Becoming Bloody Mary| Book Review

Becoming Bloody Mary by [Doyal, Stephanie]

Book Title: Blood Mary (A Short Story)

Author: Stephanie Doyal

Genre: Young Adult Fantasy

My rating: 5 stars

Synopsis & Review

Bloody Mary is set in the 1800 hundreds and starts with couple who has two daughters. One daughter (Mary) has black hair and gray eyes while the other has blonde hair and blue eyes like their parents. Her sister, Elizabeth is favored over Mary by their parents and the community. When Mary goes out, whispers follow her. People suspect that she is not her father’s child based on her appearance.

As they grow up, Mary has great relationship with Elizabeth. In fact, Elizabeth is the only one that sticks up for her. They’ve both reached an age of marrying but it’s only Elizabeth that attracts suitors. However when Mary sets her sights on one man, she falls in love.

This tale isn’t so clear cut as you can see from the title. Mary is betrayed, and her reaction to her family’s actions are worse than anyone can imagine. This is a tale of tragedy.

A quick engaging read. Kept me turning pages. If you’re into short stories then this one is a good read for you.

Happy Reading!

xo Kat

My Poetry Story & a Poem for my Preschooler

When I started writing, I began with poetry. I felt things so deeply as a child, teenager and the words would roll off my fingertips in the most expressive way ever. It remains one of the best ways that I could create something from within, although I haven’t been doing it for about a decade. Recently I’ve been focusing on stories and hopefully I can complete a book to my satisfaction in the near future. The other day, my preschooler had this project where the parents were asked to write how special their child is to them. I felt it robotic and generic to say things like…(insert name) is special because she is a good kid or I love the fun we have together. I felt it meaningless coming from my mouth so as I was about to write it, these words came to me and they sort of rhymed. Two lines of this poem was taken from an old birthday card my parents gave to me and it had remained with me since so I’m just putting it out there that it’s not my own. I will make those words bold. 

To begin the day with your smile,
Is a treasure from above,
You’re our pride and joy and laughter,
You fill our hearts with love.
We love you from the tip of your nose,
To the tip of your toes,
And with each passing moment,
It’s a blessing to see you grow.
You make our lives more special,
With all your laughter and hugs,
You’ll always be our baby girl,
Our little cuddly bugs.

xo Coffee Doll. All rights reserved.

 

A Mother’s Valentine(Short Story)

With a slouched stance, I look around the sitting room and let out a hoarse groan. Everything, everywhere. I lift my hand slowly with the intention of aggressively yanking out a few strands of hair but I made a fist instead.

I slumped into the rocking chair and a frustrated cry erupted from my throat. I lift my thigh and find a single pink lego. Those things are weapons. My feet and buttocks can attest to that.

One child is busy making a mess of the dominoes pieces, and I let her, because as a parent, you need to choose your battles. The other is singing, or dancing or, I just don’t know. All I know is, she’s moving around and it makes me dizzy and I also can’t hear myself think.

From the corner of my eyes, I see him swing the broom out of its usual dusty corner. He doesn’t have to but he does it anyway. We’re partners, equal halves. Although I feel like he bears most of the weight, I get treated like a more delicate half.

He sighs and looks at me before dragging the broom across the hardwood floor. “Honey, why don’t you take one child and go to the mall today? I’ll clean up around here.”

And my heart leaps.

I also feel this ball of guilt straining against my breastbone.

He doesn’t have to do all of this, for me.

Something he taught me, makes me jump at the opportunity to get out of the house for a short while. I didn’t always have an easy time accepting my husband’s kindness until I understood that he respected me as deeply as he loved me. He’s not as good with words as I am, but his actions speaks volumes.

© Coffee Doll All Rights Reserved

 

A Day in the Life of a Diabetic Part 2

It’s seven a.m. and I’m faced with a dilemma. To eat or not to eat. I roll of the bed and start moving around. I look at the clock and it’s suddenly 7:18 a.m. I accomplish nothing important in eighteen minutes.

I’m thinking again, do I have a cup of coffee or do I risk a dizzy spell and get my preschooler to school early. I could never be one of those sprightly morning people, yet I do love getting things done early. My day seems to fit better.

I decide against the coffee before school drop off, and wake my four year old. I duck into the kitchen to warm milk for the baby before I wake her up. It saves me some wailing if it’s ready and waiting when she wakes up. I walk back into the kids’ bedroom and my firstborn is still fast asleep, ignoring my soft voice telling her it’s time to get ready for school.

I’m astonished that I’m not yet falling apart as I’ve had about three hours rest the night before. The younger child is totally unpredictable and it often weighs on my sanity. My body is moving around briskly and efficiently this morning, and I don’t want to think too hard of it in fear I jinx myself.

Twenty minutes until we leave the house and one child is half ready. My stomach isn’t churning which I’m grateful for and I have the energy of someone two hours before bedtime.

I’m usually perspiring at this time and tend to under-dress even though it’s below zero outside. It’s a windy morning and I don’t wear any extra clothing underneath my coat. I load everyone up in the double stroller and proceed to the preschool which stands a couple blocks from our house. I skid quite a bit this morning. Four days ago we had a snow day and as per usual, the lackadaisical residents of my city don’t shovel snow the way it’s suppose to be shoveled.

My hand is both numb and burning from the iciness in the air. The baby starts crying as the icy wind cuts into her delicate face and hands. I’ve tried to keep gloves on her but to no avail, she keeps ripping them off. Most days I don’t realize because I’m focused on the journey to and from school.

There’s four flights of stairs to climb, with a twenty-five pound toddler on one arm. I sigh and curse the day I signed my child up for this school. There is an elevator, which is only used for kitchen services. Humans with their own free will still take it, as do I on days that I physically can’t make the stairs. But there’s a woman at the school, a villain in my day. I dread running into her because I sometimes wish to use the elevator but she flies into my face and it reminds me of a bat opening it’s wings. Then she spews her venom and accuse me of not understanding a basic sign in English.

I want to retaliate in my best vocabulary and irritated tone but I decide against arguing with fools in a children’s environment. She isn’t worth my effort, especially when it’s taking me all of my will power and physicality to stay standing at this point. I hurriedly lead my child to her classroom and want to shout, “Yay!” Half of the hassle is over with. Now to descend those vicious stairs in which I fear my toddler will catapult into the air.

I huff and I puff and make my way down the stairs with my wriggling toddler sitting on my burning forearm. I can feel the heat emanating from my body and being trapped beneath my jacket. My hairline is slightly drenched and I wish to be out in the open where it’s cold. The heat of my body makes me want to pass out.

When I open the door to exit the school, the biting coldness makes it’s way through my skull and my brain stops for a split second. My eyes can’t focus on any one thing for too long. I tell myself, one way home, no detours. Coffee, breakfast and medicines.

xo

© Coffee Doll All Rights Reserved

 

 

Day in the Life of a Diabetic Part 1

The alarm goes off and I groan softly, dreading the energy that my body needs to muster in order to lift myself off the bed. I swipe my phone screen to check the time and I realize I have fifteen more minutes before actual wake time.

“Ah,” my inner voice sounds pleased, “The Universe is on my side today.”

I let my head fall to the pillow once more and fifteen minutes feels like fifteen seconds.

“Oh alright,” I groan, swinging my half-sleeping legs across the edge of the bed. Eyes burning and heavy, I move my feet around and slip them into my fuzzy slippers. It’s a cold morning, just like the morning before and the one before that. And I wonder the same thing that I do everyday. Is the heat even on?

I hear a soft whimper coming from the baby’s crib. I want to go and check on her, and bring a hot cup of milk to her. Morning milk is a baby’s coffee, truly. The little creatures scream frantically until it’s brought to them. There is a small window in which I walk past her bed to get her cup of milk where her soft whimpers transitions into a wail.

I’m fatigued, after a night’s rest. My stomach is lurching in all directions and I feel something that resembles a dizzy spell. I take two steps in the direction of the baby then stop myself. I need to relieve my bladder of the painful pressure, for if I don’t, I might have an accident.

After relieving myself, I want to quickly rush into the kitchen for that cup of milk for my crying lamb but I need my eyes. No, not the ones in my head. The ones that help the ones in my head see. A piece of plastic, worth more than a month’s grocery and also worth my vision. I need it to show me a definition of what I hold in my hand, of where I’m going. Every morning when I put it on, I decide this piece of plastic brings more value to me than any piece of jewelry ever can.

Note: I originally planned to do a post on a diabetic’s struggles from day to day, somehow it ended up like this….to be continued…

xo Coffee Doll