and enjoy things things with an open
heart in ways I could have never imagined. My daughter taught me how to do that
because she is not afraid to be who she is. That’s a hard lesson I’m trying to
learn.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It means I have to not be afraid to be who I am and go after
the things I want, and that’s to be writer and to share my son’s story and the
journey he took us all on and sharing how he continues to affect my life.<br />
<br />
So, enough about me. What about the book? The book is called The Broken and I've been known to say that it's part sci-fi (although paranormal or magical realism might be more apt), part auto-biography. It's YA because I'm targeting kids who were in my son's same position. All of my son's victories and a lot of his defeats are in the pages of this book. It's about growing up to find out you are a lot stronger than you think you are, that you're not just a diagnosis or a disability or all of the unkind things the people around you say that you are. It's about finding a voice and finding out that its strong.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I look forward to meeting all the mentors and fellow writers
and everyone whose embarking on this year’s #PitchWars journey.</div>
The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-31917974556358243802014-07-31T11:39:00.004-07:002014-07-31T11:39:45.414-07:00An Obligatory Pictures PostPictures came up in conversation the other day with some of my twitter friends (Laura Zera and Lorna Suzuki to be exact) and I mentioned I haven't tried to take a selfie yet because I take horrible enough pictures WITHOUT being my own photographer. I'd just make it worse by being the photographer. They'd be horrible. They'd be so bad they'd rend a whole in the fabric of space time.<br />
<br />
Well Lorna doesn't believe me, so I thought I'd provide proof.<br />
<br />
I don't take good pictures. And I mean that in every sense of the phrase. I suck at being a photographer. When I'm taking pictures of my daughter for any given length of time, I always find I delete about half of them for blurriness or she looked down too fast or any number of reasons. It's not a skill with which I am very adept.<br />
<br />
I also suck at getting my picture taken. Like really suck at it. Like I've had my husband almost turn to drugs and alcohol in order to get through a picture taking section. It's not good. <br />
<br />
Here's what happens on any particular picture taking escapade. When I'm asked to smile, I immediately start to over-compensate and I unhinge my jaw like I'm a boa constrictor about to devour an entire bird. My husband calls this phenomena Pterodactyl-ing it, and it happens, oh about every third picture I take. So then I over-compensate for THAT by barely smiling with my mouth and then trying to smize (Smiling with my eyes. Thanks Tyra Banks.) but I always take that too far and going into to what I call Manson-lamps territory. My eyes are big and they are scary. The third picture I usually get distracted by my daughter or something out of range and I'm not even looking at the camera at all. Wash, rinse, repeat. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbyQncqrp78-B2xxtaDWBlC07zdKpiUBzlPaW5A9d74plrzJkLWBQGjQPAzNcxQkvpVZSjLTsZOilmIj14ffmwBAtAcXrhSTFGJMtx1YGsn1Vf27h6yuJj4VeNzXacwIV52mUpTg/s1600/IMG_2254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbyQncqrp78-B2xxtaDWBlC07zdKpiUBzlPaW5A9d74plrzJkLWBQGjQPAzNcxQkvpVZSjLTsZOilmIj14ffmwBAtAcXrhSTFGJMtx1YGsn1Vf27h6yuJj4VeNzXacwIV52mUpTg/s1600/IMG_2254.JPG" height="200" width="141" /></a>That happens just about every time I try to take a picture. It's not a full ten on the pterodactyl scale. Probably a six, but it still ain't good. This includes bonus 'baby ain't look at the camera action' as well as 'welcome to fly-away city population pterodactyl. I mean, what was my hair doing. "Alright she's distracted. A strand of us will make a break for it. We'll call you from the outside. Godspeed." Both of those things only add to the picture-take problems. We've only on the rarest of occasions both been facing a camera with decent looks on our faces with my hair deciding to play nice. It's just not good.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi86qlS534VsQATdujWPTAjYPCdeEstTgzAPH5W-9GEbwSJVbwcltiqE1mkgnnzy9GOxV3vppZyei3LiCPGgvh-W_0EimZQEqiTS-UOCJmPfneD8xjSaRavhNx2Ls9ToWohgf5bkw/s1600/IMG_2256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi86qlS534VsQATdujWPTAjYPCdeEstTgzAPH5W-9GEbwSJVbwcltiqE1mkgnnzy9GOxV3vppZyei3LiCPGgvh-W_0EimZQEqiTS-UOCJmPfneD8xjSaRavhNx2Ls9ToWohgf5bkw/s1600/IMG_2256.JPG" height="200" width="116" /></a></div>
And then you have the terror that is the Manson-lamps phenomena which makes my pterodactyl face look like an exercise in restraint. The very next picture that got snapped was this one. See what I mean? I brought the teeth down but all the manic energy residing in my mouth agape smile when straight to my eyes. I look like one of the creepy men from that episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer where nobody can talk and those guys come at you all eyes and smiles, very happy to perpetrate the horrors they are about to administer on your bodily person. Even my daughter was giving the camera a 'I don't know about this person' look.<br />
<br />
But the bunny ears were adorable. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFuUZwN0nd-Iwti60re3SpMyvIG37tqYH090-iygmDvfxbRN27a2yv8826-zEc1vTjN7s-qPg3tgmLoq_pQMBbbNWM3jOZwvYq3S4gI6hpX0Nqjr0axU6QvahIMJqXyC7yLC9fg/s1600/tylia-Profile_pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFuUZwN0nd-Iwti60re3SpMyvIG37tqYH090-iygmDvfxbRN27a2yv8826-zEc1vTjN7s-qPg3tgmLoq_pQMBbbNWM3jOZwvYq3S4gI6hpX0Nqjr0axU6QvahIMJqXyC7yLC9fg/s1600/tylia-Profile_pic.jpg" height="200" width="183" /></a><br />
That's not to say that taking a good picture is not a quality which I possess. Once in blue moon I'm capable of not unhinging my jaw, not giving off manson-lamps and looking at the camera in one foul swoop. I mean, look at this picture. I look normal! Put together even. It's miraculous when it happens, let me tell you. The sun rays peak out from the clouds and the gates of heaven open. It's an awesome thing. But these pictures are few and far between. I mean this picture? Taken last year, by a professional photographer who had to coax that smile out of me slowly. It's a process to get me to take a good picture is what I'm saying, a long drawn out process requiring copious amounts of patience, or barring that, copious amounts of alcohol.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfaEGSLtbrHO3RckCKMgoT80BbQKZoiStF_h7nFz0vLzTYbBIcay3ysJHkeL7nkaiP6a85XAXujoRtu1axSeZu1vOeW6PR3ZTegaDTgQLlofyncVxMXcQsL_K0UIYB_aJBma4XWw/s1600/Photo_w_Santa_2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfaEGSLtbrHO3RckCKMgoT80BbQKZoiStF_h7nFz0vLzTYbBIcay3ysJHkeL7nkaiP6a85XAXujoRtu1axSeZu1vOeW6PR3ZTegaDTgQLlofyncVxMXcQsL_K0UIYB_aJBma4XWw/s1600/Photo_w_Santa_2013.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a>9 times out of ten I look constipated or surprised. Sometimes it's a combination of the two. (Actually, in this photo I'd say it's more of a combination of scared and constipated, or scared I'm not going to be constipated for much longer. I'll let you be the judge. )<br />
<br />
Now I could delve deeper in the horrors that is my personal photo collection. But I think you should just take my word for it here on out, and if you ever do take my picture, brace yourself for the horrors that await you on the other side.<br />
<br />
..... I'm sorry.<br />
<br />
<br />The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-57166745734983050892014-06-30T09:51:00.001-07:002014-06-30T09:51:42.398-07:00Random Conversations about our Daughter's Television ProgrammingBloody Munchkin: The thing I don't get about the <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1833403/?ref_=nv_sr_1">Jake and the Neverland Pirates</a>
besides 'Jake where are your parents!?!?!' is that the help out Captain
Hook sometimes even though Captain Hook is evil kinda? And he sometimes
comes up with crazy schemes to try and get treasure but then these kids
are collecting gold doubloons for their treasure, which how does
Captain Hook not see that these kids are picking gold out of the air
first off. And second off if he's so damned treasure happy why doesn't
he just follow the kids back to their secret island and steal their
treasure and get on with his damn life? I don't understand.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/Kk1dMCAeDcw/0.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/Kk1dMCAeDcw/0.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>Fighting Nun [waits a beat]: I think you are over-thinking a kid's show. <br />
<br />
Bloody Munchkin: Says the guy who basically crafted fan-fiction regarding the crab with the wooden pincer on<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2948562/?ref_=nv_sr_2"> Tumble Leaf</a>
on this entire crab's back-story regarding how he lost the limb and
then regained the mechanical one, which if memory serves involved combat
and a lost love.<br />
<br />
Fighting Nun: But that was awesome and dark and compelling!<br />
<br />
This conversation has been brought to you by our daughter's programming and the fact that we have no life.The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-13107766493586434402014-06-13T09:23:00.003-07:002014-06-13T11:09:58.810-07:00Book Review: Shaken<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I’ve been wracking my brain as to what to say about Susan
Hatler’s <a href="http://smile.amazon.com/Shaken-Mind-Reader-Susan-Hatler-ebook/dp/B0075GM0P0/ref=sr_1_16?ie=UTF8&qid=1402676174&sr=8-16&keywords=susan+hatler">Shaken</a>: Book One in the Mind Reader Series. There’s so much I can say,
want to say that it’s hard to know where to start. Let me start with the fact
that it’s a perfect YA book. I’d also like to say that I love this book so
much, I’m jealous I didn’t write it. It’s a fun thrill ride that I couldn’t put
down and was so good that I had to run to Amazon to see what else in the series
I could buy (nothing right now, as it turns out, which Boo! Dear Susan Hatler;
Please write faster. If you ever show up to my Starbuck’s again to write a few
chapters regarding this series, I’ll happily cheer you on and encourage you to
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Kylie Bates is a smart, driven 16 year-old who is great at
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of journaling her dead mother, making sure her 4.0 GPA doesn’t dip and trying
desperately to not be a spaz around her current crush. Until she finds out she
can read minds. Things take a turn for the weird when she realizes she can see
people’s thoughts by touching their hands. Things take a turn for the dangerous
when her father asks her to use her new abilities to help find a missing girl.
The very same people who kidnapped the girl may be the ones looking for her. </div>
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With the help of Trip, a determined 17 year-old from her
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her.</div>
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This book is a thrill ride that explores the tricky
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Let me just say that not since, I dunno, Mr. Rochester have
I had such a strong crush on a literary character. Trip is like <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0204946/?ref_=nv_sr_1">Cliff Pantone</a> mixed with Christian Slater’s character from Gleaming the Cube. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s layered and complex for a 17 year-old and determined in ways most love
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This is a really fun book and well worth a pick up. A+</div>
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<br /></div>
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The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-53170881105066803432014-06-03T15:39:00.002-07:002014-06-03T15:40:11.713-07:00Book Review: Love at First Date<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
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<a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/81Ch2VP2+fL._SL1500_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/81Ch2VP2+fL._SL1500_.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a>I’m not sure this actually counts as a book review since
<b>Love at First Date </b>feels more novella length than anything and it was such a
breezy read, but since I’m still on the hook for my May book review, here goes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Love-First-Date-Better-Never-ebook/dp/B009ZOZR0A/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1401834958&sr=1-1&keywords=love+at+first+date">Love at First Date </a>follows Ellen, a customer support representative trying to find love
in Sacramento but in the most regimented of ways, using a detailed dating
service. It’s not until she starts finally going out on dates with the people
she’s met through her profile that she meets her real match blindly through
some twist of luck (or if you’d rather, a dog she’s watching and a clogged hair
brush).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Henry,
the man who helps save her best friend’s dog and whose eyes she can’t stop
looking into is all she can think about. Although she wishes she could stop.
She tries busying herself with men she’s met from her dating profile because
she’s convinced they meet her compatibility markers and if there’s one thing
she’s learned from her mother, it’s that marriages don’t work without finding
common ground.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Love at
First Date is an enjoyable bit of fluff and a very quick read, but it isn’t all
fluff. This book has a lot on its mind, or rather, the protagonist has a lot on
hers, like how she’s supposed to make it work with a man when her mother, who
was married twice before and couldn’t even make it work with Ellen’s birth
father long enough to get married. Can she really find what and who she wants
when she sees all of her mother’s old mistakes? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There’s
a lot of interpersonal relationships at play here too. Can she find love, be
allowed to find it, when her friends have interpersonal lives falling apart?
Will there meddling help or hurt? And can Ellen finally get out of her own way
to see what’s in front of her?</div>
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I not
only enjoyed reading how all those questions got answered, but how they were
posed in the first place. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Susan-Hatler/e/B004NQS8GA/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">Susan Hatler </a>does a great job of really getting you
right in the character’s head, showing you exactly what makes her tick and just
what kind of neuroses are really at play. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Love At
First Date is an enjoyable fast-paced read and well worth your time. It’s an A.</div>
The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-14376947685753428252014-04-21T13:40:00.000-07:002014-04-21T13:43:22.398-07:00Piggy Banks for George Mark House Special ThanksWell, April's here. April 5th came. Then April 15th and I survived them both. Truth be told, with a company meeting in the middle of those days as well as a visit from my parents and my daughter being my daughter (Read: Busy, really, really, really, busy) I didn't have much time to dwell.<br />
<br />
Keeping my mind on George Mark House and trying to help them to the best of my ability kept me going when the quiet moments threatened to make me fall apart. If you participated by tweeting, I thank you sincerely. Special thanks go to the ever amazing Eden Baylee, Steven Luna, and Laura Zera, who are worth their weight in gold. <br />
<br />
I'm trying to complete my nav bar with special thanks to all those that helped. It meant so much to me and I sincerely need you to know that. I'll keep the special thanks section open until the end of the month, in appreciation for spreading the word for George Mark House and the good that they do.<br />
<br />
In other news, I made Ukiah a piggy bank. Well, I painted a ceramic bank that I'll set aside especially for Ukiah. It's not a piggy bank as his last one was. It's a ducky and it is much small than his original bank, but it has his name on it and it has blue eyes, like Ukiah did. It also has some special touches his sister put on it just for him.<br />
<br />
It will be about three or four more days until I can pick it up and see our handiwork but I think it's a good way to keep him close. <br />
<br />
Until the next time I do this, please keep Ukiah and his story with you and think of the good you've done in helping George Mark House stay afloat. Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-1158607834535533382014-04-17T11:01:00.000-07:002014-04-17T11:01:04.967-07:00Book Review: Gone with the Wolf<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://caribbeanaccentbookreviews.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/Gone-with-the-Wolf-cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://caribbeanaccentbookreviews.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/Gone-with-the-Wolf-cover.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
Okay, before I get started with this review proper, you need to know that I once met <a href="https://twitter.com/KM_Miller">Kristin Miller</a> and she was as generous and friendly as anyone I've ever met. She was at a coffee shop trying to type a few pages out on deadline and she still took five minutes to talk to me. I became a fan of the person before I even became a fan of the author.<br />
<br />
The second thing you need to know is that this book fit every one of my pleasure centers from the get-go. It involved werewolves for chrissakes! That's all I needed to dive in whole-hog.<br />
<br />
Based on all that, I'm not sure how unbiased I'm capable of being regarding this book, but I'll give it a try. The book centers on Emelia, a bar-owner and temp employee at Wilder Financial who wants some answers regarding the deed to her bar that ended up in the hands of the CEO of Wilder Financial, and Drake Wilder, the head of Wilder financial who is also a three-hundred-year-old alpha werewolf.<br />
<br />
The two meet at the very beginning and sparks fly. Only for Drake the meeting means so much more. Emelia turns out to be Drake's luminary, the life-partner and soul mate he was destined to meet. It becomes extremely tricky, bringing her into his world. For one, she doesn't know that he is the CEO who has the fate of her bar the Knight Owl in his hands. And for another, Drake has a twin brother who wants to be Alpha hell-bent on Drake's destruction and Emelia is the chess piece he needs to win control.<br />
<br />
Some of the plot lines feel a little worn here (I mean, I'm sorry, but an evil twin?) but the book makes it very clear that it's not really about the plot. It's about establishing the romantic chemistry between the two leads and let's be honest, it's about the sizzling sex scenes. To which I say, that's how it should be, because those pieces are top notch work. The way the two leads play off of each other, the different ways in which the fit and then bristle against each other is what really works.<br />
<br />
It's a really quick read. I started reading it while I had a plane to catch and finished it the next day. For the record, I don't recommend reading this in a crowded place. I think I flushed red twice during my plane trip. This is definitely a read while you're at home, alone, with the doors locked kind of a book.<br />
<br />
If you're looking for a fun, quick romantic read, this should be right up your alley. B+. Good stuff. The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-55185872502358533062014-04-16T12:14:00.001-07:002014-04-16T14:06:03.696-07:00April 15th 2014She made cupcakes. <br />
<br />
There was something about that act that surprised me. Not the act necessarily. I mean my mom will bake for any given reason. And she desperately wanted some bonding time with my daughter and cupcakes seemed like the way to do that.<br />
<br />
It's just the day she picked to make them. April 15th, his birthday.<br />
<br />
She had a valid reason. It was his birthday after all. Just because he wasn't here to enjoy it didn't mean it wasn't worth celebrating with cupcakes.<br />
<br />
I'd never thought of it that way. Could never have thought of it that way before. There was too much heartache there to celebrate with freshly baked sweet foodstuffs. But that simple act made that day something else.<br />
<br />
We took most of the cupcakes to George Mark House. I dropped them off at the Nurse's station, because I felt they'd get the most out of it and are the most deserving. It's their heart and devotion to the patients of George Mark house that keep the place going. I'm hoping my favorite nurse was working the PM shift last night and that he got to have a cupcake and it made him smile.<br />
<br />
We also took a few other things to George Mark House. My mother made a quilt for them. She makes one per year for the house. Sometimes it gets auctioned off at their annual fall gala. Other times the house actually uses it. They have two apartments that families can live in while their child stays at George Mark House and once they put one of my mother's quilts in the apartment bedroom, a thought that still makes me smile.<br />
<br />
We also dropped off a Safeway gift card of $100. That was the money from Ukiah's Piggy Bank plus a little extra. That's a $100 dollars of overhead they don't need to think about any more. Ukiah's piggy bank did that.<br />
<br />
It's not much. I was once told it takes $700 per day per child to run George Mark House. If you round that up due to inflation and say it's $1000, it doesn't do hardly enough, but it is something. And I consider all the incredible tweets and awareness raising my friends online helped me do this year a lot of something. And I thank you deep down from the bottom of my heart.<br />
<br />
Thanks to you, more people know about George Mark House and the good they do. Thanks to you, more people know about my son Ukiah and the legacy he's left in his stead. And that's huge! I'll be updating my list of supporters, all those of you who tweeted and retweeted soon to show my appreciation for what you did. <br />
<br />
April 5th and 15th weren't easy days. They never are or are going to be, but thanks to you, and the good you did, the were better. So much better.<br />
<br />
The cupcakes helped. Cupcakes help everything. <br />
<br />The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-28135004685989247592014-04-07T11:21:00.000-07:002014-04-07T11:29:47.889-07:00April 5th 2014We tried not to think about it too much.<br />
<br />
There was too much to do anyway. With a two year old who we're constantly keeping track of, there's always too much to do. There was grocery shopping to do, a birthday party to get ready for, laundry. There's always laundry.<br />
<br />
It wasn't until we left the birthday party and we wound our way to<a href="http://www.georgemark.org/"> George Mark House</a> that I let myself feel it. Four years ago on April 5th, our son died in our arms. It wasn't about to let me go so easily. <br />
<br />
We went to the rock fountain where my daughter had a snack and we watched a bird bathe itself. We went to his tile, visited his rock at the staff fountain by the chapel. We wound our way around the grounds and went to the playground so our daughter could play. <br />
<br />
Everything was very quiet, very peaceful. We didn't stay for too long. I signed us in at the nurse's station and back out again. I only saw one face that a I recognized and I'm not sure she recognized me.<br />
<br />
My daughter didn't want to leave. She never wants to leave. She loves it there.<br />
<br />
As we made our way out, she cried and moaned "Bro Bro Rock" "Bro Bro Place". I cried for a bit. I'm not sure why that triggered it, but it did. I don't always know what she understands about her brother. I think she knows she has a brother and he's not around. I think she knows that there are certain toys, cloths, blankets that are his, even though he isn't here any more. She gets a little mad when she sees toys in the hallway cabinet, that are kept and not played with. Everything should be played with after all.<br />
<br />
Her 'Bro Bro shirt' is her favorite clothing item. It's got a small outline picture of him on it. She points to it and says Bro Bro. There's certain things she knows and understands about it. How much she grasps, I'm not sure.<br />
<br />
Ukiah is just going to play a part in all of our lives in ways big and small for the rest of our lives, hers especially I think.<br />
<br />
After George Mark House we went to <a href="http://www.lanesplitterpizza.com/">Lanesplitter</a>, partly as an homage to our son and partly because it's been years since I've had a slice of their pizza and I needed it, like NEEDED it. I'm going to quantifiably say this; Best thin slice, neigh, best slice of pizza pretty much anywhere. Yeah I said it.<br />
<br />
(Dear Lanesplitters, please open a restaurant in the tri-valley. It doesn't have to be in Livermore, which would be nice, but it doesn't have to be here. Pleasanton, Dublin, San Ramon. I just want to be able to get to it in twenty minute drive, instead of an hour. An hour is almost too long to drive for pizza. I will continue to drive to Temescal for your pizza if I have to, but I NEED it closer. Please.)<br />
<br />
It was bittersweet, being in the restaurant where we'd go many a day to decompress after many a hospital visit. It was our little retreat, a six block walk to 15'' Carnivore and a cold pint. It was the place where we could reflect and figure out a plan of attack. It was a place where we could be ourselves after a long day at the hospital. <br />
<br />
It is now the place where our daughter dumped about half a canister of Parmesan on the floor (sorry). Old memories and new memories.<br />
<br />
Once we got home, I didn't think much more about the day, what it meant, the grief. After all, there was too much to do. <br />
<br />
(Please consider making a donation to George Mark house between now and April 15th. You'll be supporting a wonderful organization and getting some of handmade jewelry in the process. See my <a href="http://bloodymunchkin.blogspot.com/2014/03/ukiahs-piggy-bank-and-george-mark.html">fundraising post</a> for more information.) The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-11554997713524328892014-03-31T09:10:00.000-07:002014-04-01T08:18:35.122-07:00Ukiah's Piggy Bank and a George Mark Fundraiser<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So the piggy bank broke Friday. <a href="http://bloodymunchkin.blogspot.com/2010/08/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-x-none.html">The Piggy Bank</a>. The little
piggy that went to the market and provided George Mark house with a day of care
for one lucky child. Ukiah’s Piggy Bank. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wasn’t in the room when it happened. My husband was doing
what he usually does when being in a room for longer than fifteen minutes; he
was rearranging it to make it perfect. He’d moved a furniture item and the shelf
on which the piggy bank was perched fell and the piggy bank broke into a million ceramic
pieces. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I got upstairs to witness the scene, my heart broke
into a million pieces along with it. I was absolutely bereft, although I didn’t
show it. I shed a few stray tears, but I didn’t have time for much else. My
daughter was in the room with my husband when it happened and we needed to
wrangle her away from the debris. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We spent a good amount of time scooping up all the loose
change, change I hadn’t cashed in since the last <a href="http://bloodymunchkin.blogspot.com/2010/08/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-x-none.html">Piggy Banks for George Mark</a>
fundraiser. We had it to put all of it somewhere. I brought out two smallish
tins, thinking it would be enough, but instead we ended up using a fairly big
plastic bin. Close to five years of putting in all our spare change, two years
of the little munchkin having to share change with her brother coin per coin netted a
nice little collection. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
April 5<sup>th</sup> is almost around the corner. April 15<sup>th</sup>
too. Those two days and the eight days in the middle are always the roughest
for me. I had planned a bunch of distractions to keep me occupied around those
dates, so I don’t feel the lingering, the weight, the pain. But they’ve mostly
fallen through. I was supposed to run a 5k on April 5<sup>th</sup>, but that
got cancelled. I’ve got a work trip smack in the middle of these dates, but I’m
not sure it’ll be distracting enough. My parents are coming and will be here on
the 15<sup>th</sup>, but I’m not sure how that will go. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I do know that on either or on both days I’ll be going
to<a href="http://www.georgemark.org/"> George Mark House</a> and cashing in the nice little chunk of change we’d saved
up in Ukiah's piggy bank. Maybe I’ll use a portion of it to buy Ukiah another piggy bank, so it’s
always there, a fixture in our house and in our lives. He deserves that legacy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'll do what I did for my birthday. I still have a few more U Hope bracelets to give away. The first four people who donates to George Mark and sends me an receipt of their donation via email will receive a bracelet. Anybody else who donates and sends me a receipt will receive a special jewelry or bead gift (your choice). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you do donate, please tell them its in memory of Ukiah Gardner. They'll know exactly who you are talking about. They always do.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And if you can't donate, don't worry about it. Spread the word. Tweet about George Mark House (Use the #Supportgmch hashtag and if you want, tag @gmch in the tweet), Facebook it (Send me a link via twitter or email), or use any form of social media you want just to let people know George Mark House exists and the incredible work they do. Do that and forward it to me and I'll give you free space on my blog. This means a blog post or as many blog posts as you want, space on my sidebar, whatever space you'd like to have. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Ukiah's never very far from my thoughts. Doing this means means he's in yours and that makes a world of difference to me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19360846.post-88326556512505436262014-03-28T15:27:00.002-07:002014-03-28T15:27:49.697-07:00Book Review: Spring Into SummerBefore I get into this book review, I must confess two things; one is that this book is written by someone I have a certain of level of online friendship with and level of affinity for. In other words, the author <a href="http://edenbaylee.com/">Eden Baylee </a>is just tops in my book, but I'll still try to review her book as unbiasedly as I can. The second thing is that I don't have too much familiarity with the erotic fiction. I've read fiction that was erotic in its own right, but wasn't marketed as erotic. But I know what I like and and I know what works for me.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://chazzwrites.files.wordpress.com/2012/08/sintos_final.jpg?w=200&h=300" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://chazzwrites.files.wordpress.com/2012/08/sintos_final.jpg?w=200&h=300" /></a></div>
And <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Spring-into-Summer-Eden-Baylee-ebook/dp/B008IJ4BNM/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1396045551&sr=1-1&keywords=spring+into+summer+eden+baylee">Spring into Summer</a> did just that. The novel is comprised of four separate stories, two set in the spring and two set in the summer. While seemingly disparate stories, they interconnect with ideas of love and the main characters' sexuality blooming and blossoming in ways none of them had imagined.<br />
<br />
In <b>A Season for Everything</b>, the first story in the book, we meet Claire, listless 20 something trying to find footing in life who ends up with a friend in London. From there, she soons finds and falls in love with an older man who reveals he's dying. He instills in her a love of poetry and music and art and above all else a love for The Spring and the magic it can bring.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Unlocking the Mystery </b>tells the story of an introverted real estate agent named Evelyn who hides behind her work and doesn't have much of a social life. She moves into a big secluded house and gets more than she bargained for when she finds a key in the house. When she asked a neighbor about it, she's presented with a box the key unlocks and finds herself immersed in letters from her former house owner's pen pal/lover in Ireland. When she finds a stamped envelope back to the man, she plots a journey to give him the woman's last letter to him.<br />
<br />
<b>Summer Solstice</b> tells the story of Ava, a woman who was dumped at the alter a year ago and who was trying to piece herself back together. She's invited to a Summer Solstice party that turns into more, much more than she bargained for.<br />
<br />
<b>The Lottery</b> tells the story Sierra, a young Canadian on a backpacking adventure though Thailand who tries to help out some lovely women she met there by convincing their employer of a gambit that can drive up business and gets way more than she bargained for in the process. <br />
<br />
The stories from the ou<br />
tset are obviously romantic in nature, especially the first two. Claire needs to find herself and finds it in Stephen. Evelyn thinks she knows who she is and through exploring herself and her own desires through reading this other person's letters, she finds out she can be a lot more. The sex, the erotica is there, but it's hidden underneath the build of the story. The interesting part of Unlocking the Mystery is that the erotica involved in this story is written into the letters written by the woman's pen pal/ long distance lover she's never met. It feels passive, buried this way, but it's anything but. <br />
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Where it really gets cooking is in the story <b>Summer Solstice</b>. Of course there's a battered heart at the center, Ava. But it's when she reveals her desires and dreams, first to herself in quite a scene, and then to others at the Summer Solstice party that things really heat up. This was my favorite of the entire collection and wouldn't let me go for a variety of reasons and it's where I can tell the author was having the most fun. And it left me wanting more in a variety of ways (*Spoiler Alert: Where did Keith go? No really, where did he go? He didn't just leave did he? He had to still be there. Were there digits somewhere? Please say he left a number somewhere. Gah! I mean I'm fine with resolved but not resolved endings like that, but they needed to end up together. Eden, you better tell me they end up together in your mind, otherwise I'ma have to write my own fan fiction that unites them because it obviously has to happen, OMG!)<br />
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In <b>The Lottery</b>, Eden takes everything that was boiling over and turns it down to a nice simmer and just lets it bubble for awhile. It was enjoyable and while not as titillating as Summer Solstice, wrapped everything together nicely. <br />
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<br />The Bloody Munchkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01535808304688179383noreply@blogger.com1