Exchanging emails on the crazy

This email exchange took place recently between me and my husband.



jeff(mr. hall)-

I am not sure if my parent's are coming up this weekend. They kind of freaked out after their initial offer of help. Well, my mom freaked out. She said she doesn't know if she wants to go, she promised her friends she would go to breakfast after all.

She also said she and my dad are not getting along well. This is true. They are really kind of fighting in that passive aggressive ugly way. My Dad's natural tendencies of assholery are becoming unbridled. And when I am not there they have no control of Pancake and her antagonism of my Dad. She likes to poke at him, get physical. This upsets my Dad who does what he always does, yell and get loud.

Which I mean, we both know what is going on there. They have no control over her for a reason. They spoil her and don't enforce any rules. And she is a child.

But, despite this, I am fighting the urge to sort of blame myself for the ill feelings and communications between my parents. I mean, I do stir things up and I am starting to temper some of this. But, when I am hurting, like I was the last couple of days, I really just withdraw from them. I take me and the kids in another room. Take care of me and mine.

This has not let my mom feel supported. She sits alone with the HGTV and my dad swears downstairs.

And I thought we all had a breakthrough yesterday, when I started crying, asking for their help with packing up the house this weekend. And they did offer. But, it was short lived.

Basically, after I started the kid's bath, my mom was kind of crying on the couch. My Dad was down stairs. She was saying, "I don't want to go, your dad and I are not getting along." And she started crying harder and said, "I just can't take this anymore, between your Dad and Pancake and you guys living here." And I left the room. I just don't have the energy for that kind of thing.

I did approach her later, and basically said it's ok if they don't come, you and I will be ok. That I didn't mean to start a big drama by asking for their help.

She said I didn't start anything by asking. That helped. But, as is her usual, she didn't want to talk about it. I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!!! I am sure when I get home tonight it will be just fine, she'll be all happy and chipper, like nothing happened. I am glad I am not the only to see these goddamn moodswings. I am glad you see them too.

Which is fine really. I mean, I feel fine. I let out some hurt and sadness. They listened. And they continue to fail miserably at what I need. But they listened and gave me a bit of sympathy.

And that is all I needed cause DAMN!! I feel sooo much better today.

I feel energized and ok with the looseness of all of this. I mean, there is no list, no time line. Progress is slow and sputtering. But, it's happening. Bit by bit it will get done.

I love you and am so glad you are my husband.

Yay us!!!

:)


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to which he responded
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L- I was all like ugg when you mentioned bringing both parents anyways. Diminishing returns et al. You just come down with the kids. We’ll get some stuff done while they play. Kid’s museum. Family time away from your parents. I’m only going to work tue-thu now generally. Bring minivan without third seat so we can pack it up for return trip. Things will be fine babe. We just need to keep clear heads above the chaos. It’s not so bad really. Just hard when we are drained of energy to start. LU and you’re the best.

. . . . . and that's is why I am married to mr. hall . . . . .

The real story about the spank from Mr. Hall

Since this appears to be the week of Mr. Hall, perhaps it is time to tell the real story of the time Mr. Hall gave Mrs. Hall a spank. This story, sort of a fib/metaphor based on the real story.

This is the real story of the spank.

Pancake must have been about eight months old. That means were married about eight months +nine months (17 months total). A very young marriage indeed.

We planned a getaway to Las Vegas. It was my first time there. Very happy and giggly was I. I danced around a lot, pretending I was Vegas Showgirl with a fancy headdress. Things changed about three days before we left.

I began to endlessly worry about two things:

1. Making sure Mr. Hall mailed something the Saturday we were to leave. I can't remember why it had to be mailed THAT Saturday, be it absolutely had to be mailed THAT SATURDAY!!!

2. Arriving at the air port two hours before our flight. This was the national, post 9-11 recommendations for all who travelled via air plane. TWO HOURS!!!

My obsession with these items grew steadily and unchecked during the Wednesday, Thursday and Friday before our departure. Obsession. I was kind of like a parrot, repeating my instructions over and over.

"Make sure we wake up in time, we have to get there two hours ahead of time. And make sure you mail that thing!!!"

The Saturday morning comes. Mr. Hall gets out of bed about 1 hour and forty five minutes before the flight. I am livid. I hover like a bee, crazily buzzing. Telling him over and over and over, we have to get there, we are already late.

I can still see him at our old computer desk. Printing out our flight confirmations. Sipping coffee and ignoring me. Putting the thing that needs to be mailed in an envelope. I am livid but silent. I march away in a silent huff.

I take the luggage, put it in the car, start the car, come back in, he's still sitting there.

NOT DRESSED!!!

I get his clothes, put them next to the computer desk. He dresses.

Then, he looks right at me and says, "huh, I think we have to stop and get stamps so we can mail this."

A brick of dynamite goes off in my chest. I am reeling.

I push in front of him, my back is to him, my hands have grabbed the envelope.

"MOTHERFUCKER!!" I spit through clenched teeth.

That’s when he spanked me. It was a quick, swift and surgical smack. Right on the kisser. It hurt and I buckled.

We didn't talk the entire 2 hour flight to Vegas. I was pissed beyond belief.

When we touched down, we finally spoke.

Turns out, a lot of my anxiety and obsession was unwarranted. The thing that needed to be mailed, didn't need to be mailed that Saturday. And the airport we left from, well, it's a little airport. And we only had carry on bags. And we only lived about 5 minutes away from the airport. We got there about 30 minutes before the flight and that was plenty of time.

Of course, all my anxiety could have been diffused if Mr. Hall had helped me understand the reality of the situation. But, the more I obsessed and got bossy, the more he shut down and said nothing. Which only made me get more obsessed and bossy.

The final straw though, was the swear. We have a strict policy in the house of Hall against swearing and negative words. Even before we had kids we promised to elevate our communication above the use of foul language. Also, swearing is a pet pea with Mr. Hall.

He, to this day, regrets the spank. I regret the spank. Well, not really. It broke up a pattern of communication that was beginning to cement itself in our marriage. It gave us cause to pause.

And I am glad to say, there has not been a spank before or since. Unless requested of course. (and really, I don't request it, I mean, jebus, that hurts!!)

The secrets of Mr. Hall

On a long, late night drive, I was trying to think of things to talk about with Mr. Hall. We had three hours to go and the kids were fast asleep. We had been married about 6 years at that point. All told, eight years together.

I usually try to play 'word association' but this is no good. My husband traffics in logic and concrete connections. There is no looseness to his thoughts. Silliness maybe, but no looseness.

So I asked him to tell me something he had never told me before. He agreed on the condition that I go first. This was really hard. I talk a lot (surprise) and really hold nothing back in terms of my personal stuff (even bigger surprise). I had to dig super deep to find anything he didn't already know.

I can tell you what I said, but if you wait long enough, I am sure it will come out here, in the blog.

Then, he proceeded to tell me a secret. And I was gobsmacked!

Turns out, Mr. Hall has all sorts of private things he doesn't tell me. It's not for the lack of asking mind you, I ask him all sorts of things. He kind of filters his own information, decides what he wants to verbally communicate and what he can express in other ways. This is not a conscious process.

Everything he feels or experiences doesn't always translate into words. Or maybe they are held in a holding tank, waiting to be turned into words, then diverted to other areas in his body. Either way, all of this leads to secrets he has from me.

Which is crazy really. I mean, I am his wife. We have been married over eight years at this point. It drives me a little crazy thinking there are pockets of him I do not know about. And I know crazy.

Then I realize.

I know all about him, I can tell what he is thinking by the way he is breathing. Even with my eyes closed.

He demands so little of me to make him happy. Words are just small part. There are so many non verbal ways to affect him. I practiced this on Sunday.

He was crankily and tiredly eating his lunch while the kids were crankily and tiredly eating theirs. I was cranky and annoyed. We had been stuck in the house, all getting ready for a nap.

I felt an overwhelming urge to change his mood. I wanted him happy. No amount of pleading, chanting or gentle cheerleading would make a dent. But, he did end up feeling very chipper very soon after. All accomplished without words.

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.

Wifey

Jeff said, I'm going to the store to get electrical supplies. Wanna come?

Of course I did . . . .

I watched him look at shelves of wiring type

stuff for 45 minutes. Then I started taking pictures

with his cell phone.


These pictures represent another 45 minutes.

Doesn't his jacket look good?

My husband is really a hottie. He is better looking
then me, really he is.

I have good taste in men and leather jackets!

For all you long term readers, LOOK! The brown jacket!

This is my favorite 3/4 sleeve cardigan.

I have a thousand of them. They cover the tattoo very well.

Plus the red compliments me.

I do look a bit tired here.

Again, watching my husband for 4 hours at the hardware store.

Truth is, I loved every minute of it.

The next day, after I got home for work, he had rewired the basement so I could plug in a microwave and a space heater for when I do my yoga.

I love being a wife. :)

I have bothered Mr. Hall enough times to comment on my blog, to add his two cents, to defend himself on this blog. I fear it won't happen. Ya see, he is such a part of me that I want to him to speak here. Where I speak.

I think we came to a compromise. I asked him to send me an article that he found interesting. He reads a lot of articles from various news sources on the interwebs. I do not.

So he sends me this:

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(from our local news place)

-- As temperatures drop, many filling up their gas tanks turn to a bottle called HEET, which claims to keep the fuel system from freezing.

In this "Good Question," WNOO-TV examines whether putting HEET in gas tanks helps in cold temperatures.

According to the label, HEET is made up of isopropyl alcohol.

"What alcohol does is absorb moisture," said David Important Guy, of Important College's automotive department. "So, if I were to put that into a gas tank, it would absorb the moisture out of the gas and run it through the fuel system."

That is especially important in winter, when that moisture can freeze.

But most of gas used in many vehicles already contains alcohol -- up to 10 percent ethanol. So, do these motorists really need HEET as well?

David Important said it's probably not necessary and is redundant.

"It does become less necessary because we've got that alcohol in the gasoline already," Important said.

But Important said that when it gets really cold -- such as 10 to 15 degrees below zero -- HEET could come in handy.

But he said it's probably not worth the extra expense or the extra trip to the store. The auto expert said he's never used HEET and that he has never had any problems in the cold.

"Is it necessary?" Important asked. "One could argue maybe not. But is it going to hurt? No."

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NOW, we had just discussed this very topic in the car last weekend. I am OBSESSED WITH HEET. I am convinced that it is a secret elixir that runs even the shittiest of POS cars.

So THIS IS WHAT HE SENDS ME.

An article on HEET. Say it with me, an article outlining what HEET is and what it does. It's like that alarm clock he got me for Christmas, this article. Sure, it was very fancy and purposeful, but it was an alarm clock for Christmas, wait, wait no, an article on HEET for my blog. Sigh, I do love him so.

This is why I am married to this man, right here

This conversation occurred a few days ago.

Husband: Hey babe, how's it going? What do you think of the new clinic? Are you seeing patients yet?

Wife: The clinic is really nice, they just built this new section. It's too bad, but my real office will be in [another city] in the basement. blah, I will have to get one of those lights. It's weird though. I mean, it is so clean.

Husband: Not the ghetto huh?

Wife: Yeah, and people drive there. And they ask for my help. I don't know, I feel kind of weird. I mean, this job is much different. I feel like I am losing my street cred. I mean, when I was going into people's homes, moving the garbage aside, taking their blood pressure, cleaning wounds, listening to lungs, I mean, no matter what I did, I knew I was doing good. Even if they had no use or tolerance for me, the 'white nurse', I knew I was helping people.

Today, I talked to a patient for a half an hour and adjusted his sleep meds. I mean, the conversation was really easy. I was wearing a dress. I don't know, I feel like I am not . . .

Husband: Wait, what are you questioning? That you're not helping people enough? You helped that patient right? If you think about it, if he can't sleep everything is effected, his job, his wife, his kids and you are helping him sleep. Don't question yourself here babe, you are doing all kinds of good. You're awesome.


That is why I am married to this man.

Introducing Jeff, I mean Mr. Hall

Wait, wait, that's Mario Lopez, silly me!!

Jeff is found below.

At this house, my parent's house, they have

800000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

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cable channels.

This is like crack to me. Crack in HD no less.

There is this show, called John and Kate plus eight. And, turns out, it is a really good show. It is a mom and dad plus eight kids. The Dad on the show wears ear plugs when he drives the kids.

Jeff, I mean Mr. Hall, is a fan of ear plugs.

Here he is with Pancake at age 5 months.

It is six am in this photo.

He is the best Dad in the whole wide world.

I miss you sweetheart.

See you tomorrow.

A swift smack

This is twice now.

Twice in eight years.

For the past four days, I have been bemoaning the current status of a Tribe Called Hall. The toddler boy Mac and his Mommy will move up to my parent's in two weeks. A few weeks after later, the little girl Pancake will follow. After about two month's time, Mr. Hall will join us.

Long ago we had made a pact that I wouldn't spend weekends alone with my parents. It was too stressful for me. He should always be there. As a buffer and sanity saver. But he can't come up right away. How am I going to live with them without him?

He stays behind to ready the house for sale. We will see each other on weekends and the drive will be brutal. Four hours. But, my job has to start because the loans are roaring back.


sigh.


And that song up there, in two paragraphs, is what I have been singing for four days. He has listened and stepped it up husband wise. Taking extra care by rubbing the feet, doing the dishes and letting me take the second shower of the night. More hot water that way. I still don't quite understand how that works.

Then, as I started the song tonight, I turned to hang up my jacket. And it happened for the second time in eight years. A swift smack on the bottom.

He spanked me.

And he is really strong. It really, really hurt. It was as singular surgical strike. I buckled.

Then he calmly said, "Look, this is wonderful. All this change is bringing us, the kids, to a better life. You know that you are good at this job and yes it will be hard at first as we move and you learn the ropes but really, suck it up. This is only temporary, all that matters is that we are moving forward. There is nowhere but up."

I believe that is technically called knocking some sense into someone. Mr. Hall has a very husbandly way of handling me. Of helping me get over my crazy whiny energy. Very strong, very deft. All alpha and all love.

And he is right. This is awesome. I love what I will be doing and dammit if I haven't worked so hard to get here. My kids get all sorts of GranmaGranpa love. My parent's and I have actually discussed ways to not kill each other. They have promised to let me cook the 'healthy stinky' food. They are actually being tender about the whole deal.

And it is nothing but awesome. I have the hand print to prove it!

What love is eight years later

Today is our wedding anniversary.

Eight years ago, I married the best man walking.

I could thank him for a thousand things, but I'll pick the top five.


To my Husband, Mr. Hall

1. Thank you for leaning in whenever I talk.

2. Thank you for helping calm my crazy woman, ADD, nervous Wife and Mom energies.

3. Thank you for what you know what. And let me thank you again for that ;)

4. Thank you for supporting me without question and helping make my dreams come true.

5. And above all, thank you for loving me like you do, for making me your Wife and knocking me up and giving me these beautiful babies.

I love you so much. Happy Anniversary Love!

Here's our song...I can't help but cry when I listen to it. Gets me every time.

Engineering argument turns melty warm

Mr. Hall and I think nothing alike. That is not to say we don't have the very same thoughts about marriage, kids, and life in general. We just get there differently. I, for instance, am a romantic. It is all hearts and stars and fluffy kitties up here, in my head. I believe in things. I have passion and righteousness. And thus it is.

Mr. Hall is an engineer. For those of you who do not know an engineer let me explain. The main ingredient in the engineer's thinking is logic. There are not a lot of words. As a result, the words he does say carry extra importance. It is a tidy and efficient world up there, in Mr. Hall's head.



Which works to my advantage, because I am boundless.




He is the lines in my coloring book. In fact, he is downright fascinating. Just last week he explained in some detail this whole collider business. And while I tried my best to pay attention, something more important occured to me. It's not what he's saying that's important, it's the fact that I love him saying it. Talking about things like colliders make him all twitchy and sparky. He says things everything with such authority. Making everything so forthright. I love his electricity.



In my head, I have all sorts of buzzy ideas, which I post here. Mr. Hall has heard them for the past ten years we've been smooching. I also have a myriad of inventions. Those go to Mr. Hall. So far, none of my inventions have panned out.

My best idea was the Poor Man's Air Conditioner. It works like this: a ice pack, with openings, is attached over the face of a fan. Then- the air that flows through gets cooled down and you get the poor man's air conditioner. Wha-la! Ima genius!

This idea was shot down by Mr. Hall. Won't work he said. The pack would melt and you could get (air quotes) cold air for 10 seconds. Just won't work he said. And the ice pack will block the air, so the room will get hotter. Sorry babe, just won't work. Still love you though. And a kiss on the cheek closes the assessment.

I tried to argue. There has to be a way I say! If we just work the angles, maybe it will work.

Alas, I lost this engineering argument. If there is one thing I hate, it is trying to argue against logic. You just can't win. This was 3 years ago.

Wait for it....


Wait for it....


WAIT...WAIT........



BEHOLD! THE FROSTY FAN!



Can't say I didn't feel a little righteous when I came upon this beauty last week. After all, I was right, eh?

Well, no.

The one review I found confirmed Mr. Hall's predictions. Gel pack lasted 30 seconds, blocked air coming through. Actually made room warmer.

This was disappointing. After all, the romantic in me still believes anything is possible. Logic notwithstanding. So maybe, in some alternate universe this thing works. But not ours, not yet anyway.

But, I will always have Mr. Hall to run my inventions through his intricate engineering mind. And when he points out my mislogic, all while loving me. A girl can have everything, eh?

Mr. & Mrs. Hall talk during dinner

This was the exact conversation I had with Mr. Hall when I got home from swimming with the kids on Sunday.


Scene: A married couple in the kitchen, sitting down, eating homemade Reuben sandwiches.

Mr. Hall: Man, I had to cut out the old shower faucet. All of it. (takes a swig of Mike's Hard lemonade).

Mrs. Hall: Mac had explosive diarrhea right after we got to the pool.

Mr.: It wasn't that I had to just replace the knobs and the spout, I had to cut the entire faucet out.

Mrs.: And you know how he is, all fricking squiggly. I literally had to put my knee to his chest as I changed his swimmy diapers. All naked chubby legs flailing about. (throws up arms to emphasize squiggly-ness)

Mr.: And then they had built up the wall behind the shower with concrete (raises eyebrows and shrugs shoulders while taking another swig) so the knobs I had to install weren't long enough.

Mrs.: And I started yelling at Pancake because she wouldn't help me and I couldn't keep Mac still and his diarrhea was all watery from the pool. It was all over him. And those swimmy diapers don't hold squat so we can basically just toss his red towel. (sticks out tongue in yeach gesture)

Mr.: So I went to store and got some longer handles. I like the white ones better anyway.

Mrs.: And then we took a shower in the ladies room. He does have such cute little naked buns and tiny little penis. So cute. (smiles then makes a grumpy face) The water was like sharp razor needles though. Both kids cried as I scrubbed them.

Mr.: It won't be done till tomorrow. It's turning out to be quite a headache. But the water is back on for you. (belches really loud, manly belch, little Mac imitates him, they exchange smiles)

Mrs.: Yeah, I think I have been so thirsty because I know the water is off. Sooo thirsty. (gets up and gives Mr. Hall a kiss on the cheek)

End scene.

Honestly, you just cannot make this stuff up!

Sex and marriage: observations on the male drive

As I weave my sexuality back together, I can't help but envy Mr. Hall. Or men in general. Apparently, all it takes to become aroused is consciousness. And if they are near the one who reciprocates the love, then it is unbridled, this arousal. This is especially true for Mr. Hall.

There was an incident, about six years ago, when I was about four months preggos. Chubby, but not obviously pregnant. Pregnancy induced horrible cystic acne. Short boy hair cut (don't ask). Still throwing up. Mr. Hall and I had spent the day at a water park. Me being chubby, horrible cystic acne and short boy hair cut. I felt fugly. And when we got home, he began chasing me around. What the hell?, I thought. Can't you see me? What has gotten into you? And he said, "I've been staring at you all day, I just couldn't wait to get home."

That is when I realized---my husband has permanent love goggles on.

Some five years and two kids later, it remains much the same. Saturday was a day of filling sippy cups, braiding hair, mowing lawns, laundry, blah blah blah domestic bliss blah blah. And we fall into bed. And the chasing begins in earnest. What the heck? I think. And I ask, "What was so arousing today? Was it something I wore? " I mean, I do look good these days, what with the 35 lb weight loss. ABut no, none of this was the ticket. Although it does help, he said.

"It was just being around you, sorry it's not more complicated", he said smiling.

My husband is awesome. I need to follow this lead. To be aware of how much he is to me and all the places he excites me. Letting the love flow around me at all times. Not just when I let it. Hee hee.