Prayer request for a marriage

My friend Hallie Lord asked us to pray for her friend, whose marriage is in serious trouble.  The friend has a blog which I’m not familiar with, but when I went to check it out, I was bowled over by this post, A Blanket Apology, which I know will speak to many of you guys in its heartbreaking humility.

The author, Kate, says in a post today:  ”If you are moved to, please consider joining me in fasting and prayer for my marriage tomorrow, the last day of the novena I mentioned in my last post.”  She has given her husband until the end of January to decide whether he wants to reconcile with her and their children.

Here is the novena to Mary, Untier of Knots.  Let’s join Kate in saying the main prayer of the novena at least for this day.  Thank you!

Prayer to the Virgin Mary as Untier of KnotsHoly Mary, full of the presence of God, during your life
you accepted with great humility the holy will of the father
and the legacy of your Son our Lord Jesus Christ, and evil
never dared to entangle you with its confusion. Since then
you have interceded for all of our difficulties as you did
at the wedding feast of Cana. With all simplicity and with
patience, you have given us an example of how to untangle
the knots in our complicated lives. By being our mother
forever you arrange and make clear the path that unites us
to Our Lord.

Holy Mary, Mother of God and ours, with your maternal heart,
untie the knots that upset our lives. We ask you to receive
into your hands (here mention your prayer request) and
deliver us from the chains and confusion that restrain us.
Blessed Virgin Mary, through your grace, your intercession
and by your example, deliver us from evil, and untie the
knots that keep us from being united to God. So that free
of all confusion and error, we may find him in all things,
keep him in our hearts, and serve him always in our
brothers and sisters. Mother of Good Counsel pray for us.
Amen.

Ten reasons there are no women in hell

That’s why we drink them here!

Talk to your mother!

Babies, young women, and young husbands with a 19-year-long porn addiction:  this means you.

Bene, bene, bene

This is what I’m talking about in today’s post:

 

and also some of this:

 

Book giveaway #1!

Have I told you lately that THE BOOK IS ALMOST HERE?  Style, Sex, and Substance will be released on March 2!

I wrote the chapter on motherhood, and I would like to give away two copies signed by all ten writers.

How, you ask, can you score one of these free books, edited by Hallie Lord, published by Our Sunday Visitor, and written and autographed by ten very fine Catholic women writers?  Easy peasy.  First let’s read the description of the book:

Here is a fresh look at life from the perspective of ten Catholic women who live in the spotlight of the Internet, ten bloggers who keep it real every day with their personal posts relating their triumphs, trials, and temptations for all to see.

In the same way, nothing is off limits in Style, Sex, & Substance. Each of these women brings a refreshingly open and humorous perspective to growing in faith and improving their relationship with Christ.

Enjoy real stories, real struggles, and best of all, real faith and trust that God will bring out the best in all circumstances whether in the family room, the bedroom, or at work.

So I says to myself, I says, who needs a book like this?  If there’s one thing that modern Americans understand, it’s what it means to be a woman.

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Heh.

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Well, maybe not.  I know I’ve come across some dumb ideas about womanhood in my time.  Like the time when I was a pregnant, breastfeeding, homeschooling, stay-at-home mother of seven.  If my life were any more feminine, a backward cult in Mesopotamia would be sacrificing young goats in my honor.  And yet it was a this point in my life when someone said, “Mrs. Fisher is obviously the kind of woman who rejects her own femininity.”  How did he know?  Because I *sigh* *sigh* *sighhhhhhhhh* usually wear pants, not skirts or dresses.

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So,  yeah, there’s a need for this book.  To let people know what real women really think about what it really means to be a real woman.  I haven’t seen all the titles to the chapters yet, but I can tell you who wrote them and the subject matter.  Besides my chapter on motherhood, Style, Sex, and Substance includes:

Jennifer Fulwiler on “Who is the modern Catholic woman?”

Karen Edmisten on the spiritual life

Rachel Balducci on friendship

Annie Mitchell on the single life

Rebecca Teti on work

Hallie Lord on style, beauty and balance

Betty Duffy on sex

Danielle Bean on marriage

Barbara Nicolosi on engaging the culture

and Simcha Fisher on four hours of sleep and a steady diet of Little Debbie Cosmic Brownies and beer.  I also wrote the chapter on motherhood.

Anyway, you were asking how you can get a copy of this wonderful book?  You can either pre-order it, or you can leave a comment at the end of this post and maybe win Style, Sex, and Substance autographed by all ten authors.  I was gonna make you tell a funny story, or write the best or the worst definition of womanhood you’ve ever heard, but nertz to that – we’re all tired.  Just say “me me me” or something in the comments, and you’re entered.  Because I wuv you.

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(But please DO NOT EMAIL YOUR ENTRY TO ME.   Emailed entries will not make it into the drawing!)  I’ll leave the comments open for two weeks, and then I’ll announce the winner, who will receive a free, autographed copy as soon as it’s released in March!  Yay!  And we’ll do another contest in a month or so.

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Remember:  the deadline is Monday, February 5.

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Don’t forget, you can pre-order the book.  Why leave it to fate?  I really think you should pre-order the book.  Again:  yay!  And spread the word!

Tired Pride

Hello, new readers!  I’m really glad you stopped by.  You’ll have to take my word for it, just like when the lady from church came by with two homemade casseroles, toys for the kids, a tin of cookies, and a baby present . . . only to see that the kids were watching Curious George and using markers to decorate their naked torsos while I cruised Facebook while eating refried beans straight out of the can.  Which is to say, I’m really glad to see you!  But, heh heh, if I’d have known you were coming, I would have, heh heh, fixed the place up a little. . .

Well, at least we can all be glad that when I was writing this post last night, I came within three seconds of including a photo of the 2011 Furry Pride Parade — but decided to go to bed, instead.  Hooray!

To the mother with only one child

So I spent a good 3-4  hours pouring my heart into this piece (which is the kind of thing you get when I try to write after that evening sun goes down).  I put the finishing touches on it, formatted it, and rewarded myself by going on Facebook.  Where every mother I know was passing around this great and funny and honest piece from one Glennon Melton, which has very.  VERY.  similar themes to the post I just wrote, even down to the moral of the story.  Except that her essay has a happy ending, and mine is all, “Hey, moms, let’s talk about our kids, and DEATH.”

Le sigh.  You’ll just have to take my word for it that I didn’t read or even hear about her piece before I wrote mine.  I’m super tired, a little writer’s blocky, and yeah, pretty gloomy, but I am NOT a porn star.  I mean a plagiarist.  Whatever.

Why should I listen to you?

Today’s post is helpful, practical, reassuring, and makes fun of Fred Durst.

Just call me Corrie ten Boom; plus more blabbering about my house and soul, etc.

And another reason I’m grateful for the snow:  it gives me an excuse to resurrect this post from my old blog.

Jen Fulwiler just celebrated her 35th birthday, and asked people under and above the age of 35 how they feel about this time in their life.  As someone who just turned 37, I can sum up this time in my life by what’s happening today: I’m old and mature and responsible enough to be expecting an assessor from the bank to come over in a few hours to look over the house in preparation for our refinance, which should save us a few hundred dollars on our monthly mortgage payment.

But I’m also tired and cynical and lazy enough to have put very little effort into cleaning said house, even though I know it will cause me considerable embarrassment when the assessor comes over.  Unlike the party guests we recently hosted, he will be (DOOM!  DOOM!) Allowed To Go Upstairs.

I tried to kid myself for a while that the house is simply charmingly cluttered, filled with the sweet, if somewhat chaotic, hallmarks of an enviably happy and bustling family.  I even clung to this fantasy while (not even lying, here) wiping ketchup off the bathroom mirror this morning.  Wiping, not scrubbing — which means it was fairly fresh.  Which means that someone was . . . using ketchup in the middle of the night, in the bathroom?  I don’t want to know.

But when I went to wake up the kids, I had to face the hard fact that — well, all moms say, “It looks like a hurricane hit here!”  Well, my house really looks like a real hurricane really hit, and hit, and hit.  It looks like there should be burnt-out refrigerators scattered here and there.  It looks like there should be people standing on the roof, shooting at helicopters.  Worst of all, there are actual high water marks in one room, even though we have never been flooded.  At least, I think it was water.  Uh.

A few years ago, I would have broken my back to have the place spic and span.  But a few years ago, we couldn’t even have considered owning a house, much less refinancing one.  A few years ago, we would have had more free time to clean, because my husband was working one job, not two, and I wasn’t working at all.  Our kids would  have been home to help clean, because they weren’t going to art classes or field trips or planning sleepovers with their friends, because we didn’t have any friends, because we never left the apartment.  And our credit was shot because we did things like buying things and then not, you know, paying for them.   And I would have done all the cleaning myself, and been furious about it, because my husband and I were not in the habit of communicating with each other, or helping each other, or working together.  Today, the kitchen is kind of grimy, but there are fresh flowers on the counter.  My husband brought them home for me the other day, because he thought I could use some flowers.

So, at age 37, have I broken even in the ledgers of personal responsibility?  Have I really made any progress, or have I only become more adept at making plausible excuses for my failings?  Is today a cause for pride, or a prime opportunity to do an assessment of my own soul, seeing as I’ve repaired my own spiritual credit to the degree that I probably qualify to refinance my own time, and could be saving myself years off purgatory by just getting off my behind and cleaning the bathroom for once?  What if I got a sheriff who so offends the people of Rock Ridge that his very appearance would drive them out of town? Wherever will I find such a man?  Why am I asking you?

Well, happy birthday, Jen!  DOOM!  DOOM!

Seven Benny Pics

Share one of my lovely moments with sweet baby Benedicta, who is now over a month old:

She’s a rather solemn baby so far, but for some reason she cannot resist the comic genius of the words, “looby looby loo.”

Don’t forget to check out Conversion Diary for everyone else’s Seven Quick Takes!