In Which I Finally Make It to Poetry Friday

I usually get my Poetry Friday post done on Thursday night or Friday morning but this week my entire routine was off. We were out late-ish night and didn't have our usual Friday activities and that always throws me.

So, my "poetry" today is a slapped-together account of last night. It doesn't really count as poetry but I'm counting it because I'm flexible like that.

Greatness Thrust Upon Them* 
(by someone who doesn't have a real poem this week)

Meet up with Magical Mrs. M.
Caravan.
Drive for two hours.
(And fifteen minutes
if you count two bathroom breaks.)
Watch friends in convivial version
of Twelfth Night
that includes songs like Locomotion
and Addicted to Love and
You and I (Ingrid Michaelson,
not Lady Gaga.)
Hug friends.
Congratulate them.
Tell them they are awesome. (They are.)

Make sure everyone goes to the bathroom.
Hit the road.

Drive.
Consider coffee.
Reject coffee.
Arrive home at 11:15 p.m.
Find note from Atticus on door:
"I'm asleep. Shut up."
Laugh out loud.
Eat chocolate cake, of course.
Kiss daughters goodnight.
Go to bed.
Forget about Poetry Friday.

* "Be not afraid of greatness; some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them." ~~ Twelfth Night
~~~~~~~~~~

The round up this week is at The Opposite of Indifference.

My Two Giveaways: *After Miscarriage* and *The Infertility Companion for Catholics*

Don't forget to leave comments on the two posts to enter to win:

Leave a comment here for a chance to win After Miscarriage.

Leave a comment here for a chance to win The Infertility Companion for Catholics.

Names will be drawn at random first thing the morning of May 2nd.

Catholic Family Fun With Sarah Reinhard: A Guest Post From the Snoring Scholar

I'm having Catholic Writer Fun today with a guest post from Sarah Reinhard.

Here's Sarah:

She always looks so happy!

I first found Sarah waaay back when her blog was called Just Another Day of Catholic Pondering. Back then she seemed surprised to find that anyone read her blog, much less her sidebar. (But how could I resist a sidebar entitled "Nose Inserted" on a blog by someone calling herself the Snoring Scholar?! I loved her immediately.)

Over the last six years, I've watched Sarah successfully navigate various writing waters as a blogger, a columnist, and now a prolific author. Over Advent, my family used her lovely new book, Welcome, Baby Jesus. For Lent this year, we loved Welcome, Risen Jesus, which carried us all the way through the Octave of Easter.

Now, Sarah's back with her newest book, Catholic Family Fun: A Guide for the Adventurous, Overwhelmed, Creative and Clueless. I love her for the subtitle alone, don't you? Here's the book:

Ramona took it away from me, sat reading, and giggling, and saying, "We should do this," and then pronounced it all Good. (Ramona may need her own blog soon: Ramona Reviews It All.)

This book must be exhausted from its travels, because it's been making the rounds on a blog book tour:

And today, Sarah's here with a guest post, so I'll sign off now and let her do the talking:

~~~~~~~~~~

Having FUN with Family Fun: 

Confessions from the Failure Files 

by Sarah Reinhard 

It took me a while to admit that when we were having a family fun time. I wasn't having much fun. 


Not really. 


I was too obsessed about what exactly we were doing, about the details, about the things that were--gasp! horror! shriek!--going DIFFERENTLY THAN I PLANNED! 


Things were not perfect. Though the kids were laughing and squealing, there wasn’t any insightful discussion about Jesus or the saints and no one had asked for a Bible story. 


What was I doing wrong? 


As it turns out, I was guilty of things I’m often guilty of: 


I was setting expectations no family could keep and setting myself up for failure. 


There’s a time and a place to have high standards, and family fun activities may qualify. However, standards of behavior and standards of quality are far different than impossible expectations. I was demanding perfection, which didn’t correspond at all with the fun they were actually having. 


Those impossible expectations were part of a view of what would be “perfect.” And you know what? Perfect might not, in fact, be better than what we actually had happen. I couldn’t foresee the fun we had when I defined what perfect was. 


I wasn’t being flexible. Things were going to go the way I wanted them, period, or else it was a failure.  


I’m far from perfect, and having a need to “plan for spontaneity” is just one of the ways I have worked around my inability to be naturally flexible. My husband suggested it, actually, long before we had kids. It took me a while (I’m a slow learner) to apply it to our family fun, but now that I have, I’m enjoying myself a lot more. 


Family fun doesn’t have to be overwhelming. It doesn’t have to make you feel clueless. If, however, you descend into the depths of those things, let me offer you my support and prayers. I’m with you! You can do it! 

~~~~~~~~~~

 (For more about Sarah's new book, visit the Pauline website, which features new activities and reflections every month, and visit the Facebook page here.)

Thanks for visiting, Sarah! 

Giveaway: *After Miscarriage*

Yesterday, I ran a guest post from the authors of The Infertility Companion for Catholics, and offered a chance to win a free copy of their book if you leave a comment on that post.

I don't know why I didn't think of this earlier (other than the fact that I think of most things later rather than sooner) but I'm adding one of my books to the giveaway, too.

If you would like to win a copy of After Miscarriage, please leave a comment below (on this post) to be entered in the drawing. I'll put all the names in a coffee cup and will have Ramona pull one name at random on the morning of May 2nd.

Guest Post and a Giveaway: The Infertility Companion for Catholics

Updated again, May 11, 2012: 

The original winner, Amy, my hasn't contacted me, and did not leave an email address. 

So, I've picked a second winner: cavyladyrae, you also won a book! 

(Amy, I still have your book here, too, and will send it as soon as you send me a mailing address.) 

The winner of the book is Amy. 

Please contact me with your mailing address! 

Carmen Santamaría and Angelique Ruhi-López have written a beautiful, comprehensive, faithful, and much needed new book, The Infertility Companion for Catholics: Spiritual and Practical Support for Couples. 

(See the end of this post for details on how to win
a copy of the book.)

Although I never experienced the kind of infertility that Carmen and Angelique did, I vividly remember the pain my sister went through when she was unable to have children. I know that her grief was profound; I know that some things about her journey remain difficult to this day. So, although I do not know exactly what my sister felt, and she does not know exactly what I experienced with my miscarriages, we have always been there for each other, doing our best to support, to listen, to help one another, and to pray for each other.

Angelique and Carmen get that. I heartily agree with their assertion that miscarriage and infertility are related crosses, and I'm so glad they included a chapter on miscarriage in their book (a beautiful and helpful chapter it is, too.) Those of us who have experienced miscarriage, infertility, or both, share the carrying of a difficult cross --one that is at the intimate center of our marriages and our lives.

It's a privilege to have Carmen and Angelique here today with a guest post. And many thanks to them, too, for helping spread the word about After Miscarriage, as well offering a number of excellent resources on their website for those who have lost children.

~~~~~~~~~~

Infertility after miscarriage

by Angelique Ruhi-López and Carmen Santamaría

Though neither of us has experienced a miscarriage firsthand we always knew our book needed to include a chapter on the subject because of its ties to infertility. 


Despite always knowing that miscarriages were a challenging cross to bear, we did not realize how much we would be changed by our research into this area. To hear of someone miscarrying feels different now that we have researched the subject and heard and read numerous firsthand accounts of couples who have experienced this terrible grief. Hopefully, we are more empathetic and compassionate to the losses that so many families face. By law, we are not mothers until we have birthed a child, but we know that we are mothers much earlier than that. From the moment we know we are pregnant, our lives begin to change and we are mothers. Miscarriage can be cruel and deafening. It seems as if God is rubbing salt in a wound, particularly when it is coupled with the prior experience of infertility. Miscarriage allows expectations to rise to a new high; a pregnancy has been achieved only to be taken away. Joy is drained from our bodies and worry and anxiety ensue.

Couples experiencing infertility, as well as those who have a miscarriage, experience sorrow, pain and grief. Though we heard women say that the loss of miscarriage stays with you always, they also shared that it is important to not allow the initial grief and sorrow to overtake us. These feelings are like a place we live or pass through but it’s important not to remain there. Just like we recently accompanied Jesus during Holy Week to Gethsemane, Calvary and Golgotha, they are all a part of our journeys, too, but where do they lead? They are part of our walk toward Easter and the Resurrection. Perhaps initially, there is the feeling of shock and numbness that reminds us of the silence and starkness of Jesus being laid in the tomb for three days. After a time, however, both the numbness and grief wear off and there is a gradual rebirth.

Miscarriage creates worry and anxiety, emotions that are all too familiar for those who have experienced infertility. A friend of ours recently had a miscarriage and as much as she knew that she and her husband wanted to have a second child, she was terrified of trying again for fear that the next pregnancy could also end in miscarriage. One important and helpful resource for facing this fear and sorrow is a book that our gracious blog host Karen Edmisten wrote, entitled, After Miscarriage: A Catholic Woman’s Companion to Healing and Hope. We hope you will check it out.

As women who experience these related crosses of infertility and miscarriage, we can be companions on our journeys and help remind one another that Christ has already borne the cross and has resurrected to give us hope and resurrect with Him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Carmen and Angelique are on a blog book tour through May 2 -- check out reviews, Q and A, and guest posts all around the blogosphere:  

And, for a chance to win a copy of The Infertility Companion for Catholics, just leave a comment on this post anytime through May 1st. I will draw one winner at random on the morning of May 2nd. 

Updated: 

I will also give away one copy of my book, After Miscarriage. To enter that drawing, please go to this post, and leave a comment there. 

Guest Posts and Giveaways

Next week I'll be running a couple of guest posts, and I'll also be hosting a giveaway!

Stay tuned.

Hmm, Shall I Blog About Contraception or Parchment Paper?

Because this is my life, people.

Last night, after a bit of internet hopping, contraception was on my mind.

I know, right? Crazy to think that so many people on the wonderfulworldwideweb are talking about such a thing, but there you are. Amazing, too, that I can even remember what contraception is, really, when you consider that I threw the pills out in 1990, about nine months after my baptism, and then we threw out even the possibility of anything else in 1995, when I became a Catholic. I was thinking about our journey to where we are now -- how we got here, what influenced us, and what we would or wouldn't change. I considered how heated the online exchanges become when the topic is contraception or  natural family planning.

So, there I am, with this stuff on my mind, puttering in the kitchen, making chocolate chip cookies. We have a graduation party coming up here next month and I'm thinking that if I make some cookies and freeze the results of my baking sessions every time I have the urge to eat cookie dough, then I'll end up with quite a generous stash of treats when the party rolls around.

And because just a couple of years ago I discovered parchment paper for cookie baking (it was no doubt during one of the infamous gingerbread episodes), I started wondering if there's any reason I can't reuse parchment paper -- as in, on another day, with another batch, another puttering session. So I googled about parchment paper and found the answer and felt rather delighted.

And suddenly, I'm sitting here thinking about what a strange world we live in that I'm considering blogging about one of these two things:

"Hey, people, you can reuse your parchment paper! How did I not know this?"

and

"Hey, people, there's so much to say about contraception that I don't even know where to start!"

And then I thought about how multi-layered the issue is (contraception, that is, not parchment paper) and about how multi-layered are the people discussing it all around. I thought about how easy it is for us to reduce each other to caricatures and nemeses, to cease to think of the other side as worthy of time and discussion.

I thought of all the women I know who have embraced a life without contraception -- women who stay home with their children, those who work outside the home, those who work from their home offices, women who bake cookies and women who buy cookies, women with high school diplomas and advanced degrees, women who grind their own wheat and those who buy Wonder bread ...

We are all stripes, all makes and models. So are those on the other side of it. But how, oh, how are we going to get anywhere in this conversation if we aren't friends who can talk about the important stuff?

I remember when I had endless questions about God, the Catholic faith, about contraception, about all the tough stuff. I had a friend who listened to me, answered questions, patiently discussed, and never reduced me to a caricature or thought of me as the enemy.

He loved me with a Christian love and drank lots of coffee with me.

That's the Christian I aspire to be.

(to be continued ... perhaps when I get to that next batch of cookies.)

Donna-Marie Cooper O'Boyle and I Talk About Style, Sex and Substance

 

Donna-Marie had a few questions about my part in the book, and you can find the interview here. Thanks, Donna! 

(Find out more about the book in these posts, too.)

On the Radio

I'll be talking to Teresa Tomeo in just a few minutes (8:40-9:00 a.m. Central Daylight Time) on Ave Maria radio, about After Miscarriage.

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

I was reading one of the Charlotte/Little House books to Ramona the other day. In the first book of the series, Charlotte named a trio of containers "the Saturday family":

"There was the mother, a tall, delicately curved cruet of cider vinegar for the vegetables; the father, a squat redware molasses jug with a jaunty handle and a friendly chip on the rim; and between them, cradled in a china dish, the butter baby for Mama's rolls."

In the second book, On Tide Mill Lane, the molasses jug (which broke) has been replaced:

"Charlotte crouched on her heels and stared at the pair in the sideboard cabinet, trying to get accustomed to the new father jug. He was bigger than the old one, sturdy, not so jolly. The glaze on his stout red-brown body was very shiny." 

"He's a fop!" exclaimed Betsy indignantly.

~~~~~

We survived the hail storm on Saturday. I'm borrowing my friend's picture of the storm (as I forgot to take pictures, which is the story of my pictureless life):

Atticus has never had to shovel hail before.

Now he's done that. It's an experience we could have lived without but, all things considered, we were extremely fortunate. We had water running down the walls of our mud room (but again, it could have been so much worse.) Never. Happened. Before. It was one amazing rain/wind/hail storm.

~~~~~

We're watching caterpillars turn into butterflies. They are in their cocoons at the moment and so luckily missed being released in the distinctly un-butterfly-like weather on Saturday. Just a few more days, I think, and we should have some lovely painted ladies fluttering about.

Ramona is eagerly awaiting their arrival.

Poetry Friday: John Updike

Seven Stanzas at Easter 
by John Updike

Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
each soft Spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled
eyes of the eleven apostles;
it was as His flesh: ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart

(Read the rest here, and thanks again, Atticus, for the idea.)

~~~~~

The Poetry Friday round up is at Booktalking.

Looking Back on Holy Week

So, we're in the full swing of the Octave of Easter ("It's an eight-day party!" says the Catholic Church. Who says religion is dull?) and though I can not quite yet fight my way down from this sugar high, I can at least do a bit of dreamy, glucose-induced reflection on the past week. You'll pardon me if I lapse into some sort of hallucinogenic state or a coma. If that happens, I'll just sleep off the Cadbury and try again later.

Holy Week. Hmmm.  Funny how much I've come to take for granted.

A couple of years ago, I chronicled the ways in which this week has changed for me over time. You can find some of those thoughts in Part 1 and Part 2 of Alone At My First Easter Vigil.

The last couple of Lenten seasons for me haven't felt particularly dramatic in any way. I'm pleased by the lack of drama, though. I've lived through plenty-o-drama and most of it wasn't good, so "dull" and  "steady" and "status quo" have more than their share of appeal for me. But "undramatic" doesn't translate to meaningless, unspiritual, or unsatisfying. This year, I found that when I gave things up for Lent, I just seemed to accept that I would do without them, without much inward whining or rebellion, and that felt good.

When I abstained from meat but my mind couldn't shake the picture of a juicy burger, I simply reminded myself that I couldn't have it. When I fasted and my stomach growled, I acknowledged, "Wow, I'm so hungry. I hate to hear my stomach growl," but I didn't eat -- fasting was just the thing to do that day. I don't say this to get some back-patting and admiration for being so disciplined. I'm not particularly disciplined. What I'm trying to say is that this simply felt like grace -- it felt like saying, "Thy Will be done," and then staying out of His way so He could do it.

It felt, too, rather predictable in a way. Also predictable was the fact that something unpredictable would affect me during the Triduum -- the way my pastor was overcome with emotion during his homily, his voice faltering as he spoke of Jesus doing the Father's will in spite of His fear and His desire to have this cup be taken from Him. The way kissing the Cross on Good Friday struck me anew as both perfectly strange and strangely perfect. The way in which witnessing adult baptisms and confirmations made me feel extraordinarily grateful for and happy about water and oil and the stuff of this earth. The way the hypnotic, pumping rhythm of Veni Sancte Spiritus entered my bones and my heart, and left my body as breath and salt and tears.

This steady but unpredictable predictability of the liturgical season called to mind something else that is steady and predictable but still of full of surprising and breath-catching beauty, and that is my marriage.

When a relationship lasts many years, a few things happen. Fundamental aspects of the marriage grow not incrementally, but exponentially: unconditional love ... trust ... mutual dependence ... contentment. The excitement of discovery and the drama of the early days give way to a new stirring, one born of promises made and kept. This new exhilaration is the result of the sure knowledge that this other -- this person you once had to meet, date and get to know -- is now a part of you.

Christ is like that.  My love for, trust in, dependence on, and contentment in Him have grown into the fiber of who I am.

He is the Other who is now part of me. He is the One I once had to meet and learn about and get to know. He is the One Who is now simultaneously predictable and thrilling.

He has entered my bones and my heart, my body, my breath, my salt and my tears. He has settled in to stay.

And He has made glad of a predictable life.

Why Do You Look For the Living Among the Dead?

"He is not here ... He is risen."

~ Luke 24:5-6

Alleluia!

He is risen indeed!

Alleluia, Alleluia!

Painting: Bouguereau, The Three Marys at the Tomb

"Mom? Who is Dan, and why are you wishing him a happy anniversary?"

Thus spake Betsy.

And I replied unto her (in my best Here's-Your-Catechetical-Reminder voice), "That's Father A., sweetie. And it only says 'Dan' because that's the way his email address address shows up in my Inbox. And I'm wishing him a happy anniversary because Holy Thursday is the anniversary of the institution of the priesthood. Remember?"

"Oh. Yeah. That makes sense."

Don't forget to sensibly wish your priest a happy anniversary today.

Hallie Rounds Up the Chatter on Style, Sex and Substance

What are people saying about these ten women:

and their chapters in Style, Sex and Substance? 

Hallie has the scoop. 

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

* It's Holy Week!

I haven't blogged much about Lent this year, for a couple of reasons. I sometimes feel as if I already said every relevant thing about Lent in the post that is so long it takes you 40 days to read it. And yet, every Lent is different and new, so there's always something to say or observe, right? This Lent, for me, has been about balance (in taking care of my family and myself) and about letting my stomach growl. There's nothing like a loud midsection to solidify  one's compassion for those who don't have enough to eat on a daily basis.

* Ramona Update

I'm reading Understood Betsy (previously mentioned here and here) to her. I love this book so much.

She's rereading all the Martha books. Loving them. She read them a couple of years ago, and I read them aloud to her before that. But just as every Lent can bring a new insight, every year of maturity brings something new to light in an old, beloved book, no?

Recent favorite Ramona moments:

Ramona: Mom, drive through my cafe -- It's called Kittens, Cake & Ice Cream.

Me: Ok, I'll take a kitten, a cake & ice cream.

Ramona: No, my name is Kitten!

(Oops.)

She also told me, "Mom, I think you're kinda like ... who's that god of wine again?"

(Obviously, I did not give up red wine this year. However, lest you conjure images of bacchanalian nights -- we homeschooling moms are famous for those -- I'll remind you that I am all about balance this Lent.)

Poor Ramona just got over a bout of stomach flu, which partially explains my absence from the blog for almost a week.

* But only partially.

We've been busy with plenty of other things -- art class taught by the Magical Mrs. M. (it was a fun Paul Klee project). And there's been the regular occupational therapy for poor Betsy, who had such a bad case of tendinitis (and I can't stop thinking I'm misspelling that when I don't spell it tendonitis, but apparently I'm not) that she wasn't writing (and this, believe me, is a tragedy for Betsy -- thank goodness for Dragon software, courtesy of her grandpa), and wasn't playing her violin. She's on the mend!

* Next year, I will not be Anne-with-an-e's teacher. Gulp.

I was putting together an invitation for her graduation party, and I found this photo of her as a baby:

Yeah. That's Heart of Darkness. I blame Atticus.