NaNoWriMo Revisited-Part 4

I hope that you have enjoyed the three previous installments of Marrying Dad. I am posting part 4, but if you are just joining us, here are the links to parts 1-3:

Marrying Dad- Part 1 
Marrying Dad- Part 2
Marrying Dad- Part 3 

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Marrying Dad- Part 4
by Raychelle Muhammad

For Dad to be willing to miss a pitch meeting was huge. Really huge. He was a partner in a very successful ad agency and was known for closing big deals. He loved the challenge of an undecided potential client. Dad was incredibly competitive and could sell anything to anybody. His sales pitch certainly worked on Mom. From what I hear, Mom was “the talk” back in the day. She brought a lot to the table: she was smart, beautiful, witty, and a natural leader. She was popular and got lots of attention. Her senior year in college was particularly impressive. She was a political science major, captain of the debate team, a Presidential Scholar, and class valedictorian. Mom had been accepted to several law schools and many predicted a bright future in politics if she desired to take that leap. Although Dad was no slouch himself, his academic accomplishments weren’t nearly as impressive. He was good-looking, a star football player, and his family had money. My grandfather tried to protect Dad from the struggles he had to overcome, so Dad didn’t always feel the need to work hard for grades or women. When he met Mom, all of that changed. She was a challenge and, of course, my father loved a challenge. The fact that Mom wasn’t especially impressed with him, made her all the more desirable. My parents’ roommates started dating sophomore year, so my parents often saw each other in passing. My mother was considered a “good girl”, so Dad knew that his usual “let the women come to me approach” was not going to work on this one. His reputation was legendary. They actually became really good friends. Truth be told, Mom knew too much of Dad’s drama to be bothered trying to be anything other than friends. My father secretly carried a torch for the woman he was sure would “tame” him one day. Mom always called Dad on his crap and he respected her for it. Dad also knew that his family would love her and that she would make a great NFL wife. Considering the fallout from his past exploits with women while in college (including 2 paternity suits and a statutory rape charge), marrying a woman like Mom would help his image and would increase his marketability. His endorsement potential would increase by leaps and bounds. On paper, they were potentially the ultimate power couple. In reality, they proved to be quite the opposite.

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Are you wondering how it is that these two got married anyway? Leave your comments below.

Keep your pen to the paper! Remember, inspiration is everywhere...

NaNoWriMo Revisited- Part 3

I hope that you have enjoyed the first two installments of Marrying Dad. You may get caught up by clicking on the links below:

Marrying Dad- Part 1
Marrying Dad- Part 2

Today I am including part three. Enjoy! Oh, and let me know what you think!

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Marrying Dad- Part 3

by Raychelle Muhammad

     When I was eight, I noticed a real change in my parent’s relationship. Suddenly, my father was home for dinner every night. He seemed genuinely happy to be there. The vibrancy returned to my mother’s face. She started going to the beauty shop and taking me along, too. It was like a girl’s day out. We would get our hair washed and styled. Then, mom would stop in at the nail shop for a manicure and pedicure. She was happy—happier than I could remember for sure. I thought it odd that she was sick to her stomach for about a month. During the week, I sometimes had to get my own breakfast before school because Mom said that the smell of anything and everything made her sick. My best friend, Jazzy, said that it sounded like Mom was pregnant. Jazzy seemed to be “in the know” about everything that eight-year olds shouldn’t know. Her mom started having babies at sixteen and Jazzy had three older siblings. Her oldest sister is seventeen and she tells Jazzy almost everything. Whatever Jazzy doesn’t get from her sister, she gets from eavesdropping. To this day my best friend hasn’t changed one bit. She has always been incredibly resourceful. Jazzy’s skill set would prove to be invaluable to me in more ways than I could count.

     At dinner one night, Mom announced that she was pregnant. She and Daddy were beaming. I pretended to be surprised since Jazzy had already schooled me on how this baby business works. Mom was about two months along and she was starting to show. I must say that I was pretty excited. Maybe Grandma was right after all. Daddy was spending more time with us and had already started cleaning out the guestroom to make room for my new brother or sister. Then it hit me. What if the baby isn’t a boy? Grandma told Mom to pray for a boy. What would be so wrong with having a little sister?

     Several weeks went by before we could find out the baby’s gender. Conversations around the dinner table went from talking about my day at school to all about the baby. Mom’s appointment for the ultrasound was in a week—or so we were told.

“What time is your doctor’s appointment next week?” Daddy asked.

“I’ll call to double check in the morning. Don’t you have that big presentation coming up?”

“Yes, it’s on Thursday. The partners will cover for me though if it conflicts.”

“You don’t have to do that. It’s just a checkup.”

“I thought that we would be finding out the baby’s gender.”

“No, it’s too soon.”

“Don’t you find out at 12 weeks?”

“It is possible, but you know that I am not 12 weeks yet.”

“Are you sure? I thought you said…”

“Well, of course I am sure. If you insist, we can go over the dates again after dinner.”

“Either way, I’m coming.”

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Would you like to read what happens next? Leave your feedback in the comments section below.

Keep your pen to the paper! Remember, inspiration is everywhere...

Raychelle Reviews: Meg the Egg by Rita Antoinette Borg

Meg the Egg by Rita Antoinette Borg is a delightful little story about love and bravery. Meg is a baby chick who is afraid to hatch from her shell because the sounds of the outside world are frightening to her. Once she realizes that her mother is in danger, Meg springs into action. She puts herself in harm's way to save her mother's life.

Meg the Egg is wonderfully-illustrated with animated drawings and warm colors that help to keep the reader engaged. It's use of onomatopoeia makes for an effective teaching tool.

Young readers may find Howls to be a frightening character, but he helps the reader to connect with Meg's feelings of fear, panic, and determination. It took tremendous amounts of courage to rescue her mother-especially at the risk of perishing. Meg the Egg has a hopeful message that will teach children what unconditional love really is.

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Rita Borg is a children's author, storyteller, and freelance writer. To learn more about her work, visit her website at  http://www.ritaborg.us/.

NaNoWriMo Revisited- Part 2

Here is part 2 of Marrying Dad, an old NaNoWriMo project. Please go to yesterday's post to read part 1 and leave your comments to let me know what you think!

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Marrying Dad- Part 2

by Raychelle Muhammad

     I was born Dana Elaine Smith on August 2, 1975, in St. Luke’s Episcopal Hospital in Houston, Texas. My younger sister was born there also nine years later. I enjoyed being an only child for awhile. Grandma told me that if my mother didn’t get moving, I might never get a brother or sister. When she found out that Mom was pregnant with Donna, I heard her say that maybe another child would keep my father at home. “Pray for a boy,” she said. Grandma thought that my mother should have gotten pregnant a lot sooner. “The only thing that will keep a man close is responsibility,” she would say.

     For me, however, being an only child gave me an opportunity to have my mother all to myself—which would have been great if she wasn’t so preoccupied all of the time. I can’t even count the number of times that we sat alone in the living room together after Dad had missed yet another family dinner because he was “working late”. You would think that we would talk, play games, or watch television together. But, all mom ever did on these late nights was call my Dad at work (calls that went unanswered), watch the clock, and pace back and forth between her seat on the sofa and the front window. She would be worried, then angry, and then start slamming doors while muttering something about “not putting up with this anymore” and going to Grandma’s house. My mother would make herself miserable. She often looked stressed and tired when Dad would “work late”. Her hair would appear so limp and matted. Her skin, which was once vibrant and smooth, became dry and ashen. These nights aged her instantly. I would sit still with my favorite picture book and silently watch the metamorphosis take place. Often I wondered if Mom would ever make good on her threats. Anything would be better than this. Many nights she would forget that I had not yet gone to bed, so I would stay put. I was determined that if she was leaving, then I was certainly not going to be left behind. I figured that Dad probably wasn’t the best person to depend on for my care. And no way was I going to be left alone pacing and miserable while wondering when he would come home and feed me. I learned at a very early age that men could be really selfish. I also realized that Mom had a choice to leave, but she chose to stay and be miserable.

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Do you want to know what happens next? Please leave your comments below.

Keep your pen to the paper! Remember, inspiration is everywhere...

NaNoWriMo Revisited

Today, I would like to share with you parts of an old NaNoWriMo challenge that I never completed, but has peaked my interest again. Leave me your feedback. If you like it, then I'll post more tomorrow. Tell me what you think will happen next? Does this excerpt make you want to read more? Let me know in the comments below. You might inspire me to finish the book this time... : )

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Marrying Dad by Raychelle Muhammad

For years I have ignored all of the signs: all of them. Everything (from the little whispers to the gigantic, blatant billboards along the highway that is my life) has pointed to an ugly harsh reality. I never wanted to admit it. I never wanted to accept it. Surely, I would never have made such a dreadful mistake and still insisted on hanging in there. My mother did it. My sister did it. And I couldn’t manage to avoid following suit. I did it. I married my father.

How could I NOT have done it? Dad was charming and handsome, athletic and popular, and smart and hard-working. On the outside, he was everything that a woman would want, right? Doesn’t he sound like a wonderful example of what my future husband would be? At family gatherings, my dad was the life of the party. He was a smooth dancer and could make the crankiest baby giggle. My dad was a social person. Frankly, I think that he found being a husband and father confining—to the point of resentment. In college, I am told, Dad was quite the ladies man. Women didn’t seem to mind sharing him from time to time. He would keep a girlfriend and even be faithful for a while. The problem was that something lacked in his ego. He needed constant attention and praise. If a woman wasn’t chasing after him, he would somehow feel invalidated. The first time he cheated on my mother, I thought for sure that we would leave and never look back. My mother was a stunning woman who still turned heads at 64 years old. She didn’t have to share her husband with anybody. But, she wanted my sister and me to have a father under the same roof so she took him back — repeatedly.

Marriage can survive many things, but infidelity is by far the toughest offense to overcome. It is the worst kind of betrayal. Taking a vow before God to be a good wife to her husband and then bearing his children is serious business. I always thought that a man should suffer indefinitely for betraying his wife that way. And I never understood why my mother insisted on keeping him around. Every time she discovered a new fling, she became a different person--each more bitter and vindictive than the last. She lost a little bit of her spirit as hurt, anger, and thoughts of revenge gnawed away at her. Seeing my mother this way certainly did my sister and I no favors at all. In my own relationships, I would rationalize bad behavior. I couldn’t accept the end of a relationship as anything other than failure. My sister and I often had to choose between the mother we idolized and the father who selfishly catered to his own needs. We loved them both, but I think that I would have been better off if some truths about Dad had been left to my imagination. Oddly, I thought that I had figured out the right way to approach marriage. There was no way that I would continue the cycle of dysfunction that Mom and my sister seemed to relish. I was the educated and enlightened one, you see. I was going to do everything right. A picture-perfect, drama-free, happily-ever-after, storybook romance was on the horizon. Damn it, if only I hadn’t taken that wrong turn at Albuquerque…

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Keep your pen to the paper! Remember, inspiration is everywhere...