Mine All Mine « Moxie Missives

Category: Mine All Mine

Dec 14

{The Suspension of Disbelief}

There is a phenomenon in Film Theory that is called The Suspension of Disbelief. It’s what you, as the viewer, bring to the table when you watch a movie. It’s a simple, tacit agreement that you will, for the duration of the film, surrender your tendencies to say, “Oh, that’s ridiculous!” Movies – and your ability to enjoy them – heavily depend on your willingness as the audience member to set aside the facts {like that the guy with the machine gun could probably land a single shot without Indiana Jones and his lone revolver taking him out}.

It’s your unspoken contract that, for the length of the movie, you are willing to let yourself be wonder-struck once more.

That’s how I felt this weekend when I hung out with Kristin and Jonas. {Ryan, too, of course – if you’re lucky enough to know Ryan you know how wonderstruck-capable he is, what with his dry humor and his way-too-tall-ness. } James made a joke on the way home that my mother’s hair style changes each time he sees her. {He didn’t say it in a mean way; he said it in a “I didn’t realize mothers could do that, as my mother has had the same hair for as long as I can remember,” sort of way.} It made me smile because… well, he’s right. My mother is one of those exceptionally lucky women who is beautiful no matter if she’s blonde or brunette or red-head. She can wear her hair short or she can wear it long, with loose curls or a tight perm, and it always looks quite lovely on her. {She will tell you that none of this is true, especially because of All The Weight She’s Gained, but it needs to be said – my mother is a dirty liar when it comes to stuff like that. I am telling you the truth. I promise.}

I took it for granted that my mother changes her look so often. I assumed all mothers were so lucky and fortunate. Mothers have superpowers, right? Chameleon-ity seemed like a standard trait for a woman expected to handle so much all at once without sucking any of the limelight from her kids. As we get older, I told myself, it’s just what we do. We change. And it’s OK.

But I found myself completely wonderstuck when I saw Kristin, who is now around 6 months pregnant. I kept staring at her little belly {which sits in a neat little bump on her little waist} and apologizing. “I’ve never seen you this pregnant before,” I finally told her.

She laughed, because to her, it feels like she’s been in one of the stages of pregnancy {trying, succeeding, vomiting, growing, laboring, nursing} for the past decade. But when she was pregnant with Jonas, I found out Christmas Eve (6-8 weeks along), saw her once in early March (2ish? months along) and then wasn’t able to come home again until after the little man had joined us. I have a cardboard cutout of her at 5 months pregnant, in a leopard print dress doing a flamenco pose… and it’s life-size… but that doesn’t count.

I kept staring, because there it was before my very eyes… My best friend is changed.

There are a lot of things you feel strangely out of touch with if time and distance separate you from people you love dearly. You miss the little things in each others’ lives, even if you e-mail between 7-24 times a day, like Kristin and I do. Jonas has turned into a full-blown rough-and-tumble but sweet-and-giggly little boy! Kristin is a real, live Mommy, complete with phrases like, “Please don’t put that in your mouth!” and “No, you go get your sippy cup.” and “Oop! Oop!… You’re OK.” if somebody takes a tumble.

It’s easy, if you’re far away and not in the same stage of your life, like me, to ignore these things. When I hear those phrases on the phone, I know she’s talking to Jonas, but she could just as easily be sippy-cup-training the cats. Or Ryan. But yesterday I sat in her living room, snapping photos of her and her son, and the disbelief that I have felt since she told me she was going to have her first baby two Christmases ago – the disbelief that this is it, that we are, full-blown, adults and in this new and exciting and terrifying stage of our lives – that feeling just washed away.

And in its place slipped Wonderstruck, the feeling that I knew I’d find sooner or later. Like it had been waiting in the wings all along, simply biding its time while I worked through all the resisting and the heel-digging and the “I’m not ready for this yet!”-ing.

We’re here. And this is really happening. And it’s so much better than anyone promised us it would be, in a completely different way than we expected. See? See my friend and her beautiful little boy?

Suspend your disbelief. Just let the wonderment of it all wash over you. Hold close to your heart the words Kristin tells me every time I call her with a new 20-something crisis: “We’re all in this together, and not in the scary way.” And soak it all in.

{For this one, please note the drool hanging from his chin. Apparently, babies do this until they get all their teeth. ALL. THEIR. TEETH. Don’t we get our last teeth around age 12?}

-MM.

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Posted in Family Shackles, Mine All Mine, My People, The Moxie Chronicles.

Dec 11

{25}

Tomorrow… I turn 25.

Before I break up with 24 and trade up permanently, I thought I’d take a moment to give credit where credit is due as far as 24 is concerned.

So, 24, together you and I…

Got engaged, to the love of my life.

Quit my awful job, even though it was absolutely terrifying.
Started my own company, which was equally terrifying.
Successfully completed National Novel Writing Month {I’m counting that as writing my first novel, because I cheat}.
Was hired, as a writer, to write things, for other people to read with their eyes {I’m counting that as success, because that’s legit}.
Realized that school is where I belong, and technology and storytelling is what interests me, and that I have to shop new programs for my MS/MFA.

So, 25… That’s where we stand. And you and I… are totally going to take 2011 to the cleaners. Excited to meet you.

-MM.

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Posted in Mine All Mine, The Moxie Chronicles.

Dec 09

{The Birthdays}

Right, OK. So.

First of all, BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my mother, who is a very young-looking 52 today:

And my little baby sister, who is holy shit! 23:

Now. We all know that I tend to march dance plié to the beat of a different drum. And, though I’ve doubt you’ve paused to wonder where my weird tendencies come from, I’ve decided to volunteer a little information. {James has wondered about my tendency to freeze bananas, and why I get so excited the first time it snows that I drag him outside and laugh until I cry.}

Here’s the truth: It’s genetic.

My grandmother {Mimi} and my mother {Mom} keep bananas in the freezer, because you never know when you’ll need to make Banana Bread. And I get so excited that I cry when it snows for the first time because if it sticks, I get to make The Special Snow Cookies, which my mother and I make, normally together, only after the first time it snows and sticks.

They’re our traditions. And we women guard them preciously, because they’re what tie us together.

And, as great as frozen bananas and Special Snow cookies happen to be, there is one tradition that has been observed successfully for the past 25 years: The Birthdays.

My mother, sister and I make up The Girls, and together each year, we celebrate The Birthdays. Mom and Karlene share the same birthday, December 9th. And I dawdle along after them, December 12th. Mom and I have successfully spent each of The Birthdays together every year since my debut, only missing Karlene twice: Once before she was born, and when I turned 21 and my mom came down to visit me in New York City.

For Mom’s 50th, I stayed up for almost 72 straight hours and took an early-morning flight home, and slept for an hour on Kristin’s couch, all so I could surprise her at her fancy Surprise Party. This was after three weeks of Mom reminding me each time we spoke how disappointed she was that “finals” were more important than “The Birthdays.”

Finals were not, as it were, more important, and I proved that by moving heaven and earth to be there.

That was two years ago, when James and I had just gotten together, and it was hard to explain to him why it was so important for met to live in the Silent Reading Room for two days so that I could be ready in time to go home.This year, it’s a lot easier, as James now understands that The Birthdays are better than Christmas and Easter and a Single Birthday combined.

I get really homesick around The Holidays, and getting excited for The Birthdays always helps me get through Thanksgiving and get through Christmas. Needless to say, I therefore get really excited for The Birthdays – with all that happiness riding on them. And, also needless to say, something therefore always happens 24-36 hours before I head home to remind me that coupled with The Tradition of Togetherness comes The Tradition of Driving Each Other Nuts.

This year’s earmarker: The Conversation My Mother, Sister and Grandmother Had This Morning, as Stolen From My Sister’s Facebook Profile.

Gma: Oh My God Karlene, what are you wearing?!
Kar: What? They’re leggings.
Gma: No… No, those are for skinny skinny models.
Kar: Grandma! That was kind of mean!
Mom: Yeah Mom, that was pretty mean.
Gma: {Pause} Don’t misunderstand, I was just saying only skinny skinny girls can wear those.
Mom: … And you’re saying Karlene can’t?
Gma: Oh no, she can’t wear them. She better get used to it.

…104.5 hours… until it’s all over. And we can ignore what happened until June 2011, and then get excited for next year. As is our normal pattern.

-MM.

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Posted in Family Shackles, Mine All Mine, My People, The Moxie Chronicles.

Nov 30

50K

Around 2pm today, I got to see this pop onto my computer screen.

Pretty cool, right?

Yes, I think so, too.

National Novel Writing Month was very, very different from the experience I thought I was getting myself into. Agree or disagree with what I have to say, I just want to disclaimer my experience before I give you guys the rundown as to why I’ve been so lax in all my other writing lately. This was just my personal experience with the program– independent of everything except my humble thoughts and half-coherent ability to sort of string words together. See?

Here’s the conversation I plan to have with my mother, as soon as I call her, in like three hours, after I’ve showered and napped. {Hi, Mom.} I’ll let it serve as the general guideline for my analysis, since Mom is good at getting right down to the heart of the matter and not missing any little detail.

So when can I read this book? Not yet. In fact, it’s not even a complete story, yet. Yet. 50,000 words is a lot of words, but it’s not necessarily an entire novel. In this case, it’s really not an entire novel. The story is there in the sense that I’ve anchored all the major plot stakes and have characters that are funny enough to make me wish I could ask them to dinner. It’s incomplete in the sense that all the mesh holding the stakes upright isn’t in place yet. The transitions aren’t all smooth. It’s missing all its recipes {which are all compiled, they’re just not dropped into the text yet, because I didn’t want to jeopardize my word count with a scandal over how many times I used the word butter}.

It’s not done yet. I’m still working on it. It won’t be done until, probably, the end of January, after James’ Christmas present is all made and delivered and I’ve had a month to double my tea intake and stare crazily at the pieces that just don’t feel like they fit yet.

But you wrote 50,000 words? Yep. I submitted with 50,835, if we’re going to be exact. I used several thousand index cards, and four times as many post-its, and bought three separate notebooks to keep my notes all organized.

Organized? You were… organized? Mo-om… stop embarrassing me on the internets. Truth be told, this month was very much about figuring out how to translate my neurotic OCD tendencies to color code things within an inch of their lives. It was about plopping the pieces into the same puzzle, instead of– halway through the project– getting distracted by the plot growth and finding myself either frustrated or writing a whole other story.

So, what worked? I found a diagram of a rubric J.K. Rowling used, thanks to my friend Jen, who also did NaNoWriMo with me. It was my big breakthrough moment. The outlines that I was using were too vague, and then too detailed, and too fluid, which let all my notes flow into one another. It was a mess. Right up until around the 19th, it was a total, horrific mess. And it made me not want to write anymore.

Finding the right way to outline the story, so that I could still see what was happening in each different sub-plot, so I could see where the holes were, made the world I created for Madelynne O’Reilly and her friends a place where even I’d like to live. It was the key to getting the ball rolling and keeping it in motion.

Wait. You wanted to stop writing? Uh, yes. Hell-to-the-yes. … Did you? No. Yes. No. Sort of? 50K in one month was overwhelming, and there were days when all I wanted was to not worry about it any more. But I knew it would feel that way, and I knew that, in putting my willingness to pursue writing as a career, I’d either push through it or wuss out.

I pushed through. And truth be told, the writing was both the easy part and, sometimes, the boring part of putting this story together. Boring?! Boring. And I’ll tell you why. I was writing a story that is very close to the plotline of my life. When I got into a writing crunch, I’d find a necessary plot point and hammer it out, especially toward the end when the word count was more important than getting the story to flow.

The research was so fun, and I reached out to so many amazing, strong, creative women who dropped what they were doing to answer my questions about everything– even things as trivial as Brown Bread recipes. {I’m looking at you, Amy and Margaret. I’m also saying thank you.}

There were days when I didn’t write. But I planned for them. Some of them. I knew Maxine and I were going to head Upstate to visit my folks, and I knew James and I were going to go away for our anniversary. I knew with the Thanksgiving holiday, I’d be spending a lot of time worrying about my pumpkin pie being unsatisfactory. I planned to have several days wherein my brain was just totally out of commission.

So you planned not to write? Yes. Sometimes. Was I right?

Well, yes and no. Here’s the fancy graph from the fancy Excel sheet that I made to keep track of where I was, so I wouldn’t compulsively compile the document from Scrivener, and so I’d have a sense of accomplishment when it came time for me to give myself a little pep talk. The blue line is what I predicted I’d write: 2,500 on all my full-days of writing, 1,250 on days when I’d only commit to half-days of concentration.

The red is what I actually produced. You can see that, for the most part, my predictions were nowhere even close. What that taught me is that, to a degree, I am very likely always going to have to write when the inclination hits me, and research and outline vigorously when it leaves. No use in trying to fight my natural process, right? I learned it’s better just to look at the pattern, understand why it is the way it is, and roll with it.

I realized being able to write on cue was not as important as being able to write well. I’m going to worry about developing the latter and let the former figure itself out in the process.

So you’re not done? Nope, not with the novel, and not with writing as a living. My next steps are going to be editing a writing sample and putting my graduate school applications together. Moreover, it made me realize that, as much as I love me some fiction, I miss writing academically, too.

Now, if only I could figure out a way to get more smart into my life…

What would you have done differently? Honestly– not much. I watched several seasons of several crime-drama shows, several dozen movies and Elephant napping for a handful of hours. It didn’t necessarily help my creativity, but it didn’t detract from it, either. The only thing I wish I had done that I didn’t was attend one of the NYC-based write-ins. I was fortunate enough to have my own little community of people with whom I could Tweet, text, e-mail, call and smoke-signal about the grand drama that can be formulating a first novel.

But I spend most of my time now alone, locked in my design studio, foaming at the mouth and cackling manically to myself over the challenges I put into the lives of my characters.

So you’ll do it again? Hell, yes!

And you’re going to finish this story? Hell, yes again!

But we can’t read it yet? Ohhhh, lordy, no!

Fine.

Thank you, everyone, again, for all the support and love and cheering. I wouldn’t have done it without you– and I’m at the point now where I’m comfortable admitting that I can write, I just probably wouldn’t. Which, yeah, is a whole other whirlwind of issues.

But I’m off that track and onto a different one– one that will hopefully have my studying on a campus again within the calendar year.

Now, if you’ll excuse me… I need a shower.

-MM.

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Posted in Book Worm, Mine All Mine, NaNoWriMo, The Moxie Chronicles. Academic Writing Fiction Writing NaNoWriMo National Novel Writing Month Novel Writing Summary writing Writing Professionally

Nov 19

{Adventures in DC}

Ready for a non-boring vacation recap? Well, you may have to look elsewhere.

The reality of Real Life is that by the time you get a chance to get away for a long weekend, you’re so tired that all you want to do is sleep. That is exactly what James and I did for about 20 of our first 36 hours in DC. We spent another 8 hours laying in bed, exhausted, watching TV. And whatever change is left over constitute “Day 1 & 2″.

But the point of vacation is to catch up on rest, so I don’t feel bad that that’s what we accomplished.

Now, a couple rookie mistakes we made.

1. We assumed that since we are NYCers, we would just walk everywhere. Stop laughing at me. It seemed plausible, once we realized that the maps weren’t to proportion and that DC looked smaller than NYC. So we took the train into the city center, and then we walked. For miles and miles and miles and miles. And DC isn’t really anything but wide, so we would walk up and down and back and forth and miles and miles and miles. My hips still haven’t forgiven me.

2. Check your shoes before you pack. One of my sneakers had an annoying, hard, painful little thingie sticking out on the inside, which make my only comfortable cute pair of shoes un-wearable. Needless to say, this was devastating, and you can tell by the running shoes I got stuck wearing that my feet felt less than fabulous.

3. Don’t drink the tap water. Maybe it was because we were exhausted. Maybe it was because I started out severely dehydrated. Maybe it was because it wasn’t until AFTER I had downed half a gallon of it that I realized the bathwater in the jacuzzi tub was a really pretty color blue… Part of the exhaustion James and I felt was due to a stomach-something-or-other, which I do believe came from the blue tap water wreaking havoc on our delicate interiors. The up-side is that he let me get a couple bottles of fancy water at CVS, because I was so wretched-feeling and because he is a merciful, loving man who likes to see me smile more than he likes to see me suffer {but only just by a little}.

4. What do you mean things close here? We didn’t bother to do much research coughJamescough because we wanted the weekend to be relaxed and carefree. … Do you know how stressful it is when you get to a city and find that all the fun attractions close at 2pm on Fridays? V.E.R.Y. If you’re traveling to anywhere but New York {where most things are open until all hours of the night, except the Met} hit their websites {listed at the end of this post, for DC} and just peruse tour-times and hours of operation. We also went Veterans’ Day Weekend, so things were more askew than normal. But we missed a couple things we really wanted to see because we didn’t plan ahead properly. {Which means we have to go back, and you bet your buns I’m calling Nicole from NicheWhite before we head out to make sure she can come drink with me! participate in all my responsible life-choice-making.}

5. There is no shopping at The National Mall. And you can imagine how hard that was on James after he promised me a J. Crew. FYI- the only J. Crew to be found is all the way over in Georgetown. LOFTs aplenty, though.

We saw everything: the monuments, the museums, the archives, the joggers. We missed the last tour at the Mint by 30 minutes and James was devastated. We were forced to go through metal detectors every 20 feet and by the end of day 1 I had given up on trying to wear a belt.

But we walked and talked and generally remembered all the reasons we thought one another were so neat in the first place. And he took me out for really great Italian food, which was my second favorite part of the vacation.

Please excuse any low-resolution or grainy images. We used three different point and shoot cameras because I refused to lug a 10lbs DSLR with me when I was focusing on rest.

The Natural History Museum was a really fun time. We ran around like little kids who skipped class and found a nerdy candy store to loot.

Straight to the punchline, James got to make a picture of himself as a Neandrothal. I told him it looks just like he looks when he neglects to shave for a week. … At least I got a good laugh out of that one.

The hands-down best part of Vacation was The Live Butterfly Exhibit in the Natural History Museum. Amazing. We walked in and it was 81 degrees and there were thousands of butterflies just floating gracefully through the air.

I made the comically ill-informed choice to wear perfume that day, so more were fluttering around me than I was comfortable with. {I am from the country. If a bug gets too close to you, you squash it.} One even got up close and really personal with my forehead.

James and I also hit up the Crime & Punishment museum, where we went from Rogue Outlaws to Prisoners of the State and back again, several times over. It was a really fun way to learn about the history of crime in the US and at the end they had a shooting simulation game. You’re not supposed to shoot until they shoot at you, but the drug dealer in front of me reached down and as soon as I saw him grab his weapon, I sent him to chat his choices over with Sweet Baby Jesus. Then I killed the other drug dealer, because I am apparently a video-simulation-assassin-ninja.

Then, of course, the guy who started us in the simulation went to lunch and the teenager who replaced him erased our scores. There was much debate over whether the kill-shot on the screen had been mine or James’, but I think we all know I’m more the shoot-to-kill type in this relationship.

And we went to The Aquarium, which was great but not as great as the one in Baltimore, which is greater than any great underwater adventure I’ve had, aside from Discovery Cove {in Orlando} and its giant underwater diving pool with real live manta rays {my favorite animal}.

But the coolest part of the Aquarium, for me, was seeing a real, living Chambered Nautilus. I have a certain attachment to the creature because of my Kappa Delta roots, and it was beautiful and a little terrifying and completely magical and extraordinary– just like the journey through life that its shell so often represents.

James and I never take photos of ourselves, only of each other. We did manage to get a couple nice shots, though. The top one is courtesy of a very nice lady from Texas who insisted we get our photo taken together. She didn’t steal our camera, like I half-suspected she intended to do, so that was nice. And the White House is in the background. {Squint. It’s there. I promise.}

My future husband is awful good-lookin’. I offer proof {That second photo is his angry face. Word to the wise, don’t step into moving traffic, even accidentally, unless you want to see that face.}:

And he took several photos of me. Mostly there were photos of me looking half-alien with one eye open and one eye closed and both were looking in different directions. Also, my fangs were out and my monster skin turned green. So they’re not posted here.

If you ever head to DC, please feel free to use the links at the bottom to orchestrate your trip.

-MM.

{Lincoln Memorial}

{Washington Monument}

{Holocaust Museum}

{Museum of Natural History, DC}

{The Smithsonian Museums}

{The National Aquarium}

{Bureau of Engraving and Printing – The Mint}

{Otello’s – Delicious Italian Food}

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Posted in Food Snob, Gettin' Hitched, Manhattan Globetrotters, Mine All Mine, My People, The Moxie Chronicles.

Nov 18

{Not Wednesday}

Today is not Wednesday. It’s Thursday.

… You can imagine my surprise.

Big post tomorrow about our trip to DC, complete with very pretty photographs of me with bugs on my face.

In the meantime– apologies for being tardy in posting. Also, for never knowing what day of the week it is.

Oh, just for fun…

{The Hope Diamond}

-MM.

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Posted in Manhattan Globetrotters, Mine All Mine, My People, The Moxie Chronicles., The Ugly Truth, True Life: I'm Surviving Suburbia

Nov 16

{Surprise!}

Let me just start by saying, Hello, loves. I’ve missed you. We’re back from vacation, and there’s all kinds of deliriously great things happening over in this household, and I have all sorts of fun nuggets to pass along now that we’re in a full-blown ascent to the holidays.

But. Your regularly scheduled broadcast is being interrupted today because I, ladies and gents, have a trump card to play. Ready?

I have this fun new game, wherein I try to find new earmarks for the progress I see in My Life. It’s an excellent little passtime, and gives me lots of things to think about aside from what I should be focusing on– like that dang novel I only have 14 more days to complete.

But just try to imagine it. For example: My Life in Coffee. 15 years old: “I hate coffee.” 20 years old: “Oh, this stuff is vile, but hey LOOK! I’m wide awake after one cup! I never need to sleep again!” 22 years old: “I’d like to dedicate this thesis to the pot of coffee I had for breakfast, for lunch and for dinner, every day for the past two months. I need to sleep more than anything else on the planet.” 25 years old: “I gave up coffee because my doctor said something about a bleeding ulcer. Get your mitts off that gallon of tea. That’s MINE!”

Or, another classic: My Life in Shoes. 15 years old: “I love my clunky American Eagle hiking boots.” 20 years old: “I love my Italian leather boots with that dangerous stiletto heel.” 22 years old: “I work for a sneaker company, but I’m buying these strappy mary-janes anyway.” 25 years old: “I work from home. I live in my unglamorous UGG slippers.”

This past week, though, at a surprise turn of events, I found myself instead pondering my life– specifically the last five years– against a very different standard.

My Life in Babies.

20 years old: “Kristin keeps talking about having a baby. I think she might be serious. Also, I think I might need to vomit.” 21 years old: “I can barely hold my liquor. I nanny, but I can’t imagine having to worry about a baby. Also, they always need to vomit.” 22 years old: “Kristin was totally freaking serious. Jonas is cute, but she never shoe shops anymore and oh my GOD if I hear one more story about poop…” 23 years old: “… What do you mean you’re going to have your second child? Kristin, my mother just stopped asking me when I’m going to have my first.” 24 years old: “You know what? Maybe my friends having babies isn’t the end of the world.”

That last turn of events caught me completely by surprise. Kristin is uterus-deep in developing her second baby, and as excited as I am for her, she and I are very different pages of our lives right now. So, I understand her pregnancies in terms of how-they-relate-to-her, and why it’s all so exciting. Kristin has always bravely gone forth, into the Great Unknown Domesticated Life. She did things like Marriage and Babies and A Mortgage before I was even down to drinking less than a pot of coffee a day or blowing 80% of my paycheck on my Italian men– Dolce & Gabbana.

And it was all fine and dandy, because you know what? I still had Maxine and Christine. Maxine, Christine and I ran around Pace U our senior year, scheming to graduate with honors and then jump immediately into Taking Over The World. Christine, though the youngest, was always the most mature. Maxine, though the middle child, always seemed like our adorable little baby, who said adorable things like, “I’ve never seen a drive-in movie theater.” and “I’ve never had an American Thanksgiving.” I was nestled there, right in the middle, the nerdy, artsy girl who created all sorts of energy wherever she went– sometimes great, sometimes awful. But, whatever. When I was with them, everything seemed fine because we were each others’ perfect balance.

It’s just what we did. The three of us, apart, were a handful. The three of us together were whole. It was– and is, still– a friendship of legends.

When I first met Maxine, I thought she was horribly down to earth, and also breathy and glamorous. When I first met Christine, I was convinced that she would one day run every single major corporation on the east coast. She said she was going to go to law school, but I knew better. She was going to graduate and Donald Trump was going to call her and make her terribly important the second she had her degree in her hand. Operationally, there was no one who could top her– whether the task at hand was sitting in a third-floor corridor, organizing a project for the Pace Pitch competition last minute or running the sacred Kappa Delta chapter the three of us had so much to do with starting.

Don’t misunderstand me, I love all my girls. But even other sorority sisters would likely agree that Maxine, Christine and I lived in our own little world. {They’d probably also concede that that little world existed somewhere between the laptop cubbies in the Pace Library and the 24 hour reading room, which were the two most frequented places the three of us could be found, giggling manically over our theses, bringing each other coffee and generally making sure that no girl died on her way across that undergraduate stage.}

There was just something about the three of us– something really bulletproof.

Needless to say, I was shocked when Christine told me that she wanted, more than anything, to be a mommy. Married young, with babies!

Babies! Everyone, with the crazy, and the babies. I didn’t think much of it, because when she told me this, we had just gotten out of Bridge to Terabithia, wherein we had both bawled our eyes out. Along with every grown man in that theater. We were at Max Brenner, shoveling chocolate into our faces to alleviate all the sadness, and she just knocked me right off my chair, our of left field with that reveal.

But then we grew up. All three of us got Grown Up Jobs {I quit mine, but whatever}. All three of us got Grown Up Boyfriends {Maxine went to Spain to find hers and I ended up agreeing to marry mine, but whatever.}

We work.

We love.

We laugh together whenever we can. We’re still the trifecta of friendship.

So it’s only appropriate that Christine called me when I was upstate with Maxine {visiting my parents, doing our Type-A bests to do nothing but eat and sleep and drink wine in front of the fireplace, snuggled up with my mother’s smelly dog}, and gave us the good news: She’s going to be a mommy!

Now. Hold your applause. I’ll give everyone a second to pick their jaws up off the floor, and run through a quick FAQ for you.

Wha– she’s pregnant?

Yes. She’s pregnant. As in, she and her lovely boyfriend Brandon had one fun romp that will leave them with a lifetime of parental bliss!

You’re sure it’s Christine?

Yes, yes I am certain that it’s Christine. Here, I have pictures to prove to you that I know which Christine I’m talking about.

… And, wait? … She’s happy?

Yes! The couple is through the roof over this surprise twist of fate. It’s not necessarily the planned-for order that they were going to leap to this step in, but Brandon and Christine were in a serious, committed relationship that was heading down the aisle and over the threshold and into the nursery sooner or later. They hadn’t worked out the fine details of their timeline, but they’re taking this little curveball in stride. Actually… it’s more like they’re prancing over it.

So she’s going to marry this guy? Who the hell is Brandon? None of us even know this guy?

Brandon works with Christine, and gets the Psychotic Best Friend seal of approval from me. He’s doing nothing but showing love and support and giddiness along with our Mama-to-be. They love each other with respect and joy and they are each others’ better halves. He takes damn good care of our girl, and plans to do the same with their little baby .

As for their nuptial arrangements… Jury is still out. Christine will keep us posted on whether or not she’s going to let Brandon make a Momma or an Honest Woman of her first. Regardless, know that she’s happy and they’re stable as a couple and she’s in good shape as a baby-carrying-device.

When’s she due?

Late June or early July. I have already nicknamed the baby The Little Junebug. Whenever s/he joins us, I will continue to call him/her that. Even when s/he leaves for his/her first date at the age of 16, s/he will have to deal with me Skyping in to holler after them out the door, “Mind your manners and make good choices, Little Junebug!”

So… we’re excited?

We’re EXCITED! Get EXCITED!

What if this is still a little confusing for me? I mean… Christine?

Yes. Christine. If that’s still confusing, or troubling, give me a call or shoot me an e-mail and I’m happy to fill you in on anything that’s not already in print here.

… Fair enough. So, is there like, a sonogram?

Hell yes there is! Who wants to see Christine’s Uterus!?! {I have been informed that it doesn’t look like much of anything yet, but that in a couple weeks, the baby will have a heartbeat and a little more mass to it. As soon as I get further news and photos, I’ll keep you posted.}

You can keep closer tabs on Tine and The Little Junebug over at Little Baby | Big Surprise.

It might not be what they had planned, but it’s a joyous celebration nonetheless. I hope everyone will join me in congratulating Christine and Brand on their little Bundle-of-Joy-to-be.

-MM.

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Posted in Mine All Mine, My People, The Moxie Chronicles.

Nov 10

{Respite.}

Nothing makes me appreciate leaving home more than visiting my parents.

We’re one of those oddly functional families that love each other dearly and do really well living far apart and visiting one another after long absences.

Maxine and I spent a “Weekend” {Sunday- Tuesday, because we have no sense of time} visiting my parents in Upstate. I’ll be home all of 30 hours before James and I head out to Washington DC for our two year anniversary, which happens to be tomorrow.We’ll be gone through Sunday, and I’m putting everything on hold for the long overdue getaway– even my novel.

I broke 20,000 words on Saturday of last week, {Day 7} so I don’t feel much guilt over it. {That and I’ll likely add another 10K today, before James gets home.}

I’ll see you next Tuesday, and next week I promise lots of photos and a summary of NaNoWriMo thus far. Have a safe next-few-days, folks.

-MM.

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Posted in Gettin' Hitched, I Love NYC, Manhattan Globetrotters, Mine All Mine, The Moxie Chronicles.

Nov 04

{NaNoWriMo Writing Station}

I tried my best not to overthink how I was going to navigate NaNoWriMo and all it entails. I did outlines and made goals and stole all the extra Halloween candy and hid it under my desk. I made sure we had enough caffeine to keep me human in the house, and I gave Elephant a lot of snuggles and explained I’d be back to play with her on December 1.

She appeared to understand, though it’s hard to tell when she’s chewing on her own feet.

The only thing missing from the equation was a peaceful work station at which I could spend my days procrastinating. {Hello, Blog!}

With a little help from James and Papa V, a bouquet of amazing You’re a Writer Now! flowers and a guest visit from Elephant… I can officially declare that my work center is my new favorite place in the whole house, and it’s very much a space all my own. Check it out.

Somebody rally the Pulitzer committee. It’s go-time.

-MM.

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Posted in Book Worm, Gettin' Hitched, Mine All Mine, NaNoWriMo, The Moxie Chronicles., Working Girl

Oct 30

{The Support}

This is my 200th Post! It took me a couple tries to decide what it is, exactly, that I want to use it for. A Retrospective? Eh, that’s what the archives are for, and anyway, I’m all-for not looking back when it comes to how much I’ve grown.

Photos of the cats? Sigh. Fine. But just one, and then we’ll get right down to the point. {There is a point, and for once, the point is not The Cats.}

Here’s what it all really comes down to. 200 posts later, I’m finally completely surrounded by people who want me to chase my writing dream. And not just the people who are obligated to be nice to me– like James, and my mother– but complete strangers, people who have no absolutely connection to me whatsoever beyond the insane ramblings of my Twitter stream.

Don’t misunderstand me, I am eternally grateful and forever shaped by the love and support my Family has shown me when it comes to writing. Writing this website, writing that website, writing my first novel. There were a great many people when I was younger who didn’t have the patience for my creativity and imagination. My mother was never, ever one of those people. There was always time for me to tell her another story. There was always room for her to ask, What then? … And then what happened? And my stories and my imagination soared, at her gentle and unconditional coaxing.

When I become a successful author, it will be at least 80% because my mother never let it occur to me that I would do anything else.

When I told her that I was going to do NaNoWriMo, she laughed a little. She’s been patiently waiting for two things from me for the better part of a decade. 1. Grandbabies. 2. A novel, dedicated to her, that will sell millions of copies.

She knows that she has ten years left before the grandbabies. The least I can do is knock out a book, right? My start-and-stop relationship with writing has been steadily growing into “You know what? I really do think I’ll love you forever.” But we all know, and my mother believed me when I told her, that this NaNoWriMo project is my official and final litmus test. If I don’t do it, if I don’t finish… I’m going back to school for Education, or furthering my degrees in Film Theory, and I’ll leave the story-telling to the adults who have the very specific skill-set that it requires to tell a good story completely. {Like, for example, an attention span.}

I haven’t been able to knock one out yet, but I’m determined. And she’s cheering me on, and that’s all I need.

Well, her and James. James, who is my hero in a way that I can’t really quite capture in language yet. The man who liberated me from my fears of commitment and from my awful job and from Manhattan, for better or for worse. The man who tolerates my compulsive shoe-buying, notebook-buying, mind-changing ways. The man who claims to love me despite the fact that his parents’ house makes all kinds of weird noises that require his checking-out in the middle of the night. That man, the man I’m going to marry. He’s my hero.

And he’s another supporter. He sort of has to be, I suppose. He figured out early on that Writing was something that I Just Did. He likes the way he can hear my voice telling the stories he reads. I like hearing him chuckle to himself, I like that my stories make people laugh. Sometimes. When I’m brave enough to let them be seen.

James and my mother, their approval is important to me, and their support is so heartily appreciated. But you know what? It’s sort of expected. They love me. They’re walking that fine line that comes with love, the one between Telling People Things That Make Them Happy and Telling People The Truth. Sometimes those things are the same. Most of the time, when it comes to creative talents, I think you’ll find some disparity. And where you find disparity like that, you also find family members who Lie To Keep The Peace.

That’s where my new NaNoWriMo friends come in. They don’t have to worry about me giving them the cold shoulder at Thanksgiving, or scowling at them over Christmas, or crying at The Birthdays because they didn’t like my story. They do it for The Craft, and for The Process and because, just like me, they have these stories rumbling around inside them, begging to be freed. Jennifer, who I know through my Wedding World Community, agreed to do NaNoWriMo after I asked her to. {And then begged her to.} Hollie, whose words of excited encouragement lead me to make the commitment, could quite possibly be my intellectual and creative and professional soulmate. Hollie is also the lovely lady who said the thing that I am going to repeat to myself when Writing Gets Hard. We were talking about how our professional trajectory had seen a lot of overwhelming success at very young ages, and how it was paradoxical and horribly disenchanting to find ourselves so young and so miserable and also so “successful.”

She had just detailed all the gloriously gory details of her journey into and then out of publishing, and wrapped it up with the best articulations of Creative Need:

“Long story short, I’m now back to my roots as a journalist and happy as a lark. I just need the novel.”

I just need the novel. BOOM. Right there, that sentence, everything else just clicked into place. All the doubts I’ve had, and the questions as to why I feel the need to barrel ahead with such an aggressive project, and there it was, plain and simple. She’s absolutely right. I have everything, everything I’ve ever dreamed of. … I just need the novel.

So my 200th post, which is atrociously longer than it should be, is a giant THANK YOU! to the people who have rallied together around me. Thank you for your love, and your words of encouragement, and your willingness to answer seemingly inane questions in the name of Character Development. Thank you for answering my phone calls, and e-mails…

And most of all, for listening to my stories.

-MM.

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Posted in Book Worm, Family Shackles, Mine All Mine, My People, NaNoWriMo, True Life: I'm Surviving Suburbia, Working Girl

Category: Mine All Mine

{The Suspension of Disbelief}

{25}

{The Birthdays}

50K

{Adventures in DC}

{Not Wednesday}

{Surprise!}

{Respite.}

{NaNoWriMo Writing Station}

{The Support}

{Snippets of Thought}

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