Monday, February 25, 2013

Grammy Gives Birth To #4!

After carrying this "baby" for 3 months, and after 8 hours of intense labor, "There's a Baby in Mommy's Belly!" entered the Kindle Store "world" last night at 9:00p.m.EST.  This is my fourth and, no matter what anyone else says,  it doesn't get any easier!  But looking at it now, all of my pain and suffering is completely forgotten and I am so proud.

However, I need to give my thanks to the "fathers" as well.  Yes, I did say fathers.  In this case, there are two.  Derek Bacon, a children's book illustrator among other things, infused life into our creation with his awesome illustrations!  I believe Derek is the world's greatest artist; after all I chose him to be the father for all four of my "babies" didn't I?

Father #2 is J Thorn. J formatted and delivered #4 as well as the other three.  Without his technical expertise, my "babies" would never see the light of day.  But J's contributions don't simply end there.
He takes every opportunity to inject his creative flair throughout the birthing process.  Without his influence, our offspring would be less than perfect.

And finally, the midwife.  Although she prefers to remain anonymous, her meticulous proofreading and editing assure me that any defects it might be afflicted with magically disappear before #4 enters the real world.  I can't imagine going through this gruelling process without her by my side.

Now, for the unveiling! 
Product Details

There's a Baby in Mommy's Belly! (Grammy's Gang Book 4) by Flo Barnett and Derek Bacon (Feb 22, 2013)

Isn't my "baby" adorable?   

Monday, February 18, 2013

Four year old Becomes Mom!

Boy, if a 4 year old became a mom today it would be an over-night news sensation!  Every reporter across the globe would be in hot pursuit to get the first interview and every film maker a signed contract for movie rights.  But after my dad's tragic death, I indeed became a mom to my six year old brother minus labor pains of course. 

Our mother was given $1000. and a job in maintenance as compensation for her loss.  In 1948 that was considered very generous to a grieving widow and her young family.  She would walk out the door for work at 5:30a.m. leaving her two children to fend for themselves until her 4:00p.m.return. Even though we lived in my baba and zedo's house, waking up, dressing, getting breakfast and going to school were our responsibilities.  Rather they were my duties since my brother was totally dependent on me for everything.  I made sure he was up and stayed up.  I buttoned his shirt and tied his shoes.  I got breakfast for both of us.  And got him out the door so he would make it to school on time.

When I entered first grade, the job of mother doubled.  Now, not only did I handle my brother's every need, but had to make sure I was ready for the school day as well.  He and I left the house at 7:00a.m. and walked the half mile to school everyday rain or shine.  Of course we goofed around so a normally 15 minute jaunt would take an additional half hour.  Upon reaching St. Michael's we'd go to morning Mass as any good little Catholic kids were expected to do. 

School started at 9:00a.m. From that moment until 3:00p.m. when the dismissal bell rang, I was just a first grader learning to read "Dick and Jane" and master the art of the Palmer's Writing method.  I recessed with my peers and momentarily left all my cares behind.

But at 3:01p.m. I, like Wonder Woman, was transformed once again into the mom of, by this time, an eight year old clueless boy.  He looked to me for every need to be met, and I was there for him.

If a reporter had interviewed me then, I'm sure my overall response would have been, "Hey, he's not heavy, he's my brother!"

Monday, February 11, 2013

Grammy Bares A Little More!

A few weeks ago, Jeff Rivera, a bestselling author, asked me for an interview about my "Grammy's Gang" series.

Of course I said yes and was very honored for the opportunity.  But I started to wonder why it took 68 years for someone to think that I was interview-worthy.   It caused me to think about my life and whether or not any of it mattered.

I was born at the tail-end of World War II, September 9, 1944 just eleven months before the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, Japan by the U.S.  I made my way into this world in the usual manner traveling traumatically down the birth canal and then being yanked out of my mother by a strange man I had never met.  Since I was born at home, my baba handled the afterbirth duties.  She whisked me off to the kitchen, filled a bowl with warm water, and scrubbed allthat placenta gunk off me. When hearing what she thought was respiratory congestion, she smeared Vicks vaporub under my nose causing me to turn blue and to stop breathing.  Her quick action of slapping me on the back and ass assuredly saved my life.  I think interviewing me at this time would have definitely been in order!

Three and a half years later, one of the most tragic events in my short life happened.  My dad, then a young man of 38 years, was killed in a work-related accident.  He was employed by USSteel as a property supervisor.  While inspecting a 30ft.improperly installed blast furnace door, the hinges gave way and the entire structure crashed to the ground.  Unfortunately my dad couldn't run fast enough and was completed pulverized from the waist down.  He died two days later. In those days the dead were oftentimes laid out at home.  For three days my dad was viewed by hundreds of family members, fellow workers, friends, and a few noseys just wanting to catch a glimpse of a smashed millworker.The wailing and breast-pounding was much more frightening to me than my dad's body lying in the coffin.  Yet nobody tried to explain what had happened and what would happen now let alone ask how I was feeling, or offer some kind of comfort.  Certainly I would have welcomed an interview then from some caring soul if even to just have somebody to talk to.

Well, enough for now.  This Grammy can only bare her soul a little at one time.  But hey, please take the time to read Jeff Rivera's interview concerning my "Grammy's Gang" series.  You'll get an idea of why and how I started a new career at the ripe young age of 68!

Monday, February 4, 2013

Grandparents Not As Important Today

My eye caught a "Dear Annie" letter last week that absolutely floored me!  Grandma was lamenting the fact that one of her college-aged grandchildren was ignoring all of her efforts to keep communications opened between them. Letters, emails, phone calls and a number of carefullly selected gifts, although received, were never acknowledged in any way.  When grandma brought this ignorant behavior to the attention of her daughter, the ingrate's mother, grandma was told that "grandparents are not as important today as they were in the past."  REALLY?

When a grandchild is born, who is it that comes to the aid of the young parents?  Who drops whatever she's doing and spends countless hours changing diapers, preparing formula and bottles, attending to the mother's needs, and most of all walking the floors at all hours of the day and night trying to soothe a colicky baby? Who buys the most beautiful crib where the first-born's sweet dreams take flight? 

And as each grandchild grows, who's there either in body or spirit beaming with pride as each grandchild accomplishes their greatest as well as smallest of goals?

Who is it that will pick up an ailing child from daycare because both parents are working just so they can have all the material junk their peers already have? After all, keeping up with the "Joneses" is more important than spending quality time each day with the children God so graciously blessed them with.

And speaking of dreams, who defers their own retirement plans to embrace the infant that was unfortunate enough to be brought into this world by a irresponsible, selfish crackhead and her equally immature, derelict of a partner? Who spends their Social Security check on shoes and clothes for the grandchildren instead of medicine and other necessities for themselves?

Grandparents are not as important today as they were in the past?  REALLY?