Tuesday, December 31, 2013
1. crossfit tends to be a bit guy heavy. Being a girl does have it's advantages though. There is strength in the softness. Also, I'm a kung fu master of deflecting macho junk.
It seems guys have a thing about facial hair. Beards are important business. Manly business. Recently, one of the guys shaved off his manly beard and said something like, "All the chicks are after me now." This made me feel uncomfortable. Icky hung in the air. He realized he said something dumb, slighting inappropriate. So I said, "Everybody loves a baby face."
Burn to turn it around yo!
2. Foster kids have many family members that come with them. Like birth mothers. Birth mothers who can't quite get the hang of fricking FOLLOWING THE REUNIFICATION PLAN so they can get their kids back. Part of me just wants to go and sit with them. Explain that it really isn't that hard to get your kid back. The reunification plan, designed by the county social worker, has very clear bullet points for them to follow.
It's not dumb that keeps them from following the plan. Oh no. They are smarter then I'll ever be. Masters at the game of getting what they want. Maybe it's the want of stuff that interrupts this process. They want everything, including the stuff that gets them jailed.
A few months ago i renewed my passport in a fit of optimism. COMPLETE BLIND OPTIMISM. I wanna go to niagra falls and have a vacation with the mister.
Guess it's going to have to wait. . . the foster kids will be with us for a while. :)
Happy New year everyone ....
Make it a goal to help someone next year :)
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
I got really irritated at yoga the other day. Irony, I know.
I get irritated at crossfit too.
It's the music. Crossfit people like loud, angry, german RAMSTIEN type music. And heavy gansta rap. With n words. It's bothersome but not overly so. If I'm working hard enough, I can't hear anything expect DEAR GOD MAKE THE PAIN STOP . . WAIT . . I CAN DO THIS . . . I HAVE FIVE MORE ROUNDS OF BURPEES AND THEN I'M DONE!!!
But at yoga, this is suppose to be gentle. Maybe some soft Indian music. Maybe the 'soft alt' channel on pandora. Or the teacher's personal mix of "memories". But they need to be gentle songs, not songs that include the f word and sex talk.
So I'm doing the downward dog. Enjoying life. Then music kicks up and the f bombs start and I start shaking my head. I'm a child of God and a full grown Christian woman. I put up with a lot in yoga class. I put up with their psuedo hippy dippy talk of chakras and hugs. I'll get over myself with their meaningless namaste chanting. I'll tolerate their eastern (INSERT HUGE ASS AIR QUOTE) "religion" (INSERT HUGE ASS AIR QUOTE) because it seems well meaning. I studied buddhism for years. It's a great philosphy and very kind in nature. It's still hippy crap though. Again,
And make no mistake, yoga will always ALWAYS BE PART OF MY LIFE.
But the f bombs bugged me. REALLY bothered me. And I like the teacher. So I didn't say anyhthing. She's a nurse practitioner just like me. I could totally be her friend.
But, the music. Offt. . . the class starts chattering about the f bombs and she explains, "I don't buy the censored version of songs because that's not how the artist intended the song to be heard."
THE FRICK! SERIOUSLY??!!! THIS IS WHAT I HAVE TO PUT UP WITH?
Using the f bomb doesn't make you an artist, it makes you an idiot. OR A TODDLER.
Either way, I'm above all that. sometimes anyway.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
When Mr. Hall was putting on his tennis shoes yesterday, he complained. "I hate these shoes, they don't fit right. Where did I get these things?"
And I said.
"Those where the shoes from Kmart you bought 13 years ago. You agreed to come to aerobics with me. I was all excited. For a week I kept saying, "We've got aerobics next week!" Then, "We've got aerobics on Tuesday!" THEN, "We've got aerobics at 10 am today!
"And you had NO IDEA what I was saying. Like you hadn't heard me say it for a week straight. And it was 9.15 am. You made a mad dash to Kmart and we made it just in time."
"Huh" he says, "sounds about right."
"Sometimes I forget to turn off my filter when I'm listening to you. So, I'm still filtering what your saying from before and I don't catch the important things. And just like back then, all dates/appts need to go into the calender because I'll never remember."
Which is fair enough I guess. The man can't remember anything no matter how many times I remind him. Maybe I should just start using the dang calendar. And prevent any future ugly shoe purchases. :)
Monday, December 2, 2013
There is a lot of angry and bitterness that people have over the holidays. They see the footage of Walmart brawls and salivating kids. They hear the whine of 'I have not enough.' All this black friday garabage can harden anyone. I'm certainly not immune.
I don't like Christmas shopping. But here I am, at walmart looking for the toy pictured above. It's from an Angel tree card. The card is from a Christmas tree at my church. The cards are like letters to Santa, only I'm Santa. They'll never know it though. In fact, I don't know them. The card says " C145/boy age 9/Air hog assault r/c helicopter". Those are sold out. Other Air Hogs are available. The kid will have to make due.
I move on to the next angel card. My cackles go up. There are 15 things on this card. All specific and name brand. The next card is vague but demanding. I've got five cards total. It's going to be a long day shopping at walmart. Sigh.
My thinking goes sour. Rumination begins. My foster daughter's mom is like this. All about things and things being important. She spends a lot of money on name brand clothes for her daughter, my foster daughter. She doesn't like us, the mom. She doesn't like how we do her baby's hair or how we dress her. She's loud about it too.
Fundamentally, I disagree with buying stuff for stuff's sake. My kids get maybe one or two presents tops. Birthdays presents are sparse, we do things instead of getting things. And that's what I want to say to my foster daughter's mom. The kid doesn't need a mom who can buy her stuff, she needs her mom. I feel a massive build up of stink eye towards her mom.
Feelings are funny things. They're pretty useless though, at least in these cases.
I'm not buying presents for these angel card kids. I'm not being my foster daughter's second mom. I'm showing God's love. I'm letting them know about being saved and letting the love pour through me.
Because that's what Christmas is all about. And the more I focus on that, the less I succumb to bitter and hatred. I let His love fill me till I'm overflowing. That way, I spill all over those angel cards and foster kids.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Thanksgiving is coming. I've much to be thankful for.
Does anyone read this blog anymore? I realize it's been a few months since I've posted. I realize blogger reader isn't there anymore. So if you are reading this-- raise your hand in the comments and say "here".
For those that are new, this blog is about me, Mrs. Hall. I am a lot of things but first, I am a child of God. I'm a wife, mother, foster mother, nurse and enjoying telling my stories. I hope to be uplifting and funny.
Here's a story that sums up what is going on as of late.
I've been doing a lot of cross fit lately. It's a new passion of mine. Go ahead and google crossfit and be flooded with all sorts of badassery images. I'm starting to look like them, in those photos.
Crossfit involves doing crazy workouts of the day or WODs. They look like this:
Crossfit is changing my life. I didn't go looking for crossfit, it found me.
It started at my usual weight watchers meeting a few months ago. Some dude walked in and started talking about his crossfit gym. I wasn't entirely awake yet, but he said words like burpees, pull ups and box jumps. Words I had only read before and never heard outloud. I got his card and went.
I don't believe in random happenings. I believe in God's plan. I believe God nudged me towards this and placed dude at my weight watchers meeting.
My first work out (or WOD) went like this: ten burpees, ten squats, then nine burpees/nine squats on down to one of each. I was feeling pretty spry and excited.
At the seven burpee/squat mark, I started to believe I would be dead soon. I had worked hard enough and I was done. So, I looked at dude and said, "Can I stop at five?"
He said . . . . . "No."
It was at this point I knew I had to get through this and NOT CRY. I din't want to girl up about it. I needed to represent what I was at that point. Strong enough not to panic.
And I did it. I got all the way through. I don't know how, but I did it.
But that workout was a few months ago.
Last week I did 12 burpees. I did them after 50 situps, 75 squats and 100 push ups. I would have done more but I only had ten minutes. It's amazing what this body can do. God has given more power than I can imagine!
I have visions people, VISIONS. I have visions of hiking with the kids and not being winded. I have visions of rollerblading, bike riding and running I have visions of tucking my shirt in, of wearing a belt. OF SKINNY JEANS. I have visions of working out with my husband and letting him experience the awesomeness.
These visions have become my reality.
I feel like I've won the lottery.
And this, in nine months, is what I'll be spending my winnings on . .
Friday, August 2, 2013
And I think to myself--what if I wasn't a mental health nurse practitioner? I could get a WHOLE NOTHER JOB. That didn't require listening, caring or caretaking. One that would make BUCKET LOADS of money that I throw around in a big monsoon of awesome! Then it would coat the floor and I'll roll around in it, all nakid.
But here's the thing about devoting the last 15 years to a profession--you aren't qualified for anything else. Nor can I tolerate starting over at the bottom of any other job.
(that's one btw)
Then, THEN I think . . . what if I wasn't a foster mom? Well, these kids will go back soon right? RIGHT? Everyone always says to me, I would love JUST LOVE to be a foster parent but I wouldn't want to give them back.
to which I say
Try raising a child that isn't yours, that doesn't want to be here and has no intention of listening. Especially to you, the foster mom. Because YOU ARE IN THE WAY. What the child really wants is her mommy. In fact, if her mommy could just be married to her foster dad WHEN THEN THAT would make her life complete. And then, have that child's mother shower her with gifts and spoil her so when she comes back she is full of attitude and lip because YOUR NOT MY MOMMY. And it breaks my heart because I love this child. And the child really loves her mom and her mom does, in fact, love her child. And I want them back together. Not just because I'm drained by her behaviors every single day, but because she is acting out because she's hurting.
the Mom called the cops on us because she feels we aren't treating her daughter right. I'm still reeling from that. I'm actually kind of traumatized by it. Having a police officer come to your house is never a good way to end the night. He was nice though.
It remains to be seen if I can take in another foster kid. I'm so drained it's not even funny.
(that's two btw)
In a complete leap of faith I got my passport renewed today.
Because if the girl goes back to her mom. and the other boy goes back to his mom. And all of that seems likely. Mr. Hall and I will be taking a trip!
AND were not taking our three kids either!!!!
(that rounds out the list right there!!)
Monday, June 3, 2013
I have a large amount of unused mental energy. Left unused it grows agitated and circular.
I like to think about things and talk it over with Mr. Hall. Sadly, the grind of having 5 kids yields no intricate fodder. After all, how many times can you discuss "WHEN WILL MAC WIPE HIMSELF WITHOUT MISSING HALF THE STUFF? HE'S SIX FOR CRYING OUT LOUD?" Seriously. We got called to the school about this. We had to bring new undies and pants. And wet wipes. LAWD LAWD LAWD.
That being said, at least he doesn't pee in the bushes like my friend's 10 year old son did. In front of my 10 year old daughter. She was running around with a gang of boys (the bush pee-er being one of them). They were cutting across a neighbor's yard. So ya know, no need for a bathroom when a bush is right there. My daughter thought it was the funniest thing ON.THE.PLANET. Thankfully, she didn't see anything. Not that it matters, she has two brothers. See "it" would be nothing new for her.
My life people. It's like a giant game of whack a mole.
So. When I talk to my beloved, I'm reduced to random thoughts that get all circular and repeaty.
(on the way the church, with a full head of steam) "Lottery tickets are complete scams. You have a dollar and some hope but nothing powerball ever works out!! It's SUCH A SCAM!!! They should all be put in jail, I mean, they're selling false hope! Just like those books at the las vegas airport, on how to win at slot machines. Stupid lottery system!!! YOU JUST CAN'T WIN!!!"
(in an email exchange). "Looks like the birth mothers (of our two foster kids) are getting their act together. So, they might be transitioning back to their real home. Which, in all honestly, I have mixed feelings about. I think the mothers are ok, just stupid in the life choices brain department. But, we've spent a lot of time/energy/tears/sweat/praying to make these kids better. It's like we're the potty training camp you send your dogs too. Only we're the camp and I would like a thank you.
It'll probably never happen that so I'll just let it go. :)"
(after he gave me some wine in a to go cup) BECAUSE I NEED MY BOOZE IN A TO GO CUP BECAUSE I'M STILL CHASING THE KIDS AROUND AND I'M A SPILLER. AND DON'T JUDGE ME. FOUR OF THEM WERE IN BED AND THE BABY WAS 3/4th OF THE WAY TO SLEEP. "I'll need to rinse this out before work, like really well... I don't want to have any wine in my coffee. Like that time someone gave me a pot pipe and said there might be some meth on it. So I opened it up and scrubbed it really well. Got all the black goop out. I didn't want any meth getting in me!!
I think I used the pot pipe like twice and nothing ever happened. I got high in Amsterdam though. It was in the common room at a hostel. Across the room was a batman pinball machine and I remember the joker's voice floating above the machine. Like disembodied.
When I retire we'll have to smoke hash. It was less coughy if I remember. I wonder how you make that. I'll have to wikipedia it."
Then, in my inner thought voice I thought, I have about 25 more years until retirement. WHICH IS WHY I DREAM OF WINNING THE LOTTERY WHICH BRINGS US BACK TO RANDOM THOUGHT NUMBER ONE.
OK PEOPLE. THAT'S ALL I GOT.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Answering the call to become a foster parent comes with a certain righteousness. At first anyway. Then comes the nitty gritty of raising a child that is not your own. Or your own race. I'm going to lay out some petty thoughts here. Feel free to judge. I know I do.
We were at the YMCA gymnastic center and chubby white girl (age 10 or so) started following around our African American foster daughter (Tulip age 4). Like my foster daughter was a special rock star or something. My husband and I shot each other a look. There are just some white girls that love to chase African Americans around. It's a special category of the white trash. Emulating the ghetto fabulousness of it all. There was even an African american boy that the chubby white girl started latching on to. And my husband and said to each other, there is a biracial baby in her future. You all know what I'm talking about. We've all been to walmart.
Now remember, I'm not proud of these thoughts.
At a gas station restroom I was helping Tulip wash her hands. A grown up version of the chubby white girl came out with her biracial girl. She made the deepest, knowingest, 'well hey girlfriend' type of eye contact with me. And I wanted to say "THIS IS MY FOSTER DAUGHTER. AND HER SKIN IS SUPER DARK. YOU CAN SEE SHE'S NOT BIRACIAL RIGHT? I AM NOT ONE OF YOUR TRIBE." But, I just smiled and got on with my life.
Then there's the thoughts about Tulip's birth mom. I'm coming to realize that she really really REALLY values Tulip's looks. Every time she gets a visit with mom she gets new clothes, new shoes and 150 dollar hair extensions. Ok, the hair extensions were a one time thing but still. The child is four. Then, THEN we get emails from the social worker about how Tulip's mom doesn't like how we're doing her hair or how she's dressed. Sometimes, when she calls Tulip, she asks to speak with me to outline these grievances. It was all I could do not to crawl through the phone.
My anger and resentment with the mom is getting kind of big lately. I'm really not proud of this. I'm tired. Tulip is starting to have behaviors. Mild ones so far--being stubborn, screaming when she's put on a time out, ripping at posters on the walls, hiding objects (the other kid's toys) in her bed . . . . all stuff we're spending time correcting. Every day she cries for her mom and asks when her mom will come get her.
And as far as I can see. . . there is nothing wrong with mom. She's not addicted, in jail, abusive or neglectful. She obviously loves Tulip. So why isn't she coming to get her daughter? She has a job, an apartment and had raised for the last four years. She's had her "break" to get together. It's been three months.
Then the really evil thoughts kick in.
What if Tulip's mom just doesn't want to be her mom. What if she just wants a doll that she can dress up, then leave with other people so she can live the single crazy life.
AND that's where the righteousness of being a foster parent wears off. It seems we are serving a selfish birth mom here. So she can be all footlose and fancy free. And I want to tell the social worker to give the birth mom a big kick in the hinder and get her to take her little girl back. Because Tulip misses her mom so much. And I'm tired.
but I can't force her to take responsibility for her daughter. I can't dictate anything the Mom does. I'm not here for her. I'm here for Tulip. And I pray I'm doing everything that needs to be done.
And I'm making mistakes and screwing up. But I'm here for Tulip. Hugging her and comforting her. Putting her on time outs in the MIDDLE OF TARGET. And making sure she knows she is beautiful, not because of the clothes, but because GOD made her. And God made her beautiful.
That's something I can be proud of.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Sometimes we like to tell our daughter a story called "The Egg Story". It's her birth story. Which was ten years ago. sniff sniff . . anyway, we let it unfold like this.
Daddy and I loved each other soooooOOOooOOOooo much we decided to have a baby. We went to amazon.com and ordered you. A few weeks later, a package arrived. We rushed home and found your box on the porch. I ran my fingers over the big, block letters that said, "BABY GIRL: FRAGILE".
We brought you inside, opened the box and found a big egg. It was the size of a watermelon. Daddy trimmed the box, laid a heating pad down and placed you back in. There you sat, on the couch, for a whole week. Sometimes I would hear a slight whimper or see a tiny wiggle. If you stirred, I'd cover your egg with a blanket and it settled you right down. You were a good egg, even then.
Each day, Daddy and I we would sit by your egg, making sure the temperature was just right. We’d wrap our arms around you, giving you a big Daddy Mommy hug. Then, we'd settle in real close and tell you how much we love you and how we couldn’t wait to meet you. Sometimes you’d jump when we talked. I think you loved us too!
Then came the day when you couldn't be comforted. Your whimpers grew loud and your egg wobbled to and fro. I tried to hold you but I couldn't get a grip. You were just too restless. We decided to let you do what you needed to do. Daddy and I made a bed for ourselves front of the couch and waited. You were ready to be born.
You worked so hard on being born. Your egg would bob all around, rolling back and forth. We followed you from room to room, making sure you didn't roll down the stairs. Sometimes you would take a rest and your egg would get very quiet. Then things got too quiet.
Mommy was really scared. So was Daddy.
We put our ears on your egg and didn't hear anything. We jiggled you a little and you didn't jiggle back. We put the heating blanket on medium, thinking you were too cold. We sang to you, we hugged you, but you weren't stirring.
Then Daddy went down stairs and got a small screwdriver. He gentle tapped on your shell, making little cracks so you could breathe. I peeked in and saw your little head. I saw your tiny hands and baby ears. You weren’t moving and Daddy kept chipping away. He peeled back part of the shell and we scooped you out. You were soggy, bluish and covered with crisco. You were very sleepy. We held you tight, rubbing your back to wake you up. I put my hand on your heart and felt it beat. I put my cheek near your nose and felt you breathe. You started to twitch. Then you opened your mouth super wide and started to howl.
Daddy and I cried while you turned blue to pink to ruby red! We were so happy!
Then we cut your cord, cleaned you up and wrapped you in a warm blanket.
And THAT, dear Piper, is how you were born!
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
I can count about 4 times in my life where stress has overwhelmed me. Two of those times were school-- nurse and nurse practitioner school. It almost killed me. Both times.
Another time involved being a mom for the first time. I had NO IDEA how to handle that. My head was all explodey with feral fear for the first year.
The forth time is now. I have 5 kids. Each with their own set of needs.
Pancake, age 10, is becoming a tween and not dealing well. Life is full of challenges she doesn't know how to handle. She's growing up and growth can be very painful. Her girly huffy puffy tears--they do flow. I want to just yell at her and say, "YOU'RE SO BEAUTIFUL. JUST RELAX AND LET ALL THE AWESOME THAT GOD GAVE YOU BLOSSOM. IT'S GOING TO BE OK." Instead, I bring her to yoga, roller blade with her and make sure she has a door to lock in order to read excessively. This seems help reduce her tween meltdowns. Or space them out at least.
God help the sensitive teenage girls out there, especially my daughter.
Mac-N-Cheese is six years old, blonde and super charming. Asks really interesting questions. Hypersmart and sensitive. Still can't get the whole 'wiping his butt thing' conquered yet. Can't cross the street without his sister because he'll stop in the middle of the road to stare at a cool cloud. Has no idea where we're going half the time, but happy to be along for the ride. We're getting less notes from school about his behaviors. The male of the species is slow to develop temper control. Sometimes anyway.
God help the all boy boys out there, especially my son. God help his future wife develop patience and a light and loving heart, she's going to need it.
Sam is our part time foster kid, age 5. He's here on weekends. He's the least of our problems. We've got his behaviors pretty much under control now. Signficant reduction in palming items when we're out and about. For me, being with him is fun. Sad though. I'm not the mom he really wants. I hope his mom gets her act together. It'll take a miracle though.
God help all the boys with Moms that can't be Moms out there, especially Sam.
Tulip is our 4 year old foster daughter. We've made headway with her tantrum behavior. She is still very, very needy. I feel so guilty sometimes but sometimes I just need her off my lap. Sometimes I don't listen to her stories. Seriously, I'm worn out. The other night I told her to hush because I was watching TV and I JUST DIDN'T HAVE THE ENERGY TO HEAR ONE MORE STORY ABOUT HER MOM AND THE BELT SHE USES FOR SPANKINGS. Sometimes she uses these stories to get attention because telling me her mom 'dances upside down on a pole' is a way for a 4 year old to get attention. But, sometimes THIS MOMMY needs to watch dancing with the stars without kids on a lap because dancing with the stars is awesome! Stripper birth mommy stories can WAIT!!
God help all the little girls with mommies who don't take care of them. They won't make it far without you, especially Tulip.
AND THAT BRINGS US TO RIVER.
He's perfect so far. Seven months of chubby, baby love!!! I carry him everywhere even though he's so heavy my arm feels like it's GOING TO FALL OFF. He rarely is put down by anyone. All are agreed that is no good and much fussing occurs when it happens. This probably explains why he isn't sleeping through the night BUT OH WELL.
So this is the forth time where I've felt my wheels are spinning too fast. That life is going so fast it's getting away from me. I feel exhausted and weepy. The stress is too much. But, not matter how fast the wheels go, they don't stop. Life never stops. So, I'll wait. I know this feeling will pass. Then, I'll look back and laugh.
Each time this feeling comes around, it comes with growth in my heart. And growth makes me more capable of handing all sorts of things.
Which is kind of scary really. What more is coming down the pike?
EEEE!!!! God help Mrs. Hall!
Thursday, May 9, 2013
I want hug to all moms who've breastfed their babies. A HUG TO EACH AND EVERYONE ONE OF YOU! I want to hug the moms that breasfed their babies until their babies were kindergardners and beyond. I want to hug the moms that breastfed 100% and never once used a bottle. I want to hug the ones that breast feed twins, triplets and quads! I want to hug all of you.
I want to hug the moms that tried AND TRIED AND TRIED to breast feed and it never worked out. I want to hug the moms that held a sqwakey, crying, sleeping, hysterical, biting baby at the nipple for one minute then completely changed their mind went to the bottle. I want to hug the moms that never wanted to ever breastfeed so they didn't! I want to hug the moms that hold their babies tight and give them good bottle love. I want to hug all of you.
I want to hug the moms that drape a blanket, shawl, towel or sweater over their nursing infant in public. I want to hug the moms who let their boobies hang out, nipples all akimbo and nurse those hungry babes! I want to hug the moms that nursed in private, curtains drawn, in the back room only. I want to hug the moms that nursed in front of disapproving relatives and resturant patrons. I want to hug all of you.
I want to hug the moms that were scared, frightened and really sweaty when they nursed. I want to hug the moms that felt righteous and arrogent. I want to hug the moms that felt annoyed that every 90 minutes the baby was being launched in their direction after a mere squeek because OF COURSE HE MUST BE HUNGRY. I want to hug the moms that cried because there were so tired but it was 3 am and the baby wanted the booby love. I want to hug the moms that have sore boobies and then their husbands have the nerve to try second base. I want to hug all of you.
I want to hug the moms. ALL THE MOMS!!! BECAUSE BEING A MOM IS HARD. Feeding your baby doesn't have to be. I promise!! You can feed them however you want and it'll be awesome!!
And now, let me type this without having a snot bubble cry.
My first baby was born via emergency c-section. Nursing her went well for two days in the hospital. It didn't go well after that. Shredded nipples, scared new mom . . . :(
My second baby nursed LIKE A CHAMP. Hungry, hungry, hungry. He was in boobie heaven all the time. And he was effecient. He ate till he had his fill and then popped off like a tick! I would still be nursing him but around 4-5 months I want back to work full time and didn't have a door to lock while I pumped. Sigh, he was such a good nurser.
My third baby. . . we just finished nursing. He was a putzy nurser and could be latched onto me 24/7 if I would let him. I loved it though. I nursed him everwhere-our house, in the car at road stops, the mattress store, relatives' houses, hotel rooms, pool side, target, the kid's museum, in front of social workers, in front of our foster kids, at the doctor's office, parks and resturants.
I'll always remember having him on my lap, nursing shawl intact and nursing him while eating my lunch at a resturant. When I was done, he was too. The waitress said, "Now everyone is done eating." I wanted to hug her too!
I'll always remember the nap and nurse. It's when you attach your baby and you both sleep. All snug. Best baby love ever!!
I loved pumping at work too. I had a locked office door that I put a sign on while pumping. It said, "DO NOT DISTURB. I'LL BE WITH YOU IN 10-15 MINUTES." I loved tracking how many ounces I pumped and delivering it home for mah baby!
But . . . everything has a season. And our season of nursing is done. He's eating more food, less milk. The boy has teeth and is all chewing everything. So, I slowed the pumping down and well . . we're done.
AND. . . there are A MILLION OTHER WAYS I LOVE ALL MY BABIES. Just like the rest of the moms out there!
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY ALL!!!
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
The blog, she is neglected lately. I just don't have the inner tormoil I use to have. No inner conflict to write about. Plus, there is facebook. I document my life there so here is neglected.
BUT. I am still a busy bee. Being a wife, mom, nurse and now foster mom.
I love being married. I love being Mrs. Hall. We've been married 12 years now and he still rings my bell. No better way to start my day then standing in the kitchen, holding hands with him and praying. Love it!
3 kids now
She is so smart and kind. Very much her own girl. Owns a cornsnake, likes bugs and dirt. READS CONSTANTLY. Goes to Zumba and yoga with me and we do inverted headstands together. Starting to show some tween tendencies of self consciousness and shyness. My plan is to use prayer and yoga to GET HER THROUGH THE TEEN YEARS. That and making sure she has plenty of time with her girlfriends so they can be silly and giggle and giggle and silly. She's such a jokster!
Every morning we say 'MAC GET DRESSED!' and 'MAC, EAT YOUR OATMEAL.' Ten minutes later we'll find him sitting there, shirt on backwards, having taken two bites of oatmeal lost in his own little world. He'll smile and say, "If twins don't live in the same house, do they have the same birthdays?" or "How do arrows know how which way to point?" He's a thinker that one. A silly, jokster thinker who never sits still. Like if Plato was a hummingbird.
River-age 5 months
OH THIS BOY OF MINE. I am over the moon with him. So squiggly, so smiley, so baby chubby thighs and giggles. The photo says it all!
Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practioner actually
I still have crazy patients and moral dilemas, but there are less so these days. I have found a groove and really enjoy my work. I get to guide people through their crisis and help them heal. It's humbling work. I am very blessed.
The abstract idea of 'being a foster family' started as a whisper in my heart. I heard the whisper, talked it over with Mr. Hall and we prayed. We prayed to let God guide us, let him reveal the opportunity and we would answer his call.
I can't help but giggle about it all. I can't believe how God has changed me through this process. Being a foster mom comes with so many challenges. But challenge makes the heart grow. Our family system has changed too. The kids are use to the other kids that come into our life. They adjust and grow too. Sometimes it's not pretty but in the end, it's amazingly beautiful.
So far, one child has been with us for over a year (on weekends). Another came here a few weeks ago.
It's a task of loving without expectation. We never know when these kids might leave our life. So we love them now, while they're here. We don't know what will happend. So we give them hugs and prayer and warm meals. These kids are great and challenging. I hope OH I HOPE they benefit from seeing Mr. and Mrs. Hall loving each other and treating each other right. I hope they feel God's love.
And it's not just the kids. These kids have bio-moms and bio-grandmas. They are hurting too. Sometimes the bio family members call and it's totally awkward. We help the kids make art projects to bring on their family visits. We send photos and emails. We say, 'he had a great time at the zoo this weekend' or 'She really liked going to the library with us.' We keep things light and positive in one of darkest situations ever.
It's the ultimate task of not judging. Because God didn't call to us to judge, He called us to be shining examples of His light and love.
that's my comings and goings. howzit with yous?
Sunday, February 10, 2013
First, can I just put a plug in for naps. I love naps. LOVE THEM.
And can I put in a plug for nurse naps where you can nap and nurse your newborn? LOVE THEM TOO.
This is what I do instead of blogging. The nurse nap.
Gotta a call from the county social worker that they might have a 4.5 year old boy to adopt. It's not the same boy we've been watching for almost a year. This boy is sight unseen. My head and heart exploded for about 12 hours after we got that phone call. We didn't expect to be asked to adopt anyone. We just got our 'official foster care family' papers last week. Yes, i know we've been doing the foster care for about a year but legal is relative sometimes. See what I did there--legal/relative/foster family.
It's all a web people, all a web in the head of Mrs. Hall.
We get the call and my head explodes. I try to keep the crazy energies down and fail. I cry at work thinking about this little boy and this crazy joy goes BOOM in my heart. Because if this is God calling us to adopt then of course we'll say yes. Mr. Hall says, "Slow down chick a dee" and "there is a lot to think about" and I can't hear because I'm already painting the 4.5 y.o.'s room in the theme he'll like. Maybe he like's spongebob instead of cars. hmm . . . .
The first step in this is to set up a meeting with the social worker to discuss things. I email her, she emails me. Then I get the email that things might have changed, we'll have to hold off on the meeting for now. Which is part of this foster gig. Anything can change at any moment. I've never learned such flexibility.
SO I TALK WITH MR. HALL
We are light and airy about it. I ask him if he's ok with the sudden change. He says yes," I'm not a chick.
Women rise and fall quickly about these things. I'm slow to rise. And just because she canceled the meeting doesn't mean it's over yet. "
And indeed. It's not over by a long shot!
Thursday, February 7, 2013
it's a snowy day and none of my patients are showing up. had two cups of coffee. so here. let me blog a bit.
at work it's getting ugly. one of the older nurses is retiring and I'm absorbing some of her responsibilities. (did i spell that right? frigging browser isn't compatible with blogspot so i can't spell check things. but screw them i'm not paying for a domain name!)
ANYWHO. guess who is liquored up and pissed off at me. THE OLD NURSE. there's an expression. Nursing eats it's young. Older nurses hate younger nurses and dammit. The tension is pitiful. She basically called a meeting to complain that her responsibilities are being taking away. Which is not my fault. I'm not retiring or deciding how to divide up her work tasks. But she directs all this crazy ugly crap at me and I NO LIKE!!!
my main coping mechanism for work conflict is to avoid.
AVOID AVOID AVOID. Hide in office. Say nothing. AVOID!!! POKER FACE!!!!
This riles people. The calmer and more remote i get the more they act up. So I went to my boss and fessed up to my feelings. He said avoiding just makes things worse. And get's nothing accomplished.
So i sucked it up and at lunch in the lunch room today. I didn't talk much but sat and listened to someone prattle on and on about stuff. I work with women. Bunch of talkers. It exhausts me.
Because I have a real life. filled with kids and now we are officially a foster family. I have some much joy and happiness in my real life.
i hate when work sucks.
bible study was also cancelled tonight. and i even did the homework and everything.
which helped with the work conflict. a lot! ;)
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Somewhere in the middle of the night, my husband's brain sent ten thousand signals to his leg. Each signal screaming , "CRAMP DAMMIT!! CRAMP LIKE THE WIND!!! CRAMP THE CRAP OUT OF HIS CALF!!"
Now, this was not my brain. My brain was sending different signals. Some of which included, "CAN YOU BELIEVE RIVER IS SLEEPING??!! HE'S ONLY 12 WEEKS!! I MEAN, IT'S 3 AM, MAYBE YOU SHOULD WAKE UP AND GO CHECK ON HIM."
Which is how I found myself half asleep noticing my husband writhing and twisting next to me.
"Cramp . . . left leg. . . CRAMP!!" he yell muttered.
"Whaaa?" I mumbled.
"LEG... MESSAGE MY LEG, IT'S CRAMPING!!"
So, naturally I reached for his shoulder and began to squeeze it.
"NO!! MY LEFT LEG"
I reached for an arm. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what was his left and my right. And try as I might I began to fall back asleep.
"HOLLY!!! THE.LEFT.LEG!! THE CALF!!", he full on yelled. And started to punch my leg. As if to demonstrate where a leg is.
"Jeez, settle down! You'll wake the baby!", I murmured.
I finally figured out where his left calf was. It felt horrible. Like the muscle was trying to taco outward from the bone. But, it was too late by then. The cramp was dying and the only thing left was after pains. Which doesn't feel good when rubbed.
So. There ya go. That's the news with me.
What's news with you?
Monday, January 14, 2013
M's Sunday school teacher wrote us the following:
"We were talking about family and how we are all different but all
part of GOD's family. That with GOD we can always talk to him even if
we don't see him. It's not like you have use the telephone.
M went on to say my big family that's all together love me all the
time even when i'm not there. Pancake (my other sister reads to me)
Mac shares his toys, my other baby River smiles at me. My other dad
friend plays cars with me, gives me snacks, hugs me and tells me he
misses me. Pancake's mom let's me hug the baby and calls me honey. My
Pancake's daddy hugs me when I go to bed and never yells at me....he
hold's my hand too and not too hard. It was sweet to hear what the
kiddos version of love and family was."
SO THERE YA GO. A WHOLE LOTTA LOVE :)
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Let me start by saying, I love me some family. This is why we foster family.
A few days ago I was struggling. Struggling with my foster Mom responsibilities. We have a foster kid on the weekends and he can be a handful. He has some behavioral issues that I can't bend or mold them because he only listens to my husband. We can't discipline him like our own kids because he's not.
One of the big issues is the fighting between him and my kids. It was RIDICULOUS THIS WEEKEND. My kids don't fight, they have a dyad that works well for them. My older daughter is in charge and my middle son follows. It works great.
But, when the foster guy comes it's contentious. They fight over the Wii, they fight over leggos. They fight because it's winter and can't go to the park. They fight over breakfast, lunch and dinner. They fight like brothers and sisters and it drives me nuts.
After one fight, I told my daughter to leave the room. If she's not in charge-she gets all worked up and starts to cry. I think the chaos of not controlling everything makes her world spin too fast. SHUT UP. I REALIZE THIS IS MY PROBLEM TOO. So I sent her to her room to cool off.
I brought the little foster guy up to her room and he apologized and she apologized. I said to him, "You can give Pancake a hug if you want." But my daughter was having none of it. So, I said to him, "You can hug me and pretend it's her." Then he said, "That's what I do with my Mommy. She's behind glass at the jail so I pretend to hug her when I see her."
OH MY GOD. SERIOUSLY. WHAT DO I SAY TO THAT?!!!
It crushed me and made me realize that I'm being way too selfish here. This isn't about me or my kids. There is no dividing line between my kid and my foster kid. We are all children of God. I need to share the joy and love I've been given.
And make the Wii disappear. That device causes way too many fights!
All killer, no filler
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The Biography of the Blog wing
Feel the love people, feel the love
Five questions for Mrs. Hall
The Nurse Wing
Minority status as viewed by a nurse
Crackhouses as viewed by a nurse
Crazy old people stories as viewed by a nurse
Addicts as viewed by a nurse
Hey NURSE: Stories from my time at the County Jail
Hearing the Soldier's Story as viewed by a nurse
Machismo as viewed by a nurse
The Wing of Mr. Hall's favorites
Love you Pancake Wing
Love you Pancake