Again with the contagiousness.
To read part two of losing it click here.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
More on Johnny Cash after the proclamation of the winner
We have a winner for the first round of Potter's Ground (drum roll)
Bug Eyed Earl
He has a very interesting blog. I am not sure why I like it. At first, I found the blinking eyes a bit disconcerting. It certainly weeds out the weak readers I suppose. The avatar is from my favorite newspaper, The Onion-AV Club section.
Or perhaps I like his blog because B. E. Earl is a bit of a guy's guy. No fruity filler. Perhaps I just like his blog because I do. He never fails to disappoint. But he didn't win because I like his blog, he won this month because he is quick on the draw and very smart. To claim your prize Mr. B. E. Earl, email me at firstname.lastname@example.org.
What do I say about Johnny Cash?
His music can snatch me right out of my head any time it is played. My thoughts drop right to the floor when his music starts.
His autobiography is a surrogate father and grandfather to me.
His music began to heal my relationship with God.
That is what I say about Johnny Cash.
What do I say about June?
This is what I say about June:
And if you want none of this, then listen here. Here you will hear both the title of the game and my daughter's real name.
It's called "When the Man Comes Around"
I wonder who this man is.
Well played everyone, new game starts next week.
Time again has come for Potter's Ground.
This months theme is "Hillbilly music".
To goal is to guess the musical reference. The first person who guesses correctly gets ten points. If you aren't that person, you can still gather points (up to five) by telling me about a personal connection to the music.
For a complete description of the game click here.
1. The meaning of bound:
One thing inexorably tied to another. Moreover, bound lends itself to the interpretation of one thing being lead or driven by the other thing.
2. The meaning of wild desire:
A. Wild means unruly or unmanageable. B. Desire means to want or have a longing type need.
3. The meaning of "Bound by wild desire."
A person being driven by and inexorably tied to a severe longing. A want growing unruly and with no end in sight.
Personal connection to Mr. and Mrs. Hall:
This song was the first song we danced to as man and wife. That's right, this was our wedding song.
Who co-wrote it?
Good luck and play nice.
The game begins anew next monday. There will be one slight rule change to make the point system a little more fun.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Hey Pancake, what song should I put on the blog?
The ninja peaches song!!
Thus it is.
Don't forget, last round of Potter's Ground tomorrow. There will be a winner. But will it be you?
If no, the Game begins anew the monday after next!
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Basically, if you look in monster.com or medhunters.com for job listings it goes like this:
Registered Nurse: 100,000,000,0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 (in the united states)
Nurse Practitioner (primary care or family care):
Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner:
I am a specialist. A niche if you will. Limits the job options. But, I am getting better responses to my resume now that I am certified and am this close to getting my state license to prescribe.
My interview went fabulous. I always interview well. I am articulate, skilled and most of all, they need a prescriber. I can and will prescribe psychotropic medications and be responsible for everything those medications do the patient. I carry this weight, but it is not heavy. I know what kind of nurse I am and presented myself as such. And again, they need me.
So I took advantage of this. I didn't do all that I normally do for an interview. No spray tan, no knee high, black leather boots with the three inch heels. No perfect hair, no perfect portfolio. Just my favorite summer dress, painted toes and a folder with my info.
No prepared answers, no corporate energies. Just me, laying out who I am, what I can do for patients. How I feel about being a nurse. They guy kept nodding and saying 'right, right' and 'that is so true'. I was preaching to the choir.
I will have more interviews to go. These places all need me. I am using this to my advantage. If they need me I can ask for things. Like ending my day at 3.00 pm in order to pick up the girl at school.
I will still have to move my family. But where I am going to move will be SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE NASCAR BACKWOODS place we were going to move to. This time, moving will be easier. Again, I am not a speciality offered in my city.
Notice I didn't say not needed. But, health care is a business. Don't get me started.
I must say though, the interview was one of the best I have been on. I felt good, like I was being heard. I have been on interviews for registered nursing jobs many times. Because of the nursing shortage, you just need to be a warm body and they will hire you. They don't hear your skill or your passion.
But interviewing as a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner is a whole different ball game. I am not there because I am a warm body. I gots mad skills. I should, after all I have worked effing hard.
The interview went on for about two hours of us just talking. Finally, I had to cut it off. This place shares my passions. hmm ...
I would get an office. My own office where I could turn on the radio! And see people who were not court ordered. People who actually want my help. No more doing care while making sure roaches weren't climbing into my backpack. The clinic was so clean. Very weird.
It's sometimes really hard to think about my dreams coming true. This, just like the wee ones in my life, mean the world to me. And the weight of it is sometimes a little too much to take.
There is a certain responsibility to winning the lottery. I can't say I am not a little terrified. I am actually becoming a grown up. Or at least faking it really well.
Ok-off to collect myself, breath deep and drive the three hours back home.
What was the best or worst interview you went on?
Friday, September 26, 2008
GET THE OFF MY HOUSE DUMBASS PECKER!!!
With all sorts of vengeful energy, I began to swing wildly with my towel. Screaming and swinging. The woodpecker went to the nearest tree. Waiting and mocking me. I swung the towel at the trees, knocking crunchy leaves down. I grabbed tree limbs and shook them. At this point I was almost climbing the tree. All crazed monkey like.
And then I realized. Perhaps I was taking the whole 'job offer falling through' a little too easily. Perhaps I was not quite right about it after all.
Then, the phone rang. And it rang again and again. All of the sudden I have three job interviews for positions as a Psych-NP. They were all very nice calls. All reaffirming my passion for this line of work. And they all wanted to meet me right away.
My first interview is today. Wish me luck.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
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.
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 . . .
Things I never saw coming:
1. That my post on the frosty fan would bring forth so many comments.
No, really! I thought he was just one of those asexual people.
3. That the girls next door would ever be in peril.
4. That my job offer would fall through.
I had signed a contract to work as a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner on July 15th 2008. The contract was through a contracting agency. They worked with the health care organization I was going to work for. So, I signed a contract with an agency to work for the health care organization who needed a Psych NP.
Ya'll following? I need to shorten this story in order to explain it to the many people who will ask me what happened. Any suggestions would be much appreciated.
And on July 15th I signed said contract. There were conditions. I had to pass my certification exam. Did that. But then things were stalled for so long. I should have known something was up. After all, it is more than two months later, and I am still not working there. And I never did get a start date.
I found out why yesterday. In addition to my certification, I needed experience. I am a brand-spanking new Psyche-NP. I have only clinical rotation/intern experience. The health care organization had assured my contracting agency, in writing, that my clinical rotation experience would count.
Turns out, that was wrong. So whomever was at the helm never could have offered me the job in the first place.
And we have been packing and planning to move The Family Hall two hours away for two months. And waiting on pins and needles. Just waiting. A three minute phone call changed everything.
Which is ok I guess. I am still in shock though. I am surprisingly ok with it. I am not really freaking out. Although I am sure that is coming. Denial is not just a river in . . .
Overall, I feel relief. I can now be vigilant and lioness as I stalk my new prey. I mean job. I am an awesome nurse. Even better Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner.
HEAR ME ROAR!
Monday, September 22, 2008
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....
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?
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?
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Time again has come for Potter's Ground.
This months theme is "Hillbilly music".
To goal is to guess the musical reference. The first person who guesses correctly gets ten points. If you aren't that person, you can still gather points (up to five) by telling me about a personal connection to the music.
For a complete description of the game click here.
He was born in Arkansas. In his autobiography, he talked about his family claiming a stake of land to grow cotton. His Dad used dynamite to clear the land of trees. All the town worked in the cotton fields, all ages too. Even the young ones carried water to the fields. Everyone's hands were scraped and scarred form picking the cotton, even the girls. But, it was no matter.
The biggest danger was the floods. He wrote a song about it.
Goes like this:
'My mama always taught me that good things come from adversity if we put our faith in the Lord.We couldn't see much good in the flood waters when they were causing us to have to leave home, But when the water went down, we found that it had washed a load of rich black bottom dirt across our land. The following year we had the best cotton crop we'd ever had.
I remember hearing:
How high's the water, mama?
Two feet high and risin'
How high's the water, papa
Two feet high and risin'
Should be pretty obvious, but if no, they I will post more clues.
Good luck and place nice!
More Potter's Ground next Monday.
Friday, September 19, 2008
I am getting tired of ripping off images from google.
My words are starting to get cranky about it. They are asking for original art to be drawn for them. Or computer generated. Or photographed or what have you.
They also want to be inspired by your art.
If you are any of the above and would like to start a collaboration, please let me know by including your web address in the comments below.
There is no money in this, only exposure here and at the Bonez website (which has a larger audience than mine).
Update: To further clarify, I am looking for artists-no matter the medium-who are inspired by my words to create something in response. That's all. I would most likely send something I wrote to the person, then they would send an image back. I would then combine the two and poof! Up it goes, collaboration in blog form
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
The blog has been kind of dry lately. Been working too much. I'm kind of UPS guy lately. Delivering health care in the nurse form. When I first got the job, I saw about four patients a day and drove back to the office to document. But NOW THEY GOT US SHITTY LAPTOPS SO WE CAN SEE EVEN MORE PEOPLE. So I drive around for eight hours, seeing upwards of 10 patients in day. Which is fine. This is not my real job. My real job is just waiting around the corner. I am driving way too much though.
I don't want to complain about my job. After all, I have one. And I am payed according to my skill level. But dammit. I am tired.
So let me cheer up a little. Let me relax to let the wax of poetic flow.
More fun is yet to be had at this blog.
I have several topics in my head. All potential blog posts. I think I will take a break from the kids though, in terms of blogging. They also wear my ass out.
So, ladies and gents-what would you like to hear about? Drugs, fruit loops, my presention I how to prevent burnout in nursing, womanly things?
Something will come to me. And it will be good.
Well, no promises
If noone pipes up, and you don't like the next post, then t-u-f-f.
Ok, you can get a good video :) One that explains how I feel. Because yes, I want to be a rock star. Or at least start my job as a Psych-nurse practitioner. What ever comes first.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Let's begin again (this time with feeling):
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This scene is from a movie near and dear to my heart. Go ahead and guess.
Good luck and play nice!
Potter's Ground: Round Two will be up next monday.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Authored by: St. Teresa of Avila (1515-1582)
From the book: Love Poems from God: Twelve Voices from the East and West
I have been tagged by Steph to explain five quirks. Quirks are defined as behavioural oddities. This is what I came up with.
1. Ankle socks.
When I wear ankle socks I feel calmed. I feel slimmer, more put together and strong. I love me some ankle socks. Seriously, they have such a calming effect on me that I included them as part of my birth plan. And gave birth with them on.
I grew up in a small town. I was raised on canned crap and McDonald's. It wasn't until I was 19, when I moved to the big city, that I found out there was more to eat. I remember where I was when I first tasted hummus. I remember how it felt. And then I tasted Greek olives and feta cheese. It was a whole new world for me. And when I gave my daughter her first taste of Hummus at age 18 months, I cried. That is what hummus means to me.
I have ADD. Attention deficit disorder. Part of having this is having a reduced ability to organize incoming stimulation. Incoming stimulation includes colors, touch, sights and SOUNDS. If I haven't taken my pill or I am tired and stressed, all of the incoming stimulation comes at me at once. And most sounds become intolerable, like screaming toy monkeys with the cymbals. Now imagine if I get near someone who purposely bangs, slams and is LOUD. Imagine that and you get this. So I tackle this with medication, sleep and yoga. And wait till he is gone.
I know the meme was suppose to be five. But I am tired. The kids are competing in a kind of night time cough Olympics. So let's hope things get quieter around here.
DON'T forget! Potter's ground starts on monday.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Men communicate differently. Men think and write differently than women. A great example of this can be found here.
One thing I am discovering about men is that they do enjoy online games. This must be some part of the Y chromosone. Thus, I will begin a game here because I like to keep my followers happy.
That is not to say I do not love the women.Nor am I saying women don't enjoy games. One of my favorite women bloggers is Steph. I heart incurable insomniac. She was the first blogger to blog roll me out of the blue. I hadn't even read her blog. She keeps giving me blog awards. I blush when she plugs my blog. This game was largely inspired by her.
So,men, women and those inbetween, are welcome to play.
Without further ado, let the games begin:
(that is the title of the game)
1. Guess the music reference (could be a song, a band, or a movie based on a singer/band's life), based on what clues I give. If you are up for it, share your thoughts on the musical reference. Or share a story if it means anything to you. Remeber, this blog is about love.
2. Points will be given based on difficulty. You can also aquire points just for sharing. The game will run for one month, then whomever has the most points wins a prize. After each month I will decide what to do next. Oh-I swear to God, if anyone mentions Sarah Palin you will lose all your points and get the ol' stink eye.
3. Prizes are listed below.
This game will serve the following purposes:
1. Kicking the lyrics out of my brain and onto the web.
2. Challenging my brain to make the musical references harder to guess. I am a typical alternative generation x-er. Thus, my music is recognizable to this demographic. (Yes, Mr. Earl, I do enjoy the Bikini Kill.) But, maybe not--if I try hard enough. And besides, does anyone ever really fit into their demographic?
3. I like games that reveal stuff about everybody involved.
I have thought about what prizes should be given. I could plunk prize money into a paypal account. But, I make no money off this blog. So no, you get no money.
Besides, money is no motivation for true music lovers.
I thought about having a cheap trophy or a toothbrush that I could send out. But this would be a dummy prize, a misnomer. But I do love the thrift stores. I am a large fan of St. Vinnies and Goodwill.
Prizes will be bought based on what I know about the contestant and their behavior during the game. And the prize will be based around music. It will be different every time. But, it will be from Mrs. Hall and all will contain much thought and care. And positive love.
Game will begin on Monday.
Good luck everybody!
I feel contagious, but not stupid.
It appears my writing is spreading to other sites now. Go ahead, take a looksie.
Just click here.
OH-and 10 points goes to the first person who names the song referenced in the first line of this post.
Update: Ok-so-I feel the need to create a game now that people are vying for points. And so it shall be.
Meanwhile, feel free to read the actual post in the other blog. There maybe something in it for ya.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Words are letters mashed together. Letters are from sounds we make. I am watching my son, Mac, develop the use of words. He can make soft sounds like Mamma and Daddee. The P and T sounds are unatainable for now. Mac is loud and makes lot of sounds. I love hearing him.
Pancake, my daughter, can use all types of words. She twists and turns them. She has mastery over the words, if not the meanings. She is very verbal. Currently, she is in love with potty words. I love her when she talks too.
In this blog, I use a lot of words. Editing has never been my strong suit. I have placed time limits on my posting though. Afterall, what writer couldn't spend several hours just writing and rewriting. I try to make the posts small. But, I just can't help myself sometimes.
I care for words. They care for me. Writing lets my brain decompress and my breathing get deeper. It also stimulates me, all this writing. And linking to other blogs is like a writer's group. I have been a part of two such groups. I was also the most prolific member. I will strive for quality over quantity here, but no promises.
In the end, words only get me so far. They can be a barrier even. Rationalizing and denial are devices born out of words.
Words can also divide me from others. Sometimes, this is on purpose. I talk dumb or smart to be excused. I am still learning how to tolerate others getting near me. And this is what this blog is all about. And exercise in increasing my tolerance.
Not tolerance in the politically correct way. But basic tolerance of letting others hear me and know me. This is my ultimate challenge. To be honest here, with my words. Letting all my dangling participles just dangle. Letting my broken english stay broken. Tolerating my words and what is behind them. Thus, what is in here, is really me. I am Mrs. Hall.
When I read something that fires me up, I pause and bird dog it. Especially if it makes me angry or hateful. These emotions that are speaking for things I have long since buried. But, the things are buried alive, just waiting to jostle my insides, waiting to be heard. And healed. And off I go to yoga. Words can't find me there. But the real stuff can.
Yet I write about yoga. I am very careful about this. In the past, I have used my verbal gymnastics to distance myself from my feelings. The things I feel in yoga are real and important. I don't want to shush them if I speak them outloud. I want to just feel them. And be alright. It sucks sometimes though. If you bury things, the tend to rot and get meatier. Nobody likes Zombies. They're smelly.
In the end, I want these words to serve a purpose beyond myself. For those of you reading, and THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! Even if you clicked to check out the hot babe in my banner and profile. Thank you for reading!
I put positive energies into these words. I hope you come away the same.
Feel the love people, feel the love.
Monday, September 8, 2008
There are a few conspiracy theories about Mrs. Palin. It is getting creepy out there.
First off, I must get relate the personally related creepy. There are several things Mrs. Palin and I have in common. I am not talking about the things I discussed here. Rather, I am talking about names, dates and life coincidences.
Not the common names, like Sarah, but the more unique names in her life. Seriously, I will read something about her or her family, then the next day, names from that story will appear on buildings I go to everyday. Or a school I went to, or my aunt went to, or my best friends car's license plate will match up with Sarah's best friend's birth date. Stuff like that. Note I said like, not actual.
But that is not all. Dates in her life correspond to exact dates in my life. Every day something else matches up. It is very creepy. Maybe I lead a double life and I don't know it. But that would suck if that was my super hero power. Really, can't I just fly?
The other conspiracy on the web is, Who is Trig's real Mom? Go google it, it is out there.
Anywho-Trig is her tiny baby of four months. Some say Trig is not her baby, but her daughter's. I am not sure why the family would lie about the maternity. I read through the websites because it sounds all conspiracy and fun. Again, politics is fun for me. MOST things are fun for me.
The sites use two types of evidence for the conspiracy theory of Trig not Mrs. Palin's kid. The first is photos. The sites use a lot of photos during her pregnancy. They show her not really showing. Which is fine, she is a runner.
However, there comes a point, runner or no, where the baby bump becomes screamingly obvious. This would be around 5-6 months. No such bump is evident in any of her photos. So I examined the jaw line, that always plumps up. Her jaw line..hmm.....
The sites always use a timeline to support the conspiracy. They walk through her labor and crunch the numbers. Especially the timeline of the birth.
Here is what kills me. Kills me for personally repeatable reasons. When she was in 8.5 months pregnant, she was in Texas. She went into labor somewhere in Texas, again 8.5 months pregnant. She gave a speech, got on a plane, flew to Alaska. She said something like, "They let me fly because I wasn't really showing."
Ok-so here is me, with Little Mac inside. I was about 8.5 months preggos. Now, I had only gained about 30lbs at that point.
HERE'S THE KICKER . . . .
This photo was taken in South America. The company that my husband works for gave their employees a free trip. And I went. And I was this big.
I'm just saying. I was undeniably pregnant. "Not really showing" my ass! Whateva!
Yay, yay, I know. I thought about the risks. But, the worst thing that could have happened is me going into labor in a very modern city in South America. They spoke English there, they used American dollars. And I was not worried. Giving birth is not open heart surgery. I am sure people have given birth in that country before. And a free trip is a FREE TRIP!
AGAIN, HERE'S THE KICKER . . . . .
As we were boarding our flight home, I began to have contractions.
Also, on a pure vanity point. I feel I must have you click here, to see what I looked like a few weeks ago. I am proud that I am healthy. And vain. So sue me. Plus the Pack won last night. GO PACK GO!!
I say to Mac:
Hey Mac, "What video should I put on my blog?"
He says, "Num-ma-num-ma, hot, HOT!" The he purses his lips and blows.
Baby translation --Feed me I am hungry please
I say, "Can you say candy?"
And thus it was.
We rock out to this song! It is a big hit at the Hall house!
Sunday, September 7, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
It begins like this:
Hey little Mac, can you say Mama?
Can you say Daddy?
Can you say nah-nite?
He is rubbing his eyes with such ferocity he might actually scoop his eyeballs out. Yawning so hard, he actually inhaled the cat.
I bring him upstairs to his toddler bed. This is where the trouble begins. After he is placed in bed he flips himself out. Dashing under the bed, he begins to howl. I leave the room, the door ajar. Go down stairs, but half way.
The howls get longer and louder. Soon he is next to me. We retire to his room. Words cannot reason with a 20 month old, fighting the nap. I will win though, I am bigger. He is placed again. I hold him there while he bucks and kicks. He thrashes all his muscular, thirty pound body, twitching and fussing. Howling and crying as if his butt were aflame. Then he stops. He sits up. Hands in lap. Protest on face.
Sitting, as silent as a teddy bear, on the side of his bed. Deep breathing and rubbing his back.
After three minutes of ear splitting screams, I note he is no longer trying to escape.
Shhhh.... It'll be alright little one. It's na-nite time. His wails turn into sobs, sobs into cries, cries into whimpers. With each step, I step away. Still rubbing his back. Still kissing his forehead. Still loving him.
And then I am at the door. He gives me one last look of betrayal. I blow him a kiss and say, Na-Nite Mac, have a good nap.
He howls one last time and throws himself back on the pillow. I go down stairs, all the way. After a few more minutes of whimpering, he is done. He has lost the fight of the nap.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Everyday I get hits on this post. It is about Hugh Hefner's girlfriends from the Playboy mansion. I feel bad about this. People must come to those posts looking for fluffy stuff. Also, I am not such a blog.
I get even more hits on this. It is about Jenna Jameson. They were two of my first posts. There is a whole backlog of topics I need to write about. Porn included. My writer's queue if you will.
In my head, I debate and dissect things like porn. After all, it is good to think about the hobbies of husbands. Mr. Hall was the first man I dated who claimed not to be a feminist, but a lesbian trapped in a man's body. I find him very funny.
To begin, I must attest that I am not a hater of porn, just mystified by it.
I think porn can be broken down into subcategories. There is gentle soft stuff and ugly, oooo so ugly stuff. It becomes intolerable to me, the more disconnected the actors are. Have you noticed that people in porn rarely make eye contact? Well, perhaps you have never seen the faces. It seems copious amount of screen acreage must be filled with genitals in pornographic films. I don't understand this. Genitals are not that attractive.
And you know what else you don't see in porn? People smiling. Unless it is a creepy smile. Is no one having fun? There is also a lack of enjoying each other, beyond the bumping uglies. I believe it is very false. Does anyone find the big fake boobies and bleached hair and horse teeth attractive? Seriously, who looks at Pamela Anderson and thinks, wow, she is attractive. But that is whole nother post.
There are production companies that specialize in gentle, female centered films. There are whole companies under the label, "feminist porn". I am not sure this is an oxymoron. I can't help but reference Nina Hartley here. She is a fellow nurse. She never worked as nurse though, just graduated as one.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
I don't really want to talk about it, so let's talk about something I want to talk about. Reuben Sammiches.
I believe in taking everyday food and elevating to your own wants, needs and desire. And of the basic ingredients of the Reuben, that being black rye bread, sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, thousand island dressing and meat, I desire sauerkraut the most.
To begin, acquire the above ingredients. Choose your Swiss cheese wisely. Don't by 'Lorraine Swiss', it is crap. Buy baby Swiss. Or a hearty type. Taste before you by. For my meat, I prefer turkey pastrami. More bite, less beef flavor. Again, sample both to determine what tickles your fancy.
By the way, to do that you must be at a deli. But you don't by your meats and cheese from the people at Kraft. Now do you?
Get yourself to a stove. Get two pans. Lay the bread out and put slices of cheese on it. In the second pan place the meat and copious amounts of sauerkraut. Let the sizzle and mingle. Don't be turn happy. Let the flavors and juices invade each other at will. It feels slightly naughty doing this. But, all great food has a little sin, now doesn't it?
When the cheese has properly melted and the meat and kraut are all spent, then make the sandwich. At this point you are ready to address the 1,000 dressing. Mr. Hall prefers the full strength, while I like to sample the lower fat varieties. It is a point of contention.
Last night we had the full Monty. From Wishbone. If you want to be an overachiever, make your own. But food isn't suppose to enslave you with work. Unless you are into that kind of thing.
Once the sammiches are made you are left with nothing to do but savor. DON'T RUSH! Enjoy each bite separately. Let the flavors dance on your tongue.
Talk to your table mate. Don't talk about work or taxes or other things that clog up your digestive process. Make up lies if you have nothing to say. Invent new names for yourselves and plan a trip to Venezuela if you must.
That's all. Much better to discuss this than what I wanted to talk about, no?
Does anyone have any suggestion for a beverage for this meal?
Monday, September 1, 2008
With great patience, I have started to come around to my husband's way of parenting. By nature I am worrier, an obsesser, a catastrophe thinker. All fabulous traits in a Mom by the way. Mr. Hall, as a Dad and Husband, is none of those things. When we married and became Mom and Dad, my mission was to change my nature. To be more like him. That way, Pancake and Mac can be more like us. Happy and calm.
When the kids became large enough, the rough play started. This involves my husband, their Daddy, chasing them around. Hoisting them in the air and scaring them till they scream and sometimes pee. They love this. They crave this. It is a ritual now. The stand at the top of the stairs chanting, "Daddy, Daddy, you can't catch us!" They wave their arms and wiggle their hips as they chant.
He is around the corner, out of eye sight. But not out of ear shot. He will clear his throat and they get all crazy. He waits for their chants to build to a fever pitch. Then he rushes them, loudly and with great Daddy force. The screams of delight can be heard three states away.
Mr. Hall, the Daddy, believes in provocation and exposure for our kids. His theory goes like this: when kids are exposed to things, in a controlled environment, they learn how to deal with it. The controlled environment being Mommy and Daddy. It being: feeling sad, scared, hurt, indignant and wronged. That way they learn to feel upset and how to deal with it. Because they are safe. They are with us.
Again, he let's them feel upset when they are upset. No rushing to fix it. Unless of course, it is an emergency. Even then there needs to be blood or a missing limb.
This is the hardest part of parenting for me, as a Mom. When they are upset, for whatever reason, I feel it in my chest and lungs. My breathing becomes short, my chest pounds and my head simply screams, "FIX IT FOR THEM RIGHT NOW!!!" There is little distinction between emergency and non-emergency for me. But this isn't about me. It's about them.
Take for example, this morning's breakfast. Pancake declined what I had made. She asked for cereal. I told her no. I steadied myself for a time out for her. Time outs involve her being upset. They also involve me staying calm and still forcing her to deal with the word no. Pancake took a deep breath and said, "Well, don't worry Mom, I can make my own cereal." And lord howdy, she did just that. My jaw is still on the floor.
And now I going to write something so sad. Good sad. But still sad. So sad it has to stick with it's partner up there.
Yesterday, the wee Pancake went to wake Mac after the nap. I heard her holler, "Mommy come look!!" I found Mac smiling, on the floor with his blanket and pillow. NEXT TO HIS CRIB. Mr. Hall was still sleeping. Pancake is too small to lift him out of the crib. Therefore, there was only one way he got there. Out of his crib that is.
I felt sucker punched.
We had bought a cute, second hand Thomas the Train toddler bed a few months ago. The kids love to jump on it. He wasn't ready to use it yet. Oh, wait, maybe that's just me. How and when to transition him to the big boy bed was a decision that was made. Not by me, but for me. Again, I felt sucker punched.
An so, we put him to bed last night. Then we, Mommy and Daddy, turned off the fan. We quietly listened for sounds of him staying in the bed. Listening for sounds of him playing, talking, pulling off the sheets. There was none. He stayed put and snuggled. In his big boy bed.
And I sobbed for a good twenty minutes. Mr. Hall held me and does what he does best. Be my husband.
He'll take apart the crib today. I will take the kids to the park. I just can't bear to watch.
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The Biography of the Blog wing
Feel the love people, feel the love
Five questions for Mrs. Hall
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Minority status as viewed by a nurse
Crackhouses as viewed by a nurse
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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