I think I might be turning my son gay

It began with my first ultrasound, when the technician said,

"Mrs. Hall, you are carrying a girl, TEXT BOOK GIRL. Those three lines there, ALL GIRL."

So we named her Lola. I put the song (Lola) on the ipod, playing and singing along whilst in the car. Pancake and I danced and sang it in the shower whilst she 'washed' the baby---my belly. Awww . . . belly love . . .

Then, I went through all of Pancake's clothes and pitched any that were gender neutral or even remotely boyish. PITCHED 'EM ALL!!

As a result, Mac has all girl hand me downs. He loves wearing his sister's jammies the most. "Pancake's jammies!", he says while hugging his clothes. I encourage this.

Second, Mac lives in a female dominant house five days a week. His Momma is fully in charge. He has grown to love all manner of cute kitty videos on youtube. Cute bunny videos too. Then there is the Lolcats.com. He loves the wee kitties.

Then, the other night, after I finished painting my daughter's toes, Mac comes up and whips off his socks, all excited. So I painted his toes. After, he grabbed his chubby little feet and lifted them up while exclaiming, "IMMA PRINCESSS!!!"

Mmmmhmmm, um, that boy needs some of his Daddy, STAT!!!

But, I can say this. Daddy was here this weekend, just like every weekend. We had a scrumptious Sunday dinner of wild salmon, brown rice and asparagus. So tasty the asparagus! Mac mowed them down, wood chipper style. Then he got to share a cookie (macadamia nut) with his Daddy. His eyes lite up. "COOKIE!!!" He hollered.

Mr. Hall broke the cookie in half and handed it to Mac. "COOKIE!!!" He hollered again. THEN

THENNNN@!!!!!!!!

He looked right at me and said, "MOMMY!!! COOKIEEE!!!"

And handed me half of his cookie.

I was floored by this. OOF!!!! Sniff, sniff, unbearable Mommy pride, sniff sniff, tearing up.... I smiled and said, "Oh thank you honey! Mommy is so proud of you sharing like such a good boy!"

A cookie never tasted so sweet ;)

SO NOW, let's all enjoy the gayest referee ever :)

Childhood Milestones not listed in the guidebooks

This image is what came up when I googled "breastfeeding tattoo"

So cool no?

"Childhood or Developmental Milestones" are what health care providers look at when determining the health of a child. They are somewhat predictable and age dependent. They include such things as rolling over, walking, potty training or sleeping through the night.

We are very blessed that each of our children have hit the milestones right on target. They are both very smart and emotional reactive. They exude all the magic of being a kid, all smiles and chubby cheeks and ferociousness climbing on monkey bars. We are so grateful for this.

Yet, when I was reading over this post, over at Slydesblog, I couldn't help but think that there are milestones that are not listed in the guidebooks. And here is a small list

Miraculous Milestones not listed in the guidebooks:

By Mrs. Holly Hall, mother of two kids (ages 6 and 2)

1. The first time the child sits through a DVD

Once my daughter began to crawl about, pull to standing, and toddle around, it was then my life became a game of "chase me-chase me."

"Chase me-chase me" are what children are all about. Again, having children means constantly engaging and directing their energy. Which takes a lot of energy.

But when they can sit down, and sit still for at least 45 minutes while watching a movie, HOLY LORD, HALLELUJAH!!

Manna from heaven!!!

Speaking of which, my daughter achieved this milestone at age 13 months, the movie--Nemo. The line 'manna from heaven' is from that movie.

Our son, well, he achieved this goal only recently at about 20 months. He is very energetic, our boy. Kind of like a pinball :) The movie--Wall-E. He has a crush on Eva



2. Making it into the bucket

The body of a child can be quite the fluid dispenser. Part of a child's learning process, as they develop, is learning how control the outgoing fluids and well, more solid things. This is what potty training is all about.

However, there is another miraculous milestone directly related to this.

About a year ago, when my daughter indicated she had "jelly in her tummy that needs to come out", I sprang into action like one of those tennis ball fetchers that hover and wait during the tennis matches. I fetched a bucket, towel and rain poncho.

I kid, I kid.

Well, not really. but, moving on . . . . .

However, to my ABSOLUTE DELIGHT, the girl made it into the bucket.On her own volition. AND THEN GLORY BE!!! She rose up, went to the bathroom, CALMLY BRUSHED HER HAIR BACK, and made it into the commode. My jaw hit the floor! Eyes welled up!

To this day I am all misty about it. I mean, what can I say? I am still filled with pride over this.

3. Getting the idea of a time out

For the most part, kids understand much more than they can verbalize. At first anyway. This leads parent's to make comments like, "Oh, he's too young to understand". Also, kids also have the ability to switch on what I like to call, "the dumb face". It looks like this. But, if you scan the face, you can note a subtle smile in the eyes, an impish turn of the mouth. Thus, the dumb face can disguise the naughty face.

If you don't catch it, instructions such as, "Sweety, stop pulling the cat's tail" or "Honey, stop ripping pages from that book" or "Sweetheart, stop climbing into the refrigerator" are repeated over and over and over. I cannot tell you how batty it makes me, repeating things. BATTY! BATTY! BATTY!!! ABSOLUTELY BONKERS!!!

Ok, then, moving on . . . . .

It stops the day a parent says "Either stop or time out". And when the child twitches at the words 'time out', well, GLORY DAY!!!

And while the task of putting a very feisty two year old on a time out is taxing, and very hard at first, eventually it becomes route. Eventually . . .


When I think of who much energy I pour into these children, how much I give to them, I find myself so grateful. So grateful they are here, so happy I am their mom. I love you Mac and Pancake. I could not ask for better kids. :)

Best Christmas Ever!!!

Hey All! How was your Christmas? Mine went like this:

Wrapping doesn't stand chance!

TRAINS!!!!!!

One Mouse House made by Pancake

She used


To make a bed, some seeds for food and other amenities. She also made the mouse a toilet.


Let's Go Bowling!!




It was THIRTY DEGREES OUTSIDE!!!! and SUNNY!!! We made good use of the snow.

THANK YOU SNOW!

At the end of the day,

Mac was so tired that he literally climbed up on the couch and tackled Pancake.

They stayed like this for 15 minutes.

That is my hand on his cute tush.

My day was absolutely heavenly.

I am so blessed and so thankful.

Merry Christmas everyone. (again ;)

Unearthing the postmortem scuttlebutt

This amazing painting can be found here.

Not to bum everyone out here, but there was a recent death in the family. It was not a shock really, the guy was 82. Let's call him Kermit. He and his wife lived very far away from the centralized clan. Thus, no one was really close to him and hadn't seen him for a long time. I really have no emotional connection to him. Honestly, I wasn't sure who he was at first.

My family is catholic. And so was Kermit. Typically, religion provides kindling for igniting passions and family fighting. So, when Kermit, at the tender age of 16, started dating a Lutheran girl, well . . . It was not a welcomed relationship. She did not help things by being bossy and kind of nuts. She rubbed people the wrong way.

This weekend, I listened as my mom described her behavior from FIFTY years ago, when they started dating. How she would go to the car on Christmas eve, lest she hear the radio broadcast of the Catholic Pope's Prayer. Her family was just as uppity about her Lutheran status as we were about being Catholic. Again, this did not help things.

There is another layer here though. And Lord help me for airing my family's dirty laundry, but here goes. This woman, who I have met and I like, is genuinely messed up in significant ways. Outwardly, she is tight and controlling. She use to carry a tiny poddle around but never let the kids pet it at Christmas gatherings. I never got to pet the tiny dog. The dog was skinny and shook a lot. All teacup size with big eyes. There is a metaphor in that dog. You see it right?

She was very dominating to Kermit. And to their son. He still lives with her. He is about 45 years old. It is creepy, this arrangement. The son is in a state of arrested development. Most likely, he will never move out. He will stay a skinny kid. Complete with short sleeve dress shirt and tie. Going on vacations with his Mom to Las Vegas. Creepy . . .

But again, on the outside, she was very dominating and kind of nuts. I got a big peak into her insides as the funeral was being planned. Holy Good Lord, she is the most bitter person I have every heard speaking. She has catalogued all the things our family has all done wrong to her. All of our trespasses. She has gigantic lists of wrongs, of ugly acts committed onto her. It is all very detailed, all spoken with frothy venom. She must have pie charts.

The version of events, her version, is partly based in reality. At least somewhat. The years have added spiteful detail. But, she has some personal responsibility in this too. Either way, this death has unearthed a lot of postmortem scuttlebutt.

Which brings me to me.

Wait for it . . . .

Keep waiting . . .

Ok, almost there?

And go!

I came into my marriage, into my husband's life, encountering his closed family system. I separated him from that system and was not welcomed. I did not help myself by being especially gracious. I was simply being myself. And I wonder now, now that things are 65% healed, if it would have made any difference. If I would have been golden, gracious and warm 100% of the time, would we have had more of his family at the wedding?

If I would have put my pride below the needs of him and his family, would it still be so strained? Because, when I think it over, my pride, and perhaps my nutz and demanding tendencies was just me, learning how to be a real girlfriend. Learning how to be stable in a relationship. Learning how to give and recieve proper, warm and stable love.

Love that acts as a greenhouse from which our rainforest still grows.

I face this though. These bits of bitterness when I see them at gatherings. I still feel bitter about how I wasn't welcomed and squished with love by his family. And here it is. Just the bits. And with this death in the family, with hearing that wife's words, I hear a warning. I am letting go of the bits.

And forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive them that trespass against us.

Lord Hear my prayer.

Amen.

Breaking my heart in the most wonderful way: Pancake edition

I have challenged myself to be thankful every day. So this week, here is a peek as to what I am thankful for. Click here for further visuals.

1. At the playground this summer, after a rainy spell, Pancake was playing on the swings with a friend. Her friend was on a swing, asking for a push. She promptly wiped her muddy hands on her shirt and then pushed him, very gingerly. It stopped my breath, this show of consideration.

2. We were out to dinner with a friend and her daughter, about Pancake's age (5). They both ordered chocolate milk for their respective beverage. When the waitress brought them, Pancake took the first chocolate milk and passed it to the other girl. After the other girl was settled, Pancake then took her own. I almost cried I was so proud.

3. A few days ago, she wrote a letter to Santa. Her list was reasonable. At the end of the letter she wrote, "Please bring an Elmo for Mac". This is her little two year old brother. I did cry as I read this. She is endlessly giving to him, endlessly patient and snuggly.

This girl of mine, this wonderful, wonderful girl. I am so blessed.

Have a good weekend everyone.

How not to kill your family on Thanksgiving

As the holidays roll around, the visits with family can be somewhat of a challenge. Fear not, I am here to help. Don't worry, I am a professional. If you follow the tips here, you will have a decent shot at having a good time and not killing your family.

Holiday get togethers have three areas ripe for contentious emotions. There is family, food and a place were all of the above are put together (confinement) for at least an hour. At this point, while you are mulling over each of these items, it is important to define what you are expecting from these events. Expectations are like psychic visions, they will tell you what the future holds. So please, tell yourself that you will have a good time. No matter what. And if you really believe this and really work at it--it will be the truth.

First, ask yourself, What are the challenges that I personally face here? Again, look at the three factors in the holiday dinner equation. The most prominent challenge for most of us is the actual family. We did not choose these people, these family, but yet there they are.

Ask yourself what bothers you most about your family. Does your Dad tell racist jokes? Does Aunt Peg pester you about not having kids? Does your brother bug you about your parole? Well, let them. When we interact with others there are two people involved. You and them. You can do nothing about them. Which is more important, you having a good time no matter what, or you helping them understand what idiots they are? You cannot have both.

And if you could sit with them, talk things over like adults, decide on a behavioral plan, then you wouldn't be reading this would you? Thus, when your Achilles' heel is being hammered upon, take a deep breath. You are in control of you and remember, you are going to have a good time no matter what. Let the racist jokes roll, let them go on and on about meat eating, let them, let them, let them. Who knows, once you stop taking the bait, perhaps they will stop casting the line?

Secondly, ask yourself about the food. Food is a big deal for most folks. There are all sorts of emotions tied to what is fed us and what we feed upon. If your family serves the food you like then YAY! Stop reading and go to number three. If no, then please, use this one day to divert your attention from it. At most houses, there will be a smorgasbord of food. Pick and choose what you like. Bring your own 'side dish' without briefing them ahead of time. Just act like you are being "helpful". Keep in mind that food is secondary to these gatherings. And again, you are going to have a good time no matter what.

Thirdly, ask yourself about confinement. Some of us are not really people people and don't like gatherings in the first place. Let alone with a group of people we have nothing in common with and don’t really like. If this applies to you, then plan on breaks. Plan on escaping to the rest room, to the porch, to the car. Plan on regular intervals when you can breathe. This is all part of how you are going to have a good time, no matter what.

Oh and a word about booze. Best not to tempt fate here. Booze loosens the tongue and impairs even the most sound social judgment. If you find that you must drink in order to survive the gathering, well, maybe you should rethink some things. So, in order to ensure that you will have a good time no matter what, pass on the old timey nogg. The exception to this is if you and your family has a decent shot at getting along after a few. If so, have at it responsibly.

The overarching issues in any holiday gathering are many. But, there is always a way to figure out how to best serve your needs. Please use the above tips to have a pleasant holiday gathering. And if you are prepared, and if you return to your central purpose—to have a good time—time and time again, you will.

But, if you can't bring yourself to even consider having a pleasant day, or to refrain from drinking that ole timey nogg, then stay the hell home. It's your life, you can do what ever you want.

Ok-now it is your turn. Share your tips for a good holiday dinner with the family.

Has everyone heard of these?

Have you people heard about these web cam thingies?

They are awesome fun.

The wee Mac and I watching The Wiggles on you tube

This is the wee Pancake showing off her "owl eyes"
Not technically a webcam photo, but come on, so cute!

Still not photos from the web cam but . . . .

My husband, when he was eight years old, took apart a lawn mower engine and put it back together. I know because I have seen the actual photos. He still takes apart engines, and photographs them while he does it. We have like 300 such photos in the digital photo folder. He takes photos of engines and the computer innards and whatnot. It use to annoy me to no end, having such photos clogging up my storage space.

I try to ask him why he does this, this photographing ... But then he tries to explain what he is doing with the engines . . . installing carburetors . . . and well . . . . I lose consciousness. But now, when I look at these, I feel all sorts of tender for the man who takes them. I feel tender looking at them.

Ya'll have a good weekend.

Mommy vacation (?)

Settling in quite nicely with my clinic. I am doing exceedingly well.

But I feel something missing.

Oh yeah, the kids aren't here.

I took this week to really settle in, hence the kids staying at home until Friday. Oh wait, this is home.

I will see them this weekend. But man, it feels weird. I am acutely aware of my movements. For instance, after I use my make up, I put it away so little hands can't dig in the powder and brushes. When I cook, I am careful to cook on the back burner and listen for curious little feet. When I shower, I leave the door open and am short about it. I usually shower when they have gone to bed, I leave the door open to hear and tend to them quickly. These Mommy habits, they are so ingrained they are reflexes.

The extent of it is taking me by surprise. :)

I stretched my limbs tonight, feeling my temporary freedom. Tonight I lingered while running errands. I lingered at the grocery store, lingered at Walgreens. Heck, I almost lingered while voting (if they would have let me). I took my sweet, sweet time reading the shampoo bottles comparing colors of lipstick, sniffing different lotions. It was the lotions that got me though.

I realized something. After a while I am not lingering because I have this freedom, this Mommy vacation. Truthfully, I don't want to go home because they are not there.

But, they will be soon. Mac comes this weekend, Pancake after that. Then I will have my needy monkeys all clamoring for my attention. All clingy and jumping on my head.

Till then, I think I will have a real glass of wine. Out of a wine glass, not a plastic cup.

My spank hand, it is strong*

All of you at home can play along with this mental exercise.

Aaaannnnddd begin ....

For those of you just tuning in, a change is happening in the House of Hall. Namely, we are moving four hours away from our house. The first step began today, with moving Mrs. Hall (that's me). In the following weeks my tribe, including daughter Pancake (age five), Mac (age 2) and Mr. Hall (age 40) will follow.

There are a number of ways I can process this and present it here, in this blog. The easiest is the most crabbiest. I can lament and wail for hours. I can go into some detail about what this means and how it makes me feel.

But, I wouldn't want to read that, and neither should you.

Hence, I will look to the positive. I will fill my lungs with good clean air and be energized. I will talk about this in terms that lift me up and hopefully you too. After all, no one likes a whiner.

SO! Hear me now, o negative, self pity thoughts in Mrs. Hall's head! Hear this now!

My spank hand, it is strong. And when you gather in the fog, my spank hand will get twitchy and surely a smack will be delivered with the utmost speed. Oh yes, my spank hand, it is strong.

Wait, wait . . . .

Perhaps that is a bit strong. After all, don't all my feelings and thoughts deserve to be? After all, if we deny what we feel, it just pushes it down. And then it grows into a Zombie and really, it gets all sorts of stinky. Not that I don't like Zombies, in fact I loooove Zombies. I just don't want to be one.

The key, I think, is balance. And to admit that I am very, very scared. Also, I must reach out to Mr. Hall, to my friends, to Yoga and dog walking. I must ask for help when I am overwhelmed. These things up there, in this paragraph, these are not strong skills of mine. I am a 98 lb weakling in this respect.

So, this will change, right now. I will give myself credit for being cooler and smarter than I actually realize. I will think of myself as capable of anything. I will not numb up and shut off. I will not fall into the traps of anxiety and wanting to control everything around me. I will let go and let God.

I will realize all that I breathe and feel tunnels directly into my children and for that, I will be their superhero through all of this. I will be who they think I am. SPOON!!

Aaaaaannnnnddddd breathe . . . . .

This right here, is a moment. This is not the entire journey, but just a moment.

There, this feels better eh?

I know I do.

Take care everyone

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
*I can say with the utmost authority no actual physical spanking occurs in the House of Hall. No spanks for Mrs. Hall or Mr. Hall. No spanks for Pancake or Mac. Really people, it is just a metaphor. Trust me.

So far so Good

When I arrive in the office, people ask "How's it going?"

My stock reply is, "So far .. So Good."

I find it more pleasing to say than "Ok" or "Good!". It will often elicit a chuckle.

"The day is young!" They say back, with a wee gaffaw.

har har har.

It is rather pleasing for both parties.

But let me get a little personal here and tell you my day. So far.

And I write this, because I love every minute of it. :)

Woke up at 5.30 am. Mr. Hall works some weekends. This means he rises at the butt crack of dawn and keeses me. Buh-bye babe, see ya Sunday night.

These weekends, as a De facto single Mom, use to give me the galloping terrors. "How am I going to do this alone with two kids?", I'd say. Now it is like breathing.

I begin to cough and hack, spasm style. I pop some sugar free Halls and dive head long into a Sopranos dream. If I wake near the morning hours and fall back asleep, my dreams are guaranteed to be ultra vivid, 3-d and disturbing. This is no different.

Photo by Annie Leibowitz

I hear Pancake's pitter patter and hear her gently calling me. She is next to my bed asking me where Daddy is. "He's at work sweetie. Now, you can come into bed or go down stairs and watch PBS kids." She is almost six, she can work the remote all by herself.

She leaves and I hear her scooping dog food. I feel proud of her because I didn't have to tell her to "let the dog out and feed him two scoops." She is actually doing it, by her ownself. I slip into flashes of my Sopranos dream.
She begins to talk to Mac. Grrrr. "Paaaanncaaake, waking up your brother was not one of the options, either come here and cuddle or go downstairs for PBS kids.", I call. Mac is almost two, he needs his sleep. So does Mommy.

At this point, if you are a parent, you surely must realize the futility of this statement. The war is lost people. The kids are up. It is eight am. Actually, not too bad!

"Moommmy, Charlie is feeding the dog... I thought it was Daddy."

At this point a lot of things go through my mind. First, "CRAP!" The food dish we have is pictured below. Last time Mac was messing around the the dog food, he got water in the storage section and I spent a week cleaning it and drying it out. Apparently, the food will grow mold if you don't clean it properly the first time.

Our dog is much, much bigger.

Well, turns out I should have just listened to Mr. Hall on how to clean it properly, but what does he know?

Next thought, "CRAP!" Mac can now open his door. He also went down two sets of stair cases into the basement to get at the food. I am impressed with his motor skills.

I rise, cough a lot, and peek down stairs. Mac is scooping and unscooping a handful of food in and out of the dish. The dog, looking so pitiful, dutifully waits behind Mac. Being teased with this ritual.

Dog gets let out. THERE WAS NO WATER IN HIS DISH!! Wee hee!

Mac is brought up stairs, changed (not to bad for a morning diaper), baby gate firmly put back up.

"EEEEAT, EAT!", says Mac. He is learning about five new words a week.

Fruit and cream oatmeal made, kids plopped on table. I go upstairs to search for a Kleenex box in earnest. I hear Pancake saying, "Mac, can you say Mama? Can you say Daddie?" He does and they delight in their morning conversation.

I tie my hair up, bra on, hot washcloth across my face.

Oh my gaaaaawwddd, that is heavenly.

Bangs wetted, smile across face.

Mac doesn't do that bad, got most of the oatmeal in his mouth. He wants more, and whines. I remind him that whining get him upstairs for a time out. He stops, ponders, and says, "Peeasee". Good boy Mac! So proud, so proud!


Pancake asks again, as she will about forty more times each day, "How many more days till Halloween?"

We reaffirm out costume choice for trick-or-treating. The tribe called Hall goes in unified costumes. Last year we were all red devils. This year:

Zombies!!!

Click on the word 'Zombies' to find out why we are so stoked!

Then we chill for a while, I am determined to drink coffee before we head to the park. DETERMINED!!!

I hope there are other kids at the park for Pancake. There is such an age difference between the two I can't properly play with her because I am chasing Mac.

And she will show me, all proud of herself, that she can climb on the monkey bars. First skill learned at kindergarten.

Now, if she can only learn how to use the swings by herself.

So, How's it going with you?

The machines that go Ping!

This is why I like working with mental health patients.



In mental health, or psychiatric nursing, there are no machines that go ping. Just you and the patients. Agreeing on what to do to let them become what they want to be. It is empowering others through the use of kindness.

Can't believe this job will soon be mine.

Thanks for all your kind words!

And now, some photos from a real birth, that being the wee Mac.

I had an epidural that only numbed my right knee.

Loved every minute of it.

PING!!

The wee Mac about 10 seconds old.



The wee mac about 20 minutes old. And no, those aren't sheet prints, just marks from exiting the birth canal. And they had yet to clean him!



And this is him, age 1 day, after a satisfying nursing session. He nursed every two hours for the first four months of his life.



I gotta stop now, my ovaries are starting to twitch. And didn't I start this post about my job?

So easily the mind wanders . . .

I sort of like Sarah Palin. Except for one thing.

I seem to be a bit late on timely subjects. The subject of Mrs. Palin is no exception. I digest things slowly.

First off, let me just say, I am not open to the ugliness that this kind of post can bring. If you are here to spread ugly, get over to the millions of other blogs that will serve your purpose.If you are here to hear what I have to say, welcome. And comment till the cows come home.

I did watch her speech. Surreal is the best word I can offer. It was those endless shots of her kids that left me dumbfounded. And yes, I know that as a Hillary supporter, I am the exact demographic they are aiming for. And yes, I believe the GOP picked Sarah Palin because she serves their agenda of shoring up the conservative vote. I also believe Mrs. Palin has all sorts of agendas. I have agendas too. We all have agendas, no?

Surreal is the word for her speech. Surreal with her confidence, her grown children, her baby, her pregnant daughter and the soon to be son in law. Let it be said here, I commend the teenagers with kids. Well, her teenager with kid. And the teenage Dad to be. They are stepping up and taking responsibility for the life that is growing inside the girl. And while I don't think marriage is the best idea at age 17, at least they are going forward. I believe the whole family is going forward. With the kids firmly at the center.

And no, abstinence only sex ed is a failure. It doesn't prevent teen pregnancy. But, we are in the land of Puritanical thinking. As public policy, this is what we get for now. Other countries have health courses that begin in kindergarten. They begin by teaching the children the names of their parts. It goes up from there. I have started my own teaching here, at the Hall house. When my daughter started to learn her body parts, I included all of her anatomy. Thus, when she was three years old, she proudly exclaimed, "Mac has a penis and I have a diamond."

She has since figured out how to say vagina.

It was funny joke, no?


So there they were, after her speech, the entire family on stage. She was holding her youngest baby of four months. Four months was the age of my each of my children when I came back to life. I started back at work at that time. I can't help but see myself up there. However, I don't dream of becoming a VP, but simply a Psyche-NP. And I don't think it is sexist, asking if she can care for her children while in public office.

Let me repeat that. I don't think it is sexist asking if she can give to her children what they need A MOM whilst being a VP. Mothers are important. Paramount even. So are Dads. I believe to raise kids right, the kids must be at the center of things. One should not blindly procreate, nor blindly chase ambition.

If you sense a little righteousness here, you are right. I am a traditionalist about family. Kids need parents. Two of them. Two people who have their act together. Gender or transgender of parents irrelevant. They just have their act together. And place their kids first.

And I feel righteous and proud about being a Mom. I was a woman who married then had babies. And the babies have the same father, my husband. I am proud of this because it is what I created for my life. Because it is what I believe in. I believe in being a wife too. That is why I choose the moniker, Mrs. Hall. And while my last name actually contains four syllables, the Mrs. is very much correct. I am proud this. Again, it is what I believe in.

At the same time, I fully recognize that that this is my belief. This is where Mrs. Palin and I begin to divide. But not yet.

We both are working Moms. There are those out there who believe to be a good Mom, you must stay home. Well, I do stay home. I never really go anywhere. Sure, for about 8 hours a day, Monday through Friday, I go and tend to others. I expand my brain, my heart. I give to humanity. Meanwhile, the little ones go to school. They learn, they play with people their height. They get be loved by more than me. And we all met up at the end of the day. Ready to love each other and snuggle.

Wait, this is about Mrs. Palin, not Mrs. Hall.

The last thing I noted about Mrs. Palin was the religion. There is a point in any nurses life where you seek out religion. As a nurse, I have helped birth babies, helped patients deal with devastating genetic test results about their kids, helped patients cut through insurance crap to keep on living and I have helped patients die. I married the best man walking. I have birthed two children. I have felt them growing inside me and nursed them. There is no point in my life where I have not been powered by forces outside myself. I reach out to God most everyday.

Let me repeat that. I pray most everyday. Bible study classes have made me a better nurse, mom and wife. I am softer, kinder and more ready to receive the beauty that surrounds me. I have felt the spirit.

And this is where it goes all sour for me with Mrs. Palin. People see her as the face of Christianity. They think she is dumb and simple. They have flashbacks to Catholic school, bible camp and generally oppressive things. It turns off the spigot for most.

Myself included.

It is a delicate balance reaching out to God and living an everyday life. She has the balance wrong. She carries such judgement and the security of her own convictions. As if they are handed down directly from Him. And that is the one thing I do not like about her.

My beliefs about family and God are for me. Not for public policy. The righteousness I feel is because I have worked damn hard to create this life. I feel vindicated for all that doubted I would end up anything. But again, my righteousness is my own. Not for public policy.

I don't carry judgement on others either. We all have our own path. Life is not under our control. There in lies the preciousness and sanctity. Again, these are my views and not public policy. This is what Mrs. Palin fails to realize.

I will leave you with this video. And finally let the woman speak for herself.

Shoring up the blog

When I started this blog, I really had no theme in mind. There were many routes to take like Mommy Blog, Wife Blog, Self-help blog. There are plenty of those out there. I didn't want a theme.

Each day my thoughts buzz around me like insistent little hunny bees. They munch on the essays being rattled off in my head. This flood of thoughts began to flow at around age nine. I am always think, think, thinking. Write, write, writing in my head. It use to be tortuous, this constant chatter. But then I found Yoga. I found that I could actually calm the tides. And then I got my sleep pattern back. Wee-hee!

The essays I have running in my head, are varied. They are the seeds of my posts. I could poop out four a day if I wanted. But, like Willie Nelson says, "Writing a song is easy, it's writing a good one, that's the hard part." It feels grand though, finally having a place to pound out the thoughts. Some place besides Mr. Hall.

My intention in posting is to have an emotional arc. A passionate arc if you will. I have lots of passion. It varies though. It is dependant on my motivation. For example, my passion for helping others, for being of service to others, leads to posts under the label of 'nurse'.

Kids are endless fodder for passionate posts. They are labeled Pancake, Mac (formerly Mac-n-Cheese). As is the marriage between Mr. Hall and I. See labels marriage, Mr. Hall.

I am unsure what is driving me to write all this. Part of it is unmet social needs. Everyday, I have twenty dollars worth of energy to spend. Everyday, fifteen dollars is automatically deducted because I am a wife, mom and nurse. And those last five? Those are spent carefully.

It is difficult forming relations with others when you are a mom. You can make instant friend with other moms. But it is instant soup. Making friends outside the Mommy set is difficult. Chicks are complex and intricate. Delicate negotiations are needed. And the problem is, I am one.

Overall, I am attached to my lovely offspring 24/7. To get away is to be separated. And this requires a babysitter. Money. Babysitters are very nice. But they are young and not the Mommy or Daddy. Our baby sitter, Josephine, is young. And has a young life. We do love her so. She called me twice when I was at yoga one time. Couldn't find the top to the sippy cup . . . .

Unmet social needs are not the only reason. When I started to compose essays in my head, at the wee age of nine, I started writing out loud. This didn't really end until I started to become a nurse. Becoming a nurse and a nurse practitioner requires fortitude. And copious amount of time and energy. It ain't easy. It shouldn't be. And this learning I hold so dear, will never stop. I will never stop learning for my job. Wee-hee!

However, there is still this writer inside me. Using words like they are lollipops. Tasting them, turning them around in my head. Finding ways to use them in everyday life. In everyday posts. I love them so.

And now I am downshifted. I have a balance and some time and here I am. In blog form.

Welcome one and all.

:)

Mrs. Hall

P.S. If any of you see misspellings, please let me know. I don't want to look stoopid.

Where the deer and the antelope play

I am a romantic. I can wax poetic about anything. Really, I can call out the beauty of a ham sand which, polyester or tuft of hair in the shower drain. What is even easier to romanticize is the the place where I am. It is easy to wax poetic about the place where I am now; because I know it will be the place where I've been.

The place I am now is walking the wee Pancake to the grocery store. It is two blocks away from home. She talks endlessly about all things most important to a five year old. What color her favorite flower is, what color her favorite tree is, her shiny new sandals, "Aren't they pretty Mama, can I wear them to school?" And we hold hands and talk about what she wants her birthday cake to be, chocolate or strawberry. It is gorgeous outside. Movie gorgeous. Warm and syrupy. Not quite dusk, but sunset light all the same.

And I get all misty for being able to walk two blocks to the grocery store. All sad because we will be moving to the country soon. And I get all sad, knowing that we have certain things we do here, where we are now. Certain places we go and know exactly what to expect. We know who will be there and what we will order. We know where the good parks are, the one with the best slide and the local house cat who always stops by for a pet. The cat that will lay there and tolerate the most roughest of grabby toddler grabs. And it never bites or hisses, it just reluctantly moves on to the next kid.

Where we are now, will be where we have been. It wasn't our choice to be here in the first place. But we call it home now. But home is a fluid and finite thing. The only permanence is us, the Family Hall.

It is the oddest sensation. It is like having my belly filled with ice chips and my jet pack roaring to life, all at the same time.

More on the jet pack later.

Good Yoga is like Good love

The nuts and bolts of my yoga love include losing 35 pounds and getting in touch with things. It is a 5 month journey that included sobbing and touching a lot of places unseen. This was a big surprise to me, since I thought the stuff about chakras was a bunch of hippy bullshit.

The sobbing though, that sucked. I had started yoga to exercise without being a gerbil on a treadmill. The first thing I noticed in the class was the mirrors. Again, I had lost 35 lbs. But I didn't have a full length mirror at my house. So, there I was, suddenly smoking hot.

And for most, this is a plea sent sensation. For me, it was a sound of alarm. It's true what they say, overeating is a sign of eating one's emotions. And now my emotions, my subterfuge, my blanket of fat and carbs was pulled away.

To add lights to my siren was the poses themselves. I practice the bikrahm yoga. The hot sweaty yoga. And I was not prepared for what deep breathing and holding postures does to you. I found myself becoming overcome with this pervasive sense of despair and sadness. It lived and breathed in me. It got bigger with each pose, with each twist. The floor poses almost killed me.

Yet I had nothing to be sad about. Make no mistake, I love my life. I love Mr. Hall Pancake and Mac-n-Cheese are the awesome planets that I orbit. So what the heck? Why the overwhelming urge to sob?

And I did what all over educated women do, read about it. And analyze it. And fight it with words and deep thoughts. But, for the first time in my life, I couldn't talk my way out of a icky situation. I had to let it out. And really, I knew what this was about. Things get trapped if you don't process them. The fester and get uglier as they take residence inside. I work with this every day with my patients. Of course I knew what the fuck was going on.

So I let it out one session. Cried and freaked the heck out. And then I took a long 3 month break.

And I went back this week and worked those poses like a bat out of hell. It felt good to be home.

But man, I am still limping two days later.

Well, I suppose, like good love, good yoga makes you walk funny.

:)

Mrs. Hall