Hey, y'all!

I'm new on the Crosswalk blogs, so please be nice -- at least until I make you really mad. Which should be in about...oh, another five minutes, judging from experience. See, I used to do all the film reviews for Crosswalk, and I learned the hard way that there's nothing like a film review to stir the pot, especially the Christian pot.

Wait...I'm not sure that came out right...

Anyway, allow me to introduce myself.  I'm a Southern Girl, as you might have guessed. I'm also the wife of a military chaplain who is serving the Lord and the United States Air Force (in that order, contrary to what they think) in the Middle East right now. He's in a safe place. But it's heavy stuff over there, so y'all please pray for him.  Please pray especially for all the young guys and gals who are experiencing the trauma firsthand, however. It's been bad these last two months, and our troops are some of the bravest people I've ever met. I'll be talking about them from time to time in this blog, so stay tuned.

Mark and I have been married for more than twelve years, and God has blessed us with two precious children. My husband is another blessing -- a wonderful, godly man who's hardworking and as honest as your accountant on tax day. Funny, too - especially if you like jokes about obscure biblical characters. And brilliant...honey, don't ask the man a question if you're in a hurry. If all this isn't enough, he's also a looker. Think Tom Cruise, only taller - with no weird religion.

Here's a photo.  See what I mean?  (I married him for his mind.)

The delightful J.I. Packer, one of our seminary professors and a dear friend, did the wedding -- out in rainy Vancouver, B.C., where Mark and I met then got our M.Div.s, at Regent College. I think our conjugal longevity is a real statement in today's love 'em and leave 'em world. It's also a family record, of sorts. All four of our parents are currently on their third marriage, 'ya see. Mark likes to say we don't have a family tree -- we have a family briar patch. I prefer to think that we love marriage so much in our family, we do it over and over. Kind of like an extreme sport.

Here's the problem, though. It doesn't matter how sweet or funny or smart or gorgeous your husband is. When you discover your wet beach towels spread out on the oil-stained garage floor -- to dry, as my husband explained, like it was the most natural thing in the world -- honey, you will not be thinking about his cute blue eyes, I can tell you that. Heck, one Southern Girl got so scared she didn't even make it to the altar. Remember Jennifer Wilbanks, Atlanta's infamous Runaway Bride? She faked a kidnapping to get out of her wedding. Now maybe it's my imagination, but I think that poor girl must have had a little visit from the bride of Christmas future. I'm telling you - as wonderful as marriage is and can be (and truly, it's the best invention in the world, right after men, turtle brownies and sleeping late) -- it ain't all Cheerwine and roses, either.

In fact, it's hard enough when two oldest children (as we are) get married. Psychologists say that's like two monarchs trying to share the same castle. But when you take a Southern Girl from an all-girl household and marry her to a Type A, Alpha male Yankee from an all-boy household...welcome to the Middle Ages!

Which is precisely why I wrote my book, The Southern Girl's Guide to Surviving the Newlywed Years: How to Stay Sane Once You've Caught Your Man. It's about all the things men do to drive women insane and how to deal with 'em -- and it's coming out at the end of December. The Southern Girl's Guide  is the perfect gift for brides, newlyweds but also anybody who's ever felt ... shall we say, just a little bit frustrated with any helplessness, stubbornness and/or forgetfulness that occasionally comes at us from the male side of the planet.

Not that women don't drive men crazy. Of course we do. But I plead the Fifth on that issue. Besides, unlike men, we ladies have a scientific reason for our insanity. Men call it "PMS" and/or "menopause," and certainly, there's a nasty reality lurking behind that little accusation. Having conducted many years of research into this field, however, I am pleased to report my findings, and here they are:

The real reason women are crazy is from years of inhaling secondhand sock smoke.

Yes, you heard it here first, folks. Socks kill. Especially dirty ones, and trust me when I say that I know a thing or two about the damage that those things can inflict upon on a woman's brain when men don't pick them up for days at a time. But, dirty socks are just a few of the other things I tackle in The Southern Girl's Guide. Other marital challenges include:

• How to decipher male-speak
• Color-coding his possessions for disposal
• The importance of keeping the bar low in the kitchen
• Pre-deployment strategies for social occasions
• Persuading a man to apologize (works best while he's asleep)
• Dealing with his mother (including the "Top Ten Mother-in-Law Tormentors")
• The no-fail method of motivating a man to do housework -- and plenty more.

The book will be out on December 26 -- just in time for all of your ... ummm ... Boxing Day shopping.  And my mama, bless her heart, wants to be sure and ask everyone to go out and please get a copy.  Every book you buy, you see, is one she won't have to. For more info, feel free to check out my website, where you can watch Southern Girl TV.

In the meantime, I promise not to drivel on too much about my book. Instead, I'll be drivelling about all the things in life that really matter -- like what Dr. House is going to do now that he's ticked off the wrong dude; why 16-year-old, unmarried Keisha Castle-Hughes ("Whale Rider"), who just happens to be playing the Virgin Mary in the upcoming film, "The Nativity Story," probably isn't going to be doing many interviews (can you say bebe?); and whether Kirstie Alley should have worn that bikini on Oprah.

I just know you're on the edge of your seat.

In the meantime, come say hello at www.SouthernGirlsGuide.com.

With Southern love,
In Christ,
Annabelle