tee heee hee . . . . Someday, my little Mac will read this blog and go
"HEY, THAT'S MY BUTT!!!"
Where I live- it's kind of chilly right now. 5 degrees below zero with 20 inches of snow chilly. But, I don't want to talk about that. Cause, well, meh.
The Tribe Called Hall are an adventurous bunch. We plan on travel and moving and seeing all manner of topography. And here we are, in the flat lands of frozen tundra. In the summer we found all manner of state parks and nature trails. It was fun discovering what I never known about this place. Even though I grew up here. I have moved to my home town.
Then, as I drive home home from work, it is pitch black outside. 5 pm and it's so dark I can't see the inside of my car cause it's so dark outside. As I drive my mind wanders to different living locales. Places where it's not so cold and not so dark. Like Hawaii.
Last Tuesday, after a mere five minute trip, my parents show up at our new house. And the wee Mac, he hollers, "GRANDMA!!!! GRANDMA'S HERE!!!" And he hops three hops across the living room, landing squarely in her open arms. 10 feet of joy in a 3 foot toddler.
And, for the first time this year (yes, I realize it's December), Mr. Hall and I go out for a actual date. I wore a pretty sweater dress and high heel, knee high boots. It's cold out but this will not stop the fashionable Mrs. Hall!! Over dinner we make lovey dovey eyes at each other and I laughed and laughed. Then I laughed some more. Then we played footsie.
After we got home my parents left. The fact that they can come and go is beyond my wildest dreams. They come, then they go. That's the bees knees my good people.
Then, a few days later, my mother and I attend my daughter's school play. Pancake attends the same elementary school as I did. Which boggles the mind really. I never anticipated moving back here. It's not that I don't like it here, it's just that there are so many other places to see. So many other geographical locations to explore.
And we, my mother and I, we talked. We shared. We talked and shared and talked some more. And it was awesome and good. The blue birdy, she is getting full. ;)
Then, a few days later, I had my own play date. We talked and talked while eating Mongolian food. She's a grown up woman who had traveled and lived in many places. She had tried on each address like a new identity. She was trying to figure out who she was. At this point, she is very sure of who she is. She is a misses with a child. She is very much like me.
Which is a very rare find I must say. And she will, most likely, be my first friend here. Since I've moved back any way. And for this I am thankful. I like her a lot ;)
So this is my task. Not to bemoan the snow and sleet, not to whine about the chilly and cold. But to embrace this place and thrive within it. And I think I will do exactly that!!
Hope you all had a Happy Holiday. For me, it was the warmest ever :)
Tomorrow, Christmas eve day, I have a half day. Then I have four days off. Which I feel no small amount of smug righteousness about. Because I've done my time, as a nurse, working every other weekend, every other holiday, mandatory overtime because someone called in on Christmas morning, et cetera.
But I'm all grown up now, nurse practitioner now. So I work a regular schedule. With holidays off, my weeknights off, my weekends off and vacation days too. I cannot tell you how important this is to me. It's freedom my good people. And when I drive home tomorrow at noon I will yell, "Ollie Ollie Oxen Free!! It's CHRISTMAS TIME!!!"
This freedom is most important, because I am there for my kids during Christmas. And Christmas is made for kids.
So much fun will be had in the next few days. Presents, egg nog, chocolate covered cherries, fun with Grandma and Grandpa, the absolute thrill of Santa and his magic, and us, Mr. and Mrs. Hall, sipping coffee while the kids play with their toys. It's everything I've ever wanted and dreamed about. My dreams have come true. Right there, on the living room floor. OUR living room floor, hold on, gotta take a minute here, collect myself, sniff sniff . . .
All of this stuff about Christmas spirit, it means so much to me. It is my time of magic and joy. And Christmas lights. And being so thankful for everything we have. Our family, our kids.
It's almost too much for the human spirit to bear, all this Christmas joy.
I hope everyone feels the joy and magic in the next few days. Enjoy a cup of cheer, watch your favorite Christmas movie and kick back. And don't forget to enjoy some cookies ;)
Merry Christmas to all of you!!
This post is from last year and it's still very true. :)
This is Santa Claus, checking the list to see if Pancake (my daughter, age 7 and Mac ( my son, age 3)have been naughty or nice. I can guarantee you, they have been good as gold. :)
This year, my daughter believes in Santa Claus. It is a deeper and more elaborate belief than last year.
As we were shopping for sweaters on Sunday, the topic of Santa came up. She would hold up things and say, "I want this for Christmas" and then politely put it back. After two or three times, I said, you need to wait until you see Santa, then you can tell him what you want for Christmas. She came close to me, with a very serious look on her face. Then she whispered, "Mom, he can hear us now, and when you say you want it for Christmas, he knows. He's watching us right now."
I felt a rush of wow, weird and misty eyed. Then, I heartily agreed with her assessment. "Yes, you're right, he can hear us right now." We smiled.
Last night, we went to see Mr. Claus himself. She sat on his lap with her brother, not saying much, more basking in the happiness. He had to gently coax them into talking. It took a few minutes, this visit. She was beaming the whole time.
After, I asked her what they talked about. "I asked for a pony and I told him Mac is too little to ask, so I asked for an Elmo for him." I asked her what else she might want Santa to bring her. "Santa can bring what he wants, he can decide", she said smiling.
I asked her what Santa said to her, "Did he ask what your name is sweetheart?"
"Mom, he already knows who I am, silly".
Again, a mixture of Holy Good Lord, she really believes.
And to top the night off she chanted this on the ride home:
"S-A-N-T-A, SANTA SANTA! He's our man!"
The kicker though, the absolute kicker, happened when I was tucking her into bed.
"Can we get a present for Santa when he comes? I wish we can get him a present too."
Here's to the magic and wonder of Christmas all :)
I had a dream about Ted Kennedy last night. I was his caretaker, well after he had been diagnosed with the brain tumor. It was towards the end of his life. He took a shine to me and asked for my hand in marriage. I said yes, even offered to sign a pre-nup. I ask you, WHAT THE HELL???
Ted Kennedy? Really?? I am flummoxed here. I mean, why him and why now? I mean, his (and my) passion were (are) centered around helping people. But that's were the similarities end. huh. well . . .
IN OTHER MRS. HALL NEWS:
"Ovulation isn't an entirely hidden process. As your body senses the hormone shifts that indicate an egg is about to be released from the ovary, it begins to ready itself for the incoming hordes of sperm and give the egg its best chance of getting fertilized."
This is what I spend my free time reading. Because last month was not the month. But maybe this month could be the month I am knocked up for the 3rd time ;)
As long as the incoming hordes of sperm are doing their job anyway. Or as Mr. Hall says,
"I'm not paying you guys to sit around. Get to work!!"
First, before we begin, HELLO NEW FOLLOWERS! Welcome to the love fest that is Mrs. Hall!
And for those lurkers out there, I still enjoy your visits! (wink)
So- let's begin the discussion, shall we?
First, let me explain my work. I am a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner. I work at a mental health outpatient clinic as an advanced practice nurse. I prescribe mental health medications and tend to my patients as a nurse. I love my job.
Next, let me explain the coworker. His name is Herb and he's a psychiatrist, one of three I work with. He is older, mid to late fifties, good looking and very laid back. He has very un-politically correct sense of humor. He is subversive and very kind to me. I liked him immediately.
Of the three doctors, I go to him the most with my newbie questions and concerns. I could say to him, "I set a patient on fire!" And he would say, "Meh, just spritz him with a bit of water and see him back in two weeks, it'll work out." He listens as I struggle. He teaches me the art psychiatric care. He shows me how to practice without burning out.
He is my mentor.
This is where it gets tricky. I am the youngest woman in the office by 10 years. He notes this. He also notices my fashionista tendencies. Not in an uncomfortable way, but he notes it. There's a line here. A weird professional line between different generations and different genders.
He is a ladies man, never been married. He's funny. And like his off color jokes, I take it all in stride. Because I know who I am.
Now let's get to the Christmas Party.
We are sitting on bar stools directly across from each other. He is gregarious and funny, as always. I am not drinking. Mr. Hall is at home, watching the kids. Herb is drinking with class. But perhaps he is drinking too much. The man enjoys his brews.
He keeps looking at his phone because he's being getting a slew of text messages. He holds the phone far away, squinting to read the text. I told you he's older.
I call him out, asking him what his girlfriend is texting him about. Because that amount of texts can only come from one place, a woman. I ask him why he's never been married. I tease him about being old. There is a slew of us, all sitting close and almost yelling to be heard. The bar is getting crowded.
He starts to talk about his girl friend. She's twenty three. Ten years younger than me. And she's a stripper. I all but do a spit take. I think he is kidding. But he's not kidding! He shows me a photo and yes indeed, there they are- her stripper boobins.
I ask him what he was thinking, dating such a young girl. He replies, "I wasn't thinking much besides she has a body that's out of this world." I smile because he is being honest and owning who he is. These are admirable character traits. He whines a bit that they don't have anything in common, nothing to talk about. I laugh because it's funny.
It's getting late and the women of the office have all but left. I stay, utterly fascinated by the men and their talk. I laugh and really enjoy myself. I really focus on being myself because I am not one of them. I am not part of a bawdy boys club. Just a coworker who blushes at such things.
And I am honest throughout this chatter. I see each of them, gauging my reaction. I am not shocked or offended. Just fascinated and happy to be there. It is a Christmas Party after all.
Then the doctor drops a bomb. He tells a really disgusting and really dirty joke. I feel it gently explode in my belly. I avert my gaze, look down, practically shutting my eyes.Everyone gives a hardy laugh. I open my mouth and mimic their laugh. And I squirmed. And laughed.
I laugh because it was funny, yet I squirm. Dirty jokes are about sex and here we are, telling jokes about sex. I am much too innocent to be here but yet here I am. And I did laugh. Cause it was funny. I closed my eyes and laughed.
And THAT'S when the good doctor leaned forward and put his hand on my knee. FOR THE ENTIRE DURATION OF THE LAUGHTER FROM HIS JOKE. A good fifteen seconds while people laughed. It was a funny joke.
It was at that point I decided it was time for me to go. Gathered my coat and switched seats. And I stayed about twenty minutes more. I stayed because the underbelly, hard drinking and carousing of men fascinate me. But . . . I knew it was time to go when they planned on hitting the club where his girlfriend worked.
And no matter how fascinated I am, that is not a place for me.
Well, not without my husband I mean.
for photos of Mr. Hall, who is not an older man, click here.
And when I get home I tell Mr. Hall all of this. He says, "Herb was just trying to comfort you, trying to make you feel comfortable."
But maybe he was just hitting on me.
YOU make the call, which is it? Was my coworker hitting on me at the Xmas party, er no?
God I love me some Christmas Time and sledding!
And with the 20 inches we just had, AWAY WE GO A SLEDDING!
ROCK MY GOOD PEOPLE!
And now, my favorite christmas song of all time :)
sorry about advert but the song is worth it ;)
On this day, when the snow is reaching 14 inches and blowing horizontal, let's step back and enjoy the largess. Shall we?
A modest hot tub came with our new house. For the past three nights, The Tribe Called Hall has been enjoying the tub in the four seasons room. Right now, the season is winter. It's going to be one degree tomorrow. And that's the high. So yes, let's hot tub.
After supper and shower, we turn off all the lights. We flip on the bulb that illuminates the water from below. Outside, the moonlight bounces off the icy white snow drifts, making the windowed walls seem lit from within. We start the jets and they whersh mightily. We all climb in, smiling and giggling.
The water warms everything, our arms, our legs, our skin. It cooks our bones. Untold reams of stress spiral loose with furious haste. I can barely say my name after a while. It's like being drunk on warm.
The kids went bananas the first two nights. Splashing and thromping. Spreading their pale limbs outward, swirling in the jet propelled water. They get wilder and we say stop. They temper their feral urges, for a bit anyway. Last night they were calm, floating and still.
Then I have this conversation with Pancake, my daughter of seven years. She says "Momma, this is sooo coool having a hot tub!" I can see the flicker of crazy in her eyes. This tiny swimming pool is her size. Like it was made for her.
"Yes sweet cheeks, it is very cool. But, ya know what makes this so special?"
"We have a hot tub and then in summer we can go swimming in our swimming pool and we can . . ."
"No. It's not the fact that we have these things, it's that we are here together, as a family. If you think about it, how much fun would it be if you were here, in the hot tub, all alone? The hot tub and swimming pool are just things. But us being here, in our house, together as a family, that's what makes all of this so special and fun."
She thinks really hard. She pauses and really, really thinks about it. She smiles. And then she says, "Yeah, like when we have fun doing other stuff".
Then her brother grabs her head and tries to pull her under for the seventh time.
OK guys, time to get out of the tub . . .
You would think that me, a person that has conversations for a living, wouldn't be so intimidated by talking with her.
Yet there it is.
When I was talking with her, I found myself repeating bits of small talk I always use. Calling up tried and true stories to get a laugh. Stories to make a quick point and encapsulate who I am. Yet when that was done, I found myself adding bits and pieces and talking too much.
This blog has spoiled me. I don't have to practice any sort of give and take with this conversation. I can talk to you and myself anytime I please. Mostly I talk to me. When I need to, I seek out the other blogs, leave a comment. It's kind of selfish.
But back to her. Last week I made it a point to fill my daughter's social needs. I arranged a playdate. And unexpentantly I found myself curious about the other mom. She sounded relaxed and assured. Kind even. Then she showed up tonight. She is cultured and unique. Has a bit of personality. Kids the same age. Cool hair and calm sense about her. She is like me.
I don't have a great track record when it comes to women friends. I seem to attract the wrong type. Either needy or mean or unstable. I had picked a few good ones when I was living in the big city. But then I left that big city about a year ago.
When I left, I left them. It was ok, we sort of new it was coming. There was really no point in keeping it up. I mean, they don't have kids. I don't anticipate ever going back to the city just to 'visit'. That city is two hours away. So we said goodbyes.
So now my task is to act on the impulse. The impulse of procuring a friendship with this woman. My social skills are a bit rusty due to the two factors noted above.
But tonight, talking to her, the more I talked, the more I talked. I talk WAY TOO much when I am nervous. I go off the written script in my head. I find myself acting even. This is no good. But she lingered. We talked. And talked. About surface things. About simple things but we talked and she was in no hurry to leave when she was picking her daughter up.
If she is who I think she is, then I want to be her friend and I want her to be mine. To take the next step with a guy is easy.
You just lay a big kiss on him.
But that is not what I am interested in.
The next step is having them over for cards. Her and her husband. My first married friend with kids possible friend. Who is cultured and unique. They just relocated from that big city we moved from.
Two blocks away.
So, that's my quandary. How do women know if they have things in common? How do we let each other know if we want to be more than just 'Mom" friends, that we want to be real friends?
jeez! Why are women so complicated?
Welcome back to YOU make the call!
This time, we examine the life of my brother's girlfriend. But before we begin . . I must say I miss blogging and commenting. I have loads of ideas and loads of responses to all your comments. But, alas . . . Just know I read every comment and am so thankful you wrote ;)
SO!! My brother and his girlfriend cohabitate in a house my brother owns. Her name is not on the mortgage. They are both teachers. They have been dating about 10 years. I doubt they will get married because my brother's an idiot. And, most likely, they never have children.
Which is fine. I am a bit judgey about the whole thing. I mean, I don't understand this "living together without a ring in sight" business. It irks me if I know the girl wants a ring. And she does want one. I know this. But, it's not my life. It's hers.
What irks me more, no, what makes me hang my head in shame, is that my brother charges her rent.
"YOU GOTTA BE EFFING KIDDING ME!!"-
Was my first thought when I heard she pays rent. And half the utilities. I was really, really offended by this. I mean, she is getting the shaft!!!
I mention this at T day dinner last week to my two sister in laws. All of us, at the table, college educated women. Educated and bossy types too.
My big sister in law drops her jaw, shocked at my being shocked. Literally does a double take. Offended at my notion that no rent should come out of my bro's girl's wallet.
I see her get flabbergasted and all feminist about it. "This isn't 1840 ya know, when men just kept women as chattel. Why shouldn't she be paying half of the mortgage?", she says.
And by the way, on a personal note, I love getting people riled up like this. Such fun!
"Because THERE IS NO PROMISE OF MARRIAGE! He's not gonna pony up a ring! He OWNS THE HOUSE!!! He should paying ALL THE MORTAGE!!"*
Again, the sister in laws and I exchange looks. I stare at them. They stare back. Disbelief is shared betwix the three of us.
SO DEAR READERS!!!
YOU MAKE THE CALL!!
Should my brother be charging his girlfriend rent? And should she be paying it? And is she or is she not getting the shaft?
Leave your answer in the comments ;)
*fyi-when Mr. Hall and I were living in sin, you bet yer sweet bippy I never payed one dime for rent!
Really NOT MY FAULT!!
Twice I was unpacking my goods, loading the car when I noticed items in the lower part of the cart.
Really, not my fault, I'm just a space case!
Totally forgot about the items.
And no, I didn't go back . . . mmmwwhaa HAAAA HAAA!!!
Cause you see, I'm not a grown up yet.
Have a Happy Sunday All!!!
NOW get out there and cause some trouble!!
Hello All! How was your turkey day?
My little SIL, who's such a cutie herself, has two chihuahuas. They aren't purebreds so they lack that ridiculous shaking thing that pure chihuahuas do. We went to the dog park and they were so adorable, zipping around, chasing each other. Nipping at each other's heels. Barking like crazy at the big dogs.
Sigh. There were a few dogs there that were big. They came upon me all humungo doggy like. Leaned into my legs. They were rotties. Big, black rottweilers. I found myself weeping a bit. I miss my Henry. I didn't realize that going to the dog park would unfurl such feelings. So I petted them and leaned back while the tiny chihuahuas went all spastic crazy. Yippily barking while the big dogs stood silent, taking it all in.
hold on, gonna cry a bit here. I love Henry. Even though he's passed on, my love remains. As we unpack all our stuff I find bits and pieces of him. Stray collars, his winter dog bed, a leash I tried out. Then there is his huge kennel that we never really needed. We'll put it on Craig's list soon. hold on . . . I'm having hard time here, give me a minute.
sigh . . wiping a few tears . . big deep, cleansing breath, and ok, that's better . . i'm ok now . . ;)
Let's turn this around eh?
So the tiny dogs were fun. Just the right size for my kids to chase, pet and get lovins from. They practiced being gentle and petting softly. Mac kept trying to get them to play trains with him. He would hold up a wooden caboose and say, "Here puppy, you chew on this." Or he would say, "You can push it with your tail!" Watching him warm to the dogs was awesome.
The wee doggies really helped me yesterday. It was a wonderful Thanksgiving with lots of merriment. And honey wine. Good lord! Whoever put together honey with wine is a genius. One of the guests yesterday was from Ethopia. So really, the honeywine was from Ethopia. It was like nectar. Nectar from the Gods!
It was so good, I wasn't really paying attention and had three glasses. I am a lightweight. It was nice being sauced. But, then it was 9.30 and I was still tipsy. And I still had to drive two hours to get home. So I didn't.
I slept on my SIL's floor with the puppies. The chihuahuas were aggressive snugglers. I like to sleep on my right side, spooning a body pillow. They snuggled in the crook behind my knees. It was so comforting having them there, enjoying the doggy love. Enjoying the massive healing powers from such tiny pups.
Make no mistake. Dog is God's definition of love.
This is Henry by the way. With my daughter Pancake.
So now, if you'll excuse me. I got up at 5.30 am this morning and drove 2.5 hours to get to work. Time to act like I am well rested and intelligent ;)
Take care all and have a good weekend ;)
May your day be filled with relatives and food.
And booze. Lots and lots of booze.
TAKE CARE ALL AND HAVE A HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!
*taken from the fine folks at "Awkwardfamilyphotos.com"
First wife, very pretty curly hair, just like me
I would be an excellent first wife. Now that I have been married for about eight years, I have learned how to temper my emotional needs, how to smooth out sleep deprived feelings. I have learned how to respond and organize the needs of the entire household and create a warm and thriving family. I am a fully functioning partner in our success.
I would also be an excellent resource while choosing the second and third wife. I would have never picked, Nikki, as second wife. She is a spoiled prairie doll, unable to communicate her needs in a healthy way. Always scheming and manipulating. Not only is she not second wife material, but she is not any wife material.
Who in the hell picked her as second wife? I mean come on!
She would pose a problem for me, as a first wife. She is in her early thirties, same age as me. I would need ten years yet before I could handle the all the ages of the younger wives. The third wife from big love, Margene , SHE would be no problem whatsoever. But, yes, this type of arrangement would have to wait ten years, for me to be mature enough.
Margene is a doll
This is when, for the first time, Mr. Hall pipes up.
"TEN YEARS!! You realize I will be 50 years old at that point right?!, There's no way that would be a good thing, adding another wife and kids to the family."
By golly he's right. And really, there is absolutely no need for to complicate things with extra wives and children in this family.
I mean jeez, one wife is enough for everyone!!!
So that ends another side trip in the mental journey of Mrs. Hall :)
Tonight I bought the test that can tell me, in about two weeks, if or if not. Or...I could just wait until my body tells me. Because it always does.
Either way, two things are true. When Mr. Hall calls on the phone in the middle of the day, or enters a room, I do indeed get a silly grin.
And this song was piping through Walgreens while I was making my purchase. Clear as day. I don't remember ever hearing it but, oh my goodness what a song.
Here, take your time, relax a bit. And take a listen.
Take care everyone . . . .
For the first installment of Mary the Secretary, click here. Mary is the 50ish, plump secretary at my work.
Before we begin, I must say that I've been in multiple levels of employ. Bottom, middle and now, in command. I have a delicate understanding of the various power structures. And within each level I have thrived, because I embrace my power, no matter where I am standing.
What we are talking about here, between Mary and I, is power. A simple power struggle. Mary feels powerless and thus attempts to be my caretaker, my smother secretary. That way, she can have power over me. To which I say: good luck chick-a-dee.
It began last week with the two phone calls. And when I showed on Monday, she had re-arranged my office. Moved the chair, adjusted the monitor. She had given me three notebooks to take notes, plus two stacks of post its. All of it sitting there, squatting on my chair. She had made coffee and on and on. I shut the door. Took a deep breath.
I scooped up the notebooks and brought them to her. I firmly placed them next to her key board, as she was typing. I said, "Oh, I don't need these to take notes. Thanks though. Can you print out my list of patients today? Thanks." And cue smile.
Later at lunch . . . Mary occupied the room with stories from her personal life.
AN YAH DER HEY, SHO' NUFF, Mary has been in an abusive/codependant relationship. Told you so. And she felt the need to go on and fucking on about it during lunch. Cause girl's got issues but no dignity. I mean come on Mary, trying to eat my sub sammich here.
Mary thrives in chaos. Nothing else is comfortable. I am not comfortable with chaos. I like calm. I like balmy beaches and butterflies and the colors red and purple. I listen to people's chaos all day. They open up vast treasure troves of psychic pain. I help them heal. This is my job and I love it. So no, I don't want to eat lunch with her pain. Nor do I want a side dish of her spastic life.
Life is hard enough. I like to make mine easier at every turn possible. So here is the coup de gras that put Mary in her place.
Around one oclock that day, Mary had to unexpectedly leave. Her daughter WHO IS MY AGE THAT BEING 33 is sick. Again, her daughter is a fully functioning adult. Yet her Mom is running to her. Mary looks at me. She starts to explain who and what is ailing her daughter. AGAIN, MARY'S DAUGHTER IS MY AGE THAT BEING 33. Mary is breathless and getting a bit wild eyed. I stop listening. Then I blink a few times, still not listening to what sounds like the flu bug.
Then I say, "Mary. Can you fax these before you go? And connect me with the maintenance guy, the temp in my office is freezing. Thanks. And I hope your daughter feels better." I say it just like that.
Mary looks stricken. Hurt even. Which is my intent. And by the way, I never, and I mean NEVER, tell people to fax things for me. Nor do I have someone patched through to my office. But I did this time. And I don't feel bad about it.
Because sometimes, the best lessons are learned through struggle, through hurt and strife. That day, Mary learned I won't tolerate the impressing her drama on my person. Because we are all grown ups at that office. Not little kids. Little kids go around, showing their boo-boos. Eventually we all learn to suffer with dignity. Then we learn how to not suffer at all.
And not ruin lunch with wild tales of an asshole ex husband. And not draw the pity of fellow coworkers.
Can't we talk about the movies we like? Or shows we love? Like Mad Men for example. Gawd I love that show. The smoking, the drinking, the debachery. And lord help me, those clothes. Those dresses, those kitten heels . . . oh lawd . . . the clothes on that show.... I get the vapors just watching.
So in the end, the battle was won. And maybe now, we can get down to business. Which is sharing office space. All while serving the greater good, to serve others. And there is no greater service than the service of others.
Now, if I could just get Mary to keep something else in her drawer for me. Something much more useful than post-its . . . ;)
"Lemme take off my skirt so I can pee standing up!"
That's what Mac said to me yesterday, all cherub cheeks and happy. His sister found some ballerina outfits to dress him in yesterday. Because that's what a little brother is for, to be your personal dress up doll.
So yeah :)
All good over here at the House of Hall.
And now, let's enjoy this diddy from Soulja Boy. Because we don't have cable and really, we won't be getting cable. The kids are going through withdrawal.
So errant, copyright infringed videos of SpongeBob, is all they can watch for now. Either that or keep playing dress up with her dance outfits. ;)
It has been two weeks now, with use in the new house. It’s a quad level so the kids can run up and down the stairs, chasing each other until the fall down into fits of laughter. Then they cry out to be tickled and tossed around.
They are having such fun discovering all the nooks and crannies. All kinds of places to play hide and seek.
And then, tonight, when I was putting Pancake to bed, she says,
“Momma . . .”
And I say, “Yes Sweetie.”
“I love my new room Momma, thanks for buying us a house.”
I hugged her really tight and tried not to cry it was so sweet.
We are now trying to conceive our third child. And within the next week, the sentiment goes from ‘we're trying to get pregnant’ to ‘this is when it could happen’. Or, as Mr. Hall says,
I am very thankful I started this blog after my two children were born. Now I can write our stories better. Beyond the cold hard facts I mean. Watch how the stories change throughout this post.
Pancake was conceived on a Sunday night after an episode of X-files. We had been married about 4 months. There was a beige futon involved. When I took the pregnancy test, it was a Saturday morning. The toilet seat had cracked the night before and it pinched my tush.
When the test turned positive I plotzed. I didn’t believe it. I called the nurse help line and asked if I should have a blood test to make sure. I called my friends and my mom. It stunned me for a long time. An excited stunned, but I was stunned none the less.
Mac was conceived on a Monday morning after we dropped Pancake off at day care. We were in the lower level guest bedroom in our first house. We were really, really tired, but it was fun none the less.
When that test turned positive, I was in my kitchen. I did a little jig and called Mr. Hall. He was not as shocked or surprised. But I was. I was happy and more relaxed but it was still a matter of-"I can’t believe it worked!"
With both pregnancies, the state of shock wore off when zombie like exhaustion and nausea become my constant companions. Nothing takes pregnancy from an abstract thought to an unrelenting and bone crushing reality, faster than that. But really, this time around, I am prepared for all if it. I have learned to nap sitting in my office chair. I have learned to puke with ninja like precision. No biggie :)
So let me start talking about our next baby. Who is already here by the way. The kids have always been here, even before they were conceived. It's just a matter of when they will arrive. Because they are here right now, in our hearts.
This next baby will be conceived a bit differently. This time I am just letting go and letting it all happen. Without ovulation charts, without obsessing. I'm letting the miracle happen, as is.
Which really, it’s happened that way in the first place, twice.
Becoming pregnant is a largely invisible process. I cannot make any of this happen by planning or sheer force of will. It's a matter of turning my body over to the divine and letting her unseen magic whirl within.
This is the pigeon pose by the way. I pose I did this morning. Go yoga!
All of this is coming from us and outside us. All at the same time. For us, first came the love, then came the marriage, then came the baby in the baby carriage.
And make no mistake, there is no love like married love. Living together doesn’t even come close. At least not for us. Then there is the love I have for him- because he made me pregnant. Our babies grew inside my belly because of him. There are no words for this. Just paroxysms of joy and permeated bliss.
Which I find myself feeling, over and over again, in the dark. We turned off the lights and we crawl into bed, feeling the warmth of our dark red comforter. We nuzzle and spoon in our cherry wood sleigh bed. Our babies snoozing sleepily across the hall. Babies we birthed. All of us here, home.
In the dark, during these nights, I feel whole and full of God’s grace. I feel the swirling energy emanating from inside and outside our bodies. In the dark, when we are bound round each other, smooshed and warm, I feel touched by the hand of God. I feel the miracle of our marriage. A miracle we've been blessed with.
And maybe, just maybe, before next month, we will be blessed with yet another miracle still.
First, let me clarify something. Mary isn’t the new secretary, just new to me. I’ll be working between two clinics, starting today. Mary works the front desk at my new clinic.
As of right now, Mary is working my last nerve.
Lord help me, here goes.
First of all, she called me during my vacation last week. Which is not that big of a deal. Except she called twice.
The first call was ok. She wanted to know if I needed directions to the clinic or needed to know which door to come into. She wanted to let me know the ‘girls’ were ordering out for lunch so I needn’t bring one. Which is fine. Nice to see she is looking after things.
Except I already did a dry run to the clinic. Got my keys two weeks ago. I explain this to her. She doesn’t quite know how to take it. I thank her for her concern.
And the lunch? Gah. Everyone I work with , everyone who is female, is large and middle aged. This won’t happen to me because I yoga and weight watchers. So no, I don’t want to order out. Because the bigger women at my work order fatty yucky stuff. Stuff that makes you bloated and yuck. But, I say nothing. I will do my best to order out healthy. Not sure what I can do about preventing middle age though.
But then. Gah.
Lord help me, help me understand this woman
She didn’t take no for an answer. She kept pestering me about meeting me somewhere on the highway, or at the door and blah, blah, blah… it’s a small clinic people. Not a humungo hospital. There are like 10 parking spots total. And even if was a huge, mammoth hospital, I can figure it out. I talk her down. She chills and wishes me well. I thank her for her concern and politely hang up.
Then she calls me back.
THIS IS WHERE I START TO GET A LITTLE PISSY.
She says I need to know about my schedule. Did I know that I have THIRTEEN PATIENTS ON MONDAY AND OH MY GOD EIGHT NEW PATIENTS ON TUESDAY? She is in panic mode. Fuckin a’, I’m on vacation here Mary.
I tell her YAH, I KNOW MY SCHEDULE ALREADY. I have already prepped for my first day back. And really, I don’t care what’s on my schedule anyway. MY JOB IS TO SEE PATIENTS. I DON’T CARE WHO COMES IN. I have a certain amount of slots open AND REALLY, I HOPE THEY ALL GET FILLED CAUSE IT’S MY JOB. To see patients. I talk her down YET AGAIN. And then hang up.
I really like a full schedule. I like being busy. And working in a mental health clinic, it makes sense to pack your schedule because half the patients no show anyway. It’s just the nature of who we work with.
Also, I am a nurse. Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner even. I can handle anything. It’s a matter of training and my innate laid back personality traits. And nothing really rattles me.
That is the truth by the way. Nothing rattles me while I am on the job.
Except Mary rattles me.
Lord help me accept the things I cannot change . . . .
Mary is a unrepentant caretaker. I would bet a million dollars she has been in an abusive or co-dependant relationship. It appears she has an absolute need to mother hen those around her. And feels the consummate need to be taking care of. I am not interested in any of it.
And change the things I cannot accept . . .
So, I’ve got some extra work to do today. I have to let Mary know; in no uncertain terms, what I am interested in. I am interested in being left alone and to my own devices. I do not want my hand held. I do not want to be helped unless I ask.
The hard part of this task, is not being all girl about it. Women don’t talk to each other directly. We do a lot of communication in other ways. (don’t get me started on fucking postit notes).
I’ve worked with all men before. They talk to each other without saying things like, “I’m sorry but….” Or “Don’t be mad, but I . . .” and so forth. Men say stuff like, “Knock it off, you’re being a dumbass.” Or “Stop fucking with my stuff.” Then they do the guy nod and nothing more is said.
We, however, apologize all the damn time and often nothing is accomplished. Because we have to keep talking about it. Cause we are not direct communicators.
LIKE WHEN SHE CALLED ME TWICE.
And lord give me the wisdom to know the difference.
So, today, when I feel her smother hen energy come my way I will be direct and firm. I will put up my hand and say, “Mary, there is no need for that.” And if she continues to pester I will say, “Mary, knock it off, your working my last nerve! Step off!!”
SIGH. Guess what else I learned during those phone calls?
The woman lives about two blocks away. Guess who I will be carpooling with two days a week??
Lord help us all ;)
Morning all, making breakfast. What would you like this morning?
We have a fully stocked omelet bar, excellent selection of coffee and juices. And we have a crepe station.
We have warm apples, kijafa cherries or peaches with cream for the crepe filling.
And on the radio, we have the '70s station. Which is very easy and danceable listening. It's kind of creepy though, I mean, for some one my age. I recognize most of the songs I know are playing. Only it's not my songs, it the original versions of what I am familiar with.
Thankfully, no one has remade this song. Which had all of shaking our groove thang. And there is no doubt, we will be singing this all day ;)