Poking people at work

I'm not one for pissing people off just to piss them off. Like my coworkers, I never try to ruffle feathers. I enjoy being bright, cheery and caring. I enjoy this because that's who I am. I enjoying asking about people's weekends. I enjoy hearing about their kids, motorcycle trips and antiquing. But some coworkers, they are just asking for it.

It's the coworkers who are wound so very, very tight. The ones who places WAY too much emphasis, pour WAY too much energy into things that do not matter.

Like my office mate, the one I share my office with. When I'm not here, she is. And she likes her stuff just so. And she has a lot of stuff in our office. Beanie babies, little farm animal figurines, little glass knick nacks and little dolls everywhere. She's uptight as all get out.

She leaves notes for me like, "Make sure you keep the radio station to where it was set when you leave." or "Could you use another office chair? I can't figure out how to adjust it back to the right height after you've used it."

In other words, she is just asking for it!

So I move things. Subtly. I move a little cow here or a little beanie duck there. I adjust the height of the monitor here or move the blinds there. And when I come back to the office, everything is back where it was. Like a boomerang. Then I sit and wait for a month or two then I start moving stuff again.

It's subtle. It's petty. It's oh so satisfying.

I also like to employ words to poke at people. Like Irregardless. Or lay/lie. Or orientate or unrepentant. Or peppering my speech with local colloquialisms. Eh. Yah der. An so. I enjoy sounding like I'm from Fargo. It irritates people.

I do this because yesterday I had a patient show up drunk. This is not entirely unheard of. But he was very very drunk. And homeless. He is homeless because he refuses to work with our homeless program. Or our alcohol rehabilitation programs. Which are free to him. And we can't force him to do jack because in this country you can be drunk and homeless. It's your right.

So he keeps showing up. Cause he's homeless and our building is warm. And the homeless shelter gets boring I guess. Only this time he was so drunk he pissed himself during group. And we called the police to pick him up. And he ran out of the building. The police lost him. How fast could a drunk homeless man run in 5 degree weather? Fast enough to elude the police I guess. They would continue to look for him they said.

Then, one of my coworkers was heading home some 5 hours later. She was stopped at a stoplight and she looked to her right. She saw him, on the sidewalk, next to a snowbank. Half asleep. She covered him with a blanket from her car and woke him up. And he barked at her. Cause he's still drunk and belligerent. And she called 911 and they picked him up.

And this is my job. These are people I work with.

And if we are going to get through this together, we need to poke at each other once in a while.

An so, irregardless of how you have your beanie babies set up, ima gonna move them.

The world can come and go

The world can come and go



Dip high and swing low



And I see, all I need are these two . . .

My little Igloo babies.

They really believe in Santa Claus

Last year it was she believes, this year it's both of them.

My daughter believes in Santa. I've tested the waters. Her belief is unflappable. But she is 8. I fear this may be the last year she does believe. It's only a matter of time before some class mate says something. Then she'll ask us. And it will break my heart.

So I savor this year. I hold it so tight. Because this year she believes that Santa comes and brings presents. She also believes in Elves. She leaves little notes and gifts for these elves that live in our house.

They're a cheeky bunch. They'll open her window shade while she sleeps. Or open her dresser drawer after she leaves a room. Those little Elves are so playful . . .

Then my 4 year old son. He believes. Oh how he believes!

Yesterday, he was being naughty at day care. He wouldn't put on his coat for recess. Dropped to the floor and started a fit. Then he was called to the office. There was a phone call for him.

It was Santa!!

Santa said, "Mac . . you need to be a good boy and listen to your teacher. You go put your coat on right away."

Mac said, "OK SANTA!!!" He hung up and tore back to the classroom. Threw on his winter coat and lined up at lightening speed.

It's just so awesome having these little people, seeing the season through their eyes. It just makes everything so magical. So achingly precious. sniff sniff, I love this time of year!

Merry Christmas everyone!!

Bars are fun to places go to

Went on a wee date Friday night. Just me and the mister. Was lots of fun. Bar are fun places to go. The people watching is fun too. Especially if people are on date. It's really subtle how people date. How they entertain each other with tiny stories. All punctuated with a laugh at the end.

And when I watched this one couple, I could tell the guy was totally into her. He was dressed so nice, all matching and upscale. He was smiling so big. Leaning in. She was a bit more reserved, sipping her wine. Sitting up straight. Small smile. Polite smile.

Then.

THEN.

She reached over and pulled at his scarf. Gave it a solid tug. Her hand lingered. Laughing. Then she touched his watch. I could see him practically explode. Good for them.

And I thought of how nice it was, getting tipsy on homebrewed brews. Watching this couple getting to know each other. Mr. Hall was sitting really close, warming his hand on the small of my back. We weren't talking. We weren't talking because we don't have to. We nuggled closer then I was ready to go home.

I can say I would have but no patience for dating anyone else. Especially in a bar where you have to pay attention. I like the quiet and the nuzzles. I like dating Mr. Hall whose been my husband for almost 10 years. I like how crazy we get away from the kids. Because even though we live together, with these crazy all consuming munchins- sometimes it's like we live on adjacent islands.


"HELLO!!", I'll shout on my island. "How are the coconuts over there? Careful for the surf, it's getting wicked this time of year!"

And he'll yell back, "Hello to you sweetheart! Just finished patching up the boat, I'll be over later tonight to light your campfire."

and indeed he will . . . . :)

Mr. Hall is a Daddy type genius

THE PROBLEM:

Both kids drag butt getting up. Especially the 8 year old girl, Pancake. I use to go in there, about half a dozen times, to rouse her. Then I got her an alarm clock. No good. She sleeps through it.

Mac, the 4 year old boy, is just as hard to get up. He'll just lay there, claiming his legs, arms or blanket is still sleeping. Then we literally remove him from his room. So he just brings his blankie into the hall way and lays back down.

And really, this is very typical. Kids have no sense of time. Their life is just one big snack time to the next. No need to rush, another cracker and juice break is coming right up.

Then there's breakfast itself. They will either endlessly chatter while SLLLLOOOOWWWLLLY eating oatmeal OR fight about who got more. The fighting and the whining. PPFFTT!! They poke each other, or Mac will keep trying to kiss Pancake. Or they fight about who gets the good spoon. THEY ARE FROM THE SAME SET!!! THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SPOONS!! gggaaah!!!

And they only eat about half a bowl each. It's a half eaten mess. And with all the talking and/or fighting Mac has spilled the oatmeal all over the place. Because talking and/or fighting makes him not pay attention.

And lord help the man who doesn't wash the oatmeal dishes right away. It turns into cement!

MR. HALL'S BRILLIANT AND VERY GENIUS DADDY SOLUTION:

He wakes Pancake up early, tells her "Better get down there and eat your oatmeal before Mac gets it."

She SPRINGS OUT OF BED. Flings herself towards the oatmeal and eats half a bowl.

When she's done we wake her brother by saying, "Mac, there's oatmeal." He comes down and finishes the rest.

The ONE BOWL is licked clean. Both kids are fed in a timely manner. No fighting, no lallygagging.

It's genius I say!! genius!!

What condition my condition is in

Thanks for all the kinds words from the last post. I can say this blog is awesome because it makes it so easy to just put it out there and get wonderful words of support. Plus, the act of saying it outloud releases so much uckiness. I do really feel better ladies and gents. I really do. ;)

And now for the weather report.

Something like 16 inches OF HEAVY WET CRAP on Saturday. I shoveled at 6 pm, then at 9 pm, then at 12 am, then at 4 am, then at 7.30 the next day. There is not a bone, tendon or muscle in my back, arms or hands that is not sore and/or throbbing.

"But Mrs. Hall", you say, "do you not have a snowblower?", to which I reply:

SNOWBLOWERS ARE FOR WUSSY LITTLE GIRLS!!!

And for the next few days it'll all freeze up with an oncoming cold snap. Highs in the single digits people. Gaah. Well, it's all good. Because I have today off. I will keep up my feet, brew some hot chocolate and enjoy some Lebowski.

It's all good. :)



I still don't quite believe that's Kenny Rodgers singing. But, whatevs!

Burned by wild desire

I had a dream the other night. It was like watching a movie of the week. Bette Milder was reunited with her infant son. She had decided to join with her son, her husband and the inlaws and live in duplex. She had had other children, they were older, but, they were well taken care of and she didn't need to go to therm. Somewhere during the dream, I started to morph with the actress and then the story was happening to me.

It was so emotional. I found myself crying in my sleep. I woke up crying.

I worked really heard on trying to figure it out. I believe this dream was sparked by the Fisher Price Nativity set up there. I found that set at Goodwill the other day and gave it to my kids to play with. They love it. They make all sorts of stories up about baby Jesus. That he can fly, that he's from Mars, et cetera. It makes them all curious about Jesus and God. Which is awesome.

So I thought the dream was about my emerging faith. The infant was my faith, in the newborn stages. And the older kids, these were my first, older experiences with faith. Mainly Buddism and Asian philosophy. These were the first brushes with letting a higher power into my life.

However, Buddism was more of a philosophy for me. Not a religion. Not a surrender. Not a belief. And while I will always carry the lessons and tools it gave me, the ways of calming my mind, knowing I am connected to much more then myself. . they are older kids I don't need to take care of anymore.

But then there was this morning. This morning changed my interpretation of the dream a bit. But before this morning, there was last night.

sigh.

It's been four months of trying to get pregnant. It's starting to wear me down. I realize that it's me and my thoughts wearning me down. Not the process of trying. I am impatient, I am a type A person who acheives goals, I am ovulating and timing things to produce another child. But last night I knew wasn't pregant again. I knew before I officially checked this morning, that the pregnancy test would be negative. I knew it and I sobbed really hard while Mr. Hall held me.

Desire is a burning thing. I am sure that having two miscarriages plays a role here but my body, my mind, my heart and my soul all want to be pregnant. But I'm not, and it hurts like hell.

So my next task it to back up and see where I am causing this hurt. I have to remember there is no way I am in charge of this. No matter how many ovulation sticks, no matter how many cervical checks, I am not in charge of becoming pregnant. We can make love, but God makes life.

And my timeline is not God's.

2 Peter 3:8

But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day.

Then I hand myself over. Surrender. Say to God that according to his plan, I am exactly where I need to be. And I turn towards Him, embrace his love and grace, letting the hurt dissolve. Letting his love heal.

And I'll pray, and worship and repeat this in my heart when I feel the ebb and flow of hurt. And it's awesome this faith. It is beyond anything I've ever had before.

And the wonder of it is, if this is my faith in it's infancy, what will it be like when it's full grown?

:)

I watched Fellini's 'La Dolce Vita' really, really drunk. And it was blurry fun.

When I was 15 I tore out a picture.

From a library book.

It was a book on film.

This is the photo.

For years I saved that photo.

I loved that imaginary woman up there.

I wowed at her.

I'm 35 now.

I still do a bit.

I finally watched the film she's from.

It's called "La Dolce Vita"

or The Sweet Life.

It's a Fellini Film. I was drunk.

This helped the viewing.

It helped a lot.

Trust me.

I've watched Fellini Films before.

The films appear to be all about one man,

and his many womens.

Here they are, all in one place.

The film is all Italian, smoking

and selfish sexual mores.

No one is more selfish,

or smokes more,

then the lead.

Gawd I miss smoking.

That man up there.

He sleeps with women the entire film.

It's really not that interesting.

And the woman I fell in love with,

she's only in the first half.

I can say this.

I love being a women.

I love the power,

the glory of our boobins.

We exude soft and warm.

Kind and inviting.

Whip smart and giving.

All at the same time.

It's really quite powerful.

Power he couldn't tame.

He ends the film all alone.

I highly recommend this film.

But only with a friend.

And only really, really drunk.

Arrivederci!!

Gone are the crazy days of yore

Image credit

Every day, at work, I talk to women who bring in their lump of coal husbands. These women they say, "FIX HIM!! FIX HIM!!! FIX HIM!!" and I bounce the ball back in his court. Given suggestions here, there and everywhere so he can help himself.

Meanwhile I want to sometimes scream, I want to scream to these women--"Think about what you life could have been if you didn't have this man child, the heavy anchor of a husband. Why did you choose to stay here with him, all crazy and under the thumb this nonsense?" But I don't.

But these women, the wifes/girlfriends of these lumps of coal, I feel for them. I could have very well been one of them. But I didn't. Because I knew that I was NOT GOING TO STRAP ANY MAN TO MY BACK as I climbed the mountain.

Because destiny was calling me . . . and I answered the call . . . and oh what a joy it is ;)



Don't let anyone stop you that claims he loves you.

Take care and have a good weekend all :)

Stop looking at me like I'm nuts

For those that are new (woo HOO 48 followers!!-you guys rock!!)- I have two kids, Pancake, girl, age 8, Mac, boy, age 4. I recently met with their respective teachers for progress reports.

For the girl, we sat at a table and her teacher pulled out a portfolio. She took 15 minutes with us and talked really fast. She explained that Pancake is above average in most every way. And she was kind of staring at me, gauging my reaction. And looking at me like I'm nuts.

The same thing happened with Mac's teacher. Staring, explaining, waiting for me to say something. Again, looking at me like I'm nuts. I think it was the non-reaction that threw her off.

And, really, I didn't react to the news my kids are doing great. I don't really react because I know my kids, I see them take information in, process it and use it in their lives. They are good learners and developmentally doing great. Most importantly, they have big hearts. And really-I expect nothing less. I am so blessed and thankful for this.

Yet there they were, the teachers, staring at me. Like I'm nuts.

Not sure what that was about. But. It's kind of common for people to react to my calmness. Like at work. People react to me because I am a mental health nurse practitioner. Some people act like I have psychic powers and can read their mind. Some people can get all wiggy around me, all nervous.

For example, I was in the lunch room the other day and this new doctor came in. She always carries 3 full tote bags of crap to work. She talks loudly on a cell phone. She is obtuse at baseline. People like that react to people like me.

So she comes into the lunch room and sees me. She starts dropping f bombs and hurries about. It's jarring and violent. She is pushing her energy around. And I am calm because I don't react. Which makes her energy get bigger and the yammering gets louder. But then she leaves and then I can eat in peace.

Not sure what to make of it. But. I can say this. I like being calm. Calm makes the giggles come out easier. It's funner this way. And that's the way I likes it!

Happy Birthday Pancake!

Here is the wee Pancake, age 3. On her birthday this year, she will be 8.

Seriously. Thats.just.not.right.

My baby girl. sniff sniff. She's so smart. So loving. So happy. I'm so proud of her.

sniff. sniff.

Happy Birthday Pancake!

Now, let's get this party started!

Off we go to the ER. On Thanksgiving.

Hardwood floor + sock feet sliding = gash on the chin.

Off we go to the ER. On Thanksgiving. Mac is all chill about the affair.

Here is the gash. Note it's red loveliness. This is second time he's had stitches. In the exact same spot.

He didn't cry when he got the gash. Didn't cry when they put the stitches in either. The doctor went on and on about how good he was being. Doc said, "Kids under eight are just screamers. Sometimes I don't hear right for an hour after putting stitches in."

Mr. Hall suggested the doc buy ear plugs for the other kids. ;)

Good job little man. Now, let's get back to that Turkey Eatin' :)

The plan for my mother in law (and Thanksgiving)

My mother in law didn't come to our wedding. On purpose.

She's a little crazy. She has a lot of cats. Lives alone in a five bedroom house. A house that is so filled with stuff- she needs extra storage sheds. Her crazy is not certifiable though. It's just a little crazy. Not enough to be called the crazy cat lady. Not enough to get on hoarders.

The crazy bubbled up really big around the time of our wedding. But not enough crazy though. She didn't come to our wedding on purpose. It was a choice.

A month after we got married, we gathered for Thanksgiving. I brought wedding pictures for her to see. I brought the photos because I still loved her. My cup of Mr. Hall love runneth over onto all his family. Still does.

But here's the thing. It's ten years later and I still can't make eye contact with her. It is still so harsh to be in the same house with her. Unbearable Tension. So much unspoken. Even though I've seen here about once a month since the wedding, it's never been said out loud. She didn't come to our wedding on purpose. So when I see her, I usually get drunk. This is no good.

I don't think I've ever talked about how that hurt me. I was so busy forgiving her and trying to be the better woman, making sure the grand kids know her, that I forgot to let it hurt. So that's what I've been doing the last couple of weeks. And I've been praying to find forgiveness for her. It's working, this process.

I'm feeling so much better about the whole thing.

So here is my plan for my mother in law (and Thanksgiving).

My plan is to knock it off, stop acting like I have been. When I go there, to my mother in law's house, I'll put away my phone. I will stay sober and breathe. I will turn my attention to God and let the love flow through me. My plan is to be still, to be near this woman. To be available for her. In her own weird ways, she has tried to reach out to me. So now I'll be reachable if she needs me.

I know all of this is possible. I just have to let it happen, trust and let God work through me.

And so it shall be.

Happy Thanksgiving all :)

You tell me- is this normal drunk behavior?

So, here's a story from work.

I was conversing with two people at work. I like these people. Then, they started busting out stories about being drunk and well, hold on, let me back up. One is a social worker who really, SHE IS ALL SORTS OF FUN!!! I MUST GO TO A BAR WITH THIS WOMAN AND HER FRIENDS!! We must go to bars and be drunk and white trashy. She has a jedi coffee mug. She's a social worker. And blonde. And like, 40, so she knows how to drink and have fun cause she doesn't have kids. Or deep thoughts. It would interrupt her fun she says.

Good times will be had.

She reported that a few years ago, at her best friend's bachelorette party- they used IVs to help prevent hangovers. The bachelorette is a nurse, so she swiped IV bags/line/pokey tools from work. "It was awesome," the social worker said, "because of those IVs, I was able to drink for two days straight!"

They hung the IVs from the pictures glued to the hotel walls. It was funny she said, cause they were still drunk while they were doing it. And one girl didn't get it in right and it was squirting all over-the social worker was laying in the next bed just laaauuuggghiiinnnnggg-cause it was so funny.

Remember now, I'm at work. This woman is my coworker. The best stories are told in the mental health lunch room. GAWD I LOVE MY JOB!

anywhoodle . . . .

Then, THEN another coworker jumps in the conversation. He is a veteran I work with. Former army. Purple heart recipient. He is my go to guy for almost everything I need when I need inside information about anything. He's 28. Married, young daughter. Use to be a medic in the army.

So, the guy says, in the army they have these survival packs with two IV kits in them. Him and his buddies would swipe a bag each time they were opened. He was 19 or so at the time. He would drink all night and then have to get up at 6 am for PT. PT is running. He would pop the IV in and gently squeeze the bag in while it rested on his stomach. Then, all juiced up, he would be ready to go.

AND I'M STANDING THERE LISTENING TO THIS. JAW ON THE FLOOR. I respect these people. I know they are drunks by history but GAWD DANG!!!

My jaw was to the floor people. Because not only do I NOT have drunk stories, I don't have this caliber of drunk story. I didn't have any alcohol until I was like, 25.

So my gauge for normal drunk stories, stuff that most everyone has been through, my gauge is a little of.

SO

YOU TELL ME-is this normal drunk behavior?

Today is Veteran's Day

This Sgt. Hall, my husband. I am very proud of his service.

Thanks to all the vets out there.

Non-violent solutions for the everyday parent

Bear with me here, this is a tough post to write.

My husband and I believe that meals times should be calm, loving and food should be enjoyed. And no, the kids don't get a choice for dinner. Well, actually they get two choices: take it or leave it.

On Sunday I made fruit filled pancakes. It's simple to make. Just add frozen fruit to the pancake batter. Frozen fruit can be found in the freezer section of your local grocery store.

Then my daughter, the wee eight year old Pancake, says, "Can you make my pancakes without fruit in it?"

We discuss this. No I say, I don't make separate orders. She fusses and whines. Now, this irritates me. I expect a lot from my kids and manners. They are not allowed to pick through their food. They are not allowed to insult any cook by saying something stinks or it tastes nasty. I have taught them phrases like, "It's a bit strong for me, but thank you anyway."

Manners are important.

So is trying different type of foods. The world is a big wonderful place, so many tastes and textures to explore. This is what I am instilling here, in my kid's. I want them to be cultured and knowledgeable with foods. I want them to taste the wonder of it all.

Ok ok, jeez, yes, yes- I realize they are only 8 and 4, I can realize I can calm down a bit. I know that! I'm working on it!!

So, back to the fruit filled pancakes and the stinkeye my daughter was giving me about them.

Then I said, "I don't think you realize what you have here. You have me, making you pancakes." I then wave my arms open, calling her attention to our house. "We have everything we need here, we have a house, warm heat and now these pancakes. You woke up in a warm bed today. Some people wake up in homeless shelters, some wake up in a parks. There are a lot of people out there who don't have this."

She is looking at me at this point, mouth all small, close circle. I have her attention. Then I say this.

"I have a patient who goes to dunkin donuts every day at 12.30. Do you know why they do this?"

She doesn't.

"At 12.30, the morning donuts are thrown away in the Dumpster behind the building. My patient waits by the dumpster to scoop them out of the trash. They do this because they don't have food to eat. I also have a patient who brings empty milk jugs to the park every morning. Do you know why they do this?"

She doesn't.

"Because they can't pay their water bill. They fill the jugs with water to bring home, so they can have something to drink."

At this point she is dead silent. Her eyes are welling up. I realize that I am affecting her. I am not entirely comfortable with this. Yet there it is.

"So, when you whine about fruit in your pancakes, you need to think a little bit about all that we have here. And then, that fruit won't be such a big deal."

Then we all sit down for breakfast. It's calm. She doesn't pick the fruit out, she doesn't whine, she doesn't really eat though. And she doesn't say anything. After a while she asks to be excused and toddles off.

Then, we go to the park, she plays all happy. Around lunch time she says she's hungry again. And we eat. And love each other because we are family.

So. What do we think of the Walking Dead?

In a hurry here, no time to link.



The guy up there, he's not dead, but he does a lot of walking himself. And horseback riding.

Whoa there! Zombies!



I like that it's based on a graphic novel. Graphic novels translate well to the screen, at least visually, because graphic novels are visual.

I like that it displays darkness. Darkness of death, darkness of sadness, of being left behind, without family and darkness of feeling alone. Like all parts of life, darkness holds wonder for me.

I like that the sheriff has a large amount of humanity. He has layers people. And I feel for him.

I also like that he's built like Mr. Hall-the slim yet might muscular underneath. Efficient and strong.



I hope he survives because I give this show two bony dead zombie thumbs up!

What if I didn't?

What if I didn't call my doctor on Monday?

What if I didn't say, "I've had three negative pregnancy tests-and my period hasn't come-and it's day 35 of my cycle-can I stop the progesterone now?"

And what if hadn't taken the progesterone in the first place? Then I wouldn't be calling my doctor, asking to start my period.

And why am I taking this in the first place? Because I've been pregnant four times and carried two babies to term.

I wonder why my doctor asks me to do these things. To take these pills and use other supplements. And now I'm using yet even more pills to start my period. Yet, I was normal before this. Those two babies, that I carried to term, they are eight and four. Sleeping across the hall. My system works.

Why is my doctor asking me to mess with the system? I suppose I could ask.

Why didn't I ask in the beginning? I was just scared- so I did what she said to do.

What if I didn't feel scared? What if I tapped into a power I know has healed so much of me already? What if I prayed for God to help me? What if I trusted God with every last bit of all of this?

That would mean stopping. And letting go.

What if I did?

Le bored, le sigh

we are so bored this morning.

le bored.

le sigh.

we have plans this afternoon to go to the kids' museum. but that's not until 1 pm.

and these stupid saturday morning cartoons are driving me nutz.

i think we'll do some crafts. or read. or YAWN!




we're so bored!

Le sigh.

Number 12: Being a Christ follower is changing me

Hi. I'm Mrs. Hall and I'm a Christian. (Hi Mrs. Hall) Which means I've accept Jesus Christ as my God and trusted him to save me.

And I've been baptized to recognize this acceptance. This happened a few months ago. Like my wedding day I stood up and made a declaration. I knew exactly what I was doing and it was awesome!

Since that time-I've noticed I'm changing. This is an unexpected development. Because if there's one thing I know, it's who I am. I know my goods and my bads. I readily attest to both. But yet, I am changing.

I am caring less about my fashionista stuff. I am caring less about celebrity magazines. I am caring less about South Park. I am caring less about idle discourse. I am caring less about stuff that doesn't mean anything. I am not getting upset about the things that drive me nuts.

My Mom and are getting along like gangbusters. I never thought that was possible. We laugh and hug and enjoy each other. I realize I've been blocking her from being a loving force in my life because of bad blood. But after I got dipped, I stopped being angry and starting loving more. So here is my Mom. In my life. I realize God is at work here, I just need to get out of the way.

I care less about getting pregnant. I'm at peace with negative pregnancy tests. And knowing God has fully healed my miscarriage wounds-no more sadness, no more headaches or migraines. I am at peace because I turn to God.

I am vibrating less. My hyperkenitic ADD energy is at a much lower frequency. Which means this blog is a lot thinner then it use to be. The slightly naughty photo of Mr. Hall and I (that use to be the banner)-this is gone. It has been replaced by a purple flower. This blog doesn't have naughty stuff anymore. I just don't want to share that part of my marriage anymore.

There is less sharing overall because there is less to share. I mean, this blog is where I work through my feelings and share my inner thoughts. But my thoughts have been humming and not forming words. How can I blog that?

I'm a little afraid about this. I'm a little afraid of this change because I have worked hard to become who I am. But I find myself scared. But not really scared, just timid. I am not sure what will happen when all this really takes hold. I know that with each bible study class and church service, I am changing. I feel lifted and grounded all at the same time. It's quite a nice feeling actually. Feels more like me.

Number 11: I fear authority figures

Welcome back to getting to know Mrs. Hall. Numbers 1-10 are here.

Number 11: I fear authority figures

Maybe it's because I've been pulled over 4 times. Each time for speeding, each time deserved. Each time a 100 dollar fine out of my poor student pocket. Each time I cried because it sucked.

Maybe it's because the fear of being fired has been drilled into me by my parents. Drilled into my brain because they always had jobs where they could be fired at a drop of a hat. To this day whenever I complain about work they say, "But, it's ok right, you're not going to be FIRED are you?"

But, I fear authority.

I try to stay anonymous and work hard. And when the clinic manager makes a visit I try to hide. But, she found me anyway. Finally gave me keys to my office-I've been here two years. This oversight of me not getting keys indicates how much I am not on their radar.

AWESOME!

:)

When did we become the Flanders?

Last night Pancake and I were playing a Bible Bingo/Trivia Game. I found it at goodwill. It's helping me become more coherent in my bible readings. I am recognizing the names John the Bapist, Paul and Moses.

While we playing her Daddy made some broccoli as a side dish for dinner. "OOoooOOhhh!! I love broccoli!" Pancake says. And it's true, my daughter loves steamed broccoli. And both my kids love raisins, "It's nature's candy!!"

It's good times I say.

And then on Sundays, we send them to Sunday school. Their Sunday school is all about skits and games to help them learn bible lessons. The kids love Sunday school and describe it like this:

"We sing songs, we play games and there was cookies. It was awesome!"



The lessons are about values like kindess, charity, God loving you and whatnot. All based out of the bible. I don't know if they get the lessons, but they get the cookies. And feel loved by the staff. So that's good enough for now.

But here's the thing-Pancake and I play the bingo bible trivia game and she asks questions like, "Why did God turn Lot's wife into a pillar of salt?" And honestly, I don't know what to tell her. I'm still learning the basics.

AND HERE'S THE KICKER.

HERE'S THE KICKER.

My daughter and I play this game. Starting with the same level of knowledge. And we teach each other what we are learning. My daughter is teaching me some of her lessons from her Sunday school. And I teach her what I learn in bible study.

So were are all learning together.

It's uncharted terrority.

Very surreal.

Very weird.

And wonderful all the same.

Happy HALLoween!!

 

smiles for miles and miles today-because today is a day to dress up and get lots and lots of candy!! :)

I said, "CAN YOU GET EMAIL ON A SUBMARINE?"

I says to my husband, I says, "CAN YOU GET EMAIL ON A SUBMARINE?!!"

wait..wait... let's back this post up ...

(beep ... beep ... beep)

We were driving along in the ford explorer. Driving two hours to our destination. Plenty of time for my busy ADD brain to think about random stuff. So I bust out, "Can you get email on a submarine?". Mr. Hall didn't hear me. I was annoyed that he didn't hear me so I yelled,

"CAN YOU GET EMAIL ON A SUBMARINE??!!!"

Now, Mr. Hall is use to these random, WTF? questions. Only this question wasn't so random. Let's trace the origin of that question shall we?

OH yes, yes we shall!

Before we left that morning, I was watching Craig Ferguson videos on the youtube. I was watching them because before we leave, on any trip, I get the kids ready and we wait for Mr. Hall. We wait because he's putzy. He needs to do a perimeter check, make sure all the lights are off, make sure things are locked, make sure we have q-tips for ear cleaning . . . and does a million other things. So the rest of us, sit there waiting . . . AND WAITING BECAUSE HE'S PUTZY!!!

I use to wait in the car with the kids. But they get all monkey crazy in the car. So we gathered 'round the computer to watch Craig Ferguson videos. Which are funny and the kids get to see puppets and we all sing along. And wait for Daddy----'cause he's putzy.

Anywhoodle-one of the videos connected with the batch of Craig Ferguson videos is a video montage of Hugh Laurie . . . aka the dude on house . . with the cane . . and vicodin addiction . . .

The video montage is called something like "Don't bore Hugh Laurie". Basically it's a bunch of clips from talk show appearances, like Jay Leno, Craig Ferguson, et cetera. And all the clips feature him answering the EXACT SAME QUESTIONS. Like, "You're not from America right?" or "Is your family still in England?" And the answers are all the same because they are the same questions.

Now . . . you may be asking yourself what this has to do with submarines and email access. I'M GETTING THERE PEOPLE!!! SIMMER DOWN!!

Fast forward to the driving. About an hour in, I start to think about Hugh Laurie. I start to think about the Playboy interview he did about a year ago. I remember the playbody interview. From a year ago.

Ya see, the ADD brain is not only busy, but it memorizes most everything. Stuff that doesn't mean anything, like what the gas station guy said to me ten years ago--it's meaningless, has nothing to do with anything, but it's in there. That's why I remember most everything you guys write. If I read it in your blog, (especially personal details) it's gonna stay in mah brain. It's involuntary- this memory of mine. Like a super power really.

ANYWHOODLE . . . . so in the Playboy interview- Laurie is asked "Is your family still in England or did you bring them to LA?" And he answered thusly, "No, they're in England, but I don't have it so bad. I knew one guy who worked on a submarine who he needed to sign a piece of paper indicating if he wanted to know if something bad happened to his family while he was out to sea. Because there is nothing he could do if something bad happened, it's not like he could leave to be with them. He had to decide whether or not to know. So I don't have it so bad."

And back in the car, a year later, I'm chewing on this. Thinking about submarines. And how, if the submarine person wanted to know about family members being maimed or killed . . . how are they notified? AND THUS THE QUESTION FORMS AND THUS IT COMES OUT!!!

"Can you get email on a submarine?"

See that?? That's where that question came from!!!

Turns out, probably no, they can't get email on a submarine. When the sub surfaces, they can get information but they only surface for ten minutes at a time. And when the sub is rooting around, it's suppose to be unknown, so sending/receiving signals, to receive information, is counter productive to that purpose. This is what Mr. Hall tells me, cause he knows things. Which is perfect because I have all sorts of random questions that are bound to come out in my life. And he can answer them!! WOOT!!

So there ya go. Just another day in the busy brain of Mrs. Hall.

;)

Swirly Swirls

Being married provides a lot of fuel. There is no way I have to do this alone, this crazy life. I will always have someone who is nice to me and wants to hear about my day. Mr. Hall takes good care of me.

And I love it when, before he writes something, he swirls the pen on a piece of scrap paper to ready the ink.

I love it when, even with gatorade, he'll swirl his glass and sniff before he sips.

I love the way he takes his time with everything, even putting on a t-shirt. He'll fluff it out and gingerly place it over his head.

I love how he tackles all manner of handy man projects, figuring it out as he goes. And he does a good job because, as he says, "I may not know how to do it, but I care enough to do it right."

I love how he makes patient faces when we load furniture unto a moving truck. Letting me set the dresser down every so often to rest, never making a fuss about it.

I love it how crazy attracted he is to me, even after all these years. He's still bananas over me.

And I'm still crazy for him. He is my super man, my man of steel.

Happy Anniversary babe-love you.

This is me, and this is how

This is me, after a vinyasa yoga class. I'm wrung out from the inside like I always am after hot yoga. I'm looking at a flyer for a special prenatal yoga program. I'm wearing a tied dyed tank top that I made with my daughter. I'm looking and feeling all of it.



I'm feeling what this prenatal program means to me. It means I'm at a different place, in my heart, than just a few months ago. To get here, I've prayed, gone to yoga, cried and talked about what has happened. I've embraced the sad and loss of two babies. I've even been part of a healing ceremony. And here I am, in my car, looking over this flyer, getting all excited.



But how do I tell the teacher my history? Should I tell her? I don't want to give her my sadness-this sadness I've worked so hard to work through. And I'm sitting in my car, in my sweaty yoga clothes, doing this scan from head to toe. Looking for pockets of the sadness. Pockets that can bubble up and make me all explodey when I tell the teacher I've had two miscarriages.

And I'm scanning and feeling my heart and body. Scanning, looking and feeling. Closing my eyes and breathing in this flyer and all that it means. Looking at the big preggy woman on top.

And I'm feeling such joy, such happiness. Such crazy love for all of it.



And I realize there's no pockets anymore. I'm not sad anymore. It's just crazy happy. And I'm feeling all this love and hands of providence holding me. Feeling all this divine love. It's so much power that I'm literally overloaded for a while. I can't move.

And then I put the car in drive and drove on home. And Mr. Hall and I got back to the business of letting all this hallowed love grow.

Daddy . . There's no oatmeal downstairs!

After waking us up, our son says,

"Daddy . . . There's no oatmeal downstairs!"

And really, where is my oatmeal anyway? Best get on it :)

Number Ten: I'm a little bit evil

Welcome back to getting to know Mrs. Hall. 1-9 is here.



So, I am not a fan of passive aggressive notes. There is a girl at work, Susan-she is chronic offender of the passive aggressive notes. I work with a lot of women and women are easily upset. And feel the need to say it on post-its.

This irritates the crap out of me. Men don't leave these kind of notes. They just don't care about what radio station is on or what temp the room is set at. Plus if they care, they actually tell it each other. Imagine that, actually saying things out loud, to each other even. huh. well.

Anyway, it was no surprise when this ditty made the rounds at work.

"TWICE THIS WEEK I HAVE HAD FOOD STOLEN FROM THE BREAK ROOM REFRIGERATOR. IT IS NOT A COMMUNITY REFRIGERATOR. YOU CAN'T JUST HELP YOURSELF! YESTERDAY SOMEONE TOOK MY DIET COKE THAT WAS IN THE DOOR. I HAD MY NAME ON IT. TO WHOMEVER DRANK MY DIET COKE-I EXPECT IT TO BE REPLACED.

ALSO, I WILL BE CLEANING OUT THE FRIDGE ON FRIDAY AND IF YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR FOOD REMOVED I WILL THROW IT AWAY. THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING.

SUSAN"


So . . . . .

Um . . . . . .

These are my favorite knee high boots.

And yes, it was a very tasty diet coke indeed.

"Hey! She's not wearing any pants!"

"Hey! She's not wearing any pants!", is what my kids said when viewing the following video.



Have a good weekend all!