Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Barbarians at the gate

I want to write a post but I don't really have anything to say. Except this.

No one tells you part of raising kids is a large amount of mind numbing boredom. You are trapped and tethered to their tiny needs. Their needs are simple really. Butt wiping, pushing on the swings, juice, sammiches, tying of the shoes and belly rubs. Simple but huge.

Most of it will go completely unnoticed. As it should be. No one should notice that your Mom is doing her job, being there for you, loving you. It should just be.

Part of my job is to keep up with my job as a wife. Which is hard with the all consuming children. A marriage is like Rome, then there are children, barbarians at the gate, trying to turn the place into ruins. They are very cute though, with their wee viking helmets. Rattling the gate with their chubby little digits.

Wait what was I saying?


Before I was mom I was wife. After they leave I don't want to look across the table to see a stranger, I want to see my husband. This is what I thought about in Vegas. How so very very awesome this all is. To be a misses.

So that's really all I have to say today. And I think that's enough. :)

Saturday, June 26, 2010

"We're in a weird demographic," says Mr. Hall

Went to the women's ministry breakfast today, at my church. The Tribe Called Hall officially HAVE A CHURCH NOW. After searching high and low we picked the one with the rock band in front.

It was a very pleasant breakfast, there was discussion on Esther. She is woman who was scared to speak, but was called upon to speak nonetheless. She fasts and prays for three days and this is when she is given the courage to speak up. Because she was called to speak by God and God will provide the equipment to get the job done. The pastor's wife was reading the story and telling us how it applied to her life.

She hates public speaking. Which is ironic considering her husband's job. "But," she says, "I feel called to stand here and speak to you. To share and to celebrate all that we are as women. Because God has given us special gifts and talents.", she said. And she went on to explain the special gifts and it felt really good and nurturing. I truly agree that softness of women is our strength. And that was the message today.

It was very nice. I was with my new mommy friend and there were crepes.

Then I got kind of salty. I mean, there I was, at a table of lovelies, all chatting away about kids, cruises and camping. Then I started talking about yoga. Because someone had mentioned it. Then I was struck by how such a seemingly universal practice is a like a foreign novelty in this town.


Then there were rumbles of stupidness because when people live a sheltered life they fear what they don't understand.

And my jaw dropped when I figured out this included yoga.

Who fears yoga?

It was my new mommy friend. And I was so angry because we had been getting on so well. I mean, she wasn't a total fit, but still. I thought that because she was a teacher she would have some knowledge of the outside world. That eastern philosophy and yoga is not a threat to Christianity but can enhance a person's relationship with Jesus and God. I know it does mine.

But no. She asked me questions like, "I thought yoga was like, a Buddhist gathering or something. Like you pray to some four armed elephant god or something."

I was so mad when she said this. I mean, yoga is so special to me. It will be a part of my life forever. She didn't understand how she was hurting me by saying what she was saying. But, it was at the end of the gathering and we all went home.

I tell all of this to Mr. Hall. And I get sad because I really really want a bestie. I talk about maybe going to another church, near the local liberal arts university. And Mr. Hall says, "Well, I doubt you'll find what you are looking for at a church babe. We're in a weird demographic, not a lot of liberal artsy people go to a Christian Church." And I thought about it. And it's true.

A lot of artsy liberal folks do indeed frown upon Christianity. I mean, whenever I write these posts, talking about church, I really only get one or two supportive comments in the comment box. People have preconceived notions, personal vendettas and baggage to spare when it comes to Christianity. If I was studying Buddhism the love would flow much easier. But I'm not. So thank you for keeping it civil if not positive.

Because talking about my beginning faith is harder to write about then anything I have written about. It's harder than talking about the times I dated a girl or two, harder then telling about the time I cheated on a man I loved, harder than talking about anything in the world.

And it means so much to me. And so does this blog. So here I am, speaking up. Using my voice.

Thanks for reading.


That mommy friend is going with me to yoga. Which means a lot. Let's hope she doesn't freak out by the chicken sacrifices. ;)

Friday, June 25, 2010

I knew it was time to come home when . . .

I was at the buffet last night, eating stuffed grape leaves, sushi and mashed sweet potatoes. I heard a baby squawk at next table. He was so cute and had these wee little booties on. Then his Daddy got up and walked him around a bit. He padded and toddled- so cute in his little blue onesie with a pale green turtle on it. The parents were eating in shifts, one eats while the other walks the short attention span shorties.

It's a dance all parents know well.

Then the Daddy came back to the table and plopped the little boy back in the high chair. In one swift motion, the Mommy pulled the high chair closer to her and placed a sippy cup directly in front of him. This maneuver, done automatically, did me in.

All my delicious buffet items went blurry as I was overcome with missing my kids. I dabbed my tears and said, "I really miss them." And I cried just a little bit. And we both smiled.

THAT'S how I knew it was time to come home :)

Monday, June 21, 2010

I'm going to VEGAS BABY

Today I am giddy beyond compare. Cause I'm plum wore out, worn through and done with it. I'm done dealing with all the demands of my life and packing up. I AM OUTTA HERE!!

I'm going to VEGAS BABY!!

I've forwarded my email, turned off my voicemail and been going 'round exchanging blackjack tips with everyone.

And people ask, "Are you going to bring Pancake and Mac?"

To which I reply, "ARE YOU NUTS???!!!"

Who brings their kids to Vegas?? They get their own vacation. At de Hotel de Grandma and Grandpas. Endless cartoon network and cookies await them. Good times had by all!

Oh oh oh!! I CAN'T WAIT UNTIL MY FLIGHT TOMORROW. I can't wait to sprawl out on a hotel bed, walk around in my cute summer sun dresses, see all sorts of blinky lights and be very very sore. I can't wait to be in that crazy city alone with my man. Nothing poking at us, nothing calling us, nothing but each other and the hot desert sun.

We will see a Cirque de Soliel show and visit the Liberace Musuem. I shall make liberal use of the free booze at the Casino. LIBERAL USE I SAY. I shall stand behind my husband in low cut dresses, being his hot wife, blowing on the dice for good luck.

Then. I shall return this world. Refreshed, sunburnt and ready to begin anew.


Sunday, June 20, 2010

The Addictive Allure of Artist Men

This is a long post-I apologize in advance. But, if you make it through, it will be worth the read, I promise :)

When I left for college, at age 18, I was very hungry for artistic companionship. Enter a man named Rick. He was a art major and five years older than me. We lived in a co-ed dorm, his room was next to mine. I followed him around like a kitty in heat, going to galleries, coffee shops and smoking camels. He made me dizzy. We would go the art building where he would paint while I wrote poetry. He taught me how to forge.

While we never actually dated, he became the model for a series of boyfriends. All artists, all odd, all older. Above all, all of these men were addicting.

I didn't realize it then, but the pairing of me and the older artist is a cliche. I was in the role of young, lovely ingenue. They played the sullen, worldly wise mentor. These men were often on the fringe and I would be their muse. This is the most addicting part of all.

All of the sudden, everything about me was important. Simple things like the words I used, what I thought, what I wore, all of it became grist for their art. I've had boyfriends name guitars after me, write songs with my name, paint and draw my naked form. All because I had a spark that spurred them.

The drawback to all this, is that my importance was only a reflection of their ego. I would often have to defend my choice of words, thoughts and clothes because it didn't match up with their view of the world. Not surprisingly, these artists were largely self-absorbed. Shocking, I know.

They often held a pressing idealism that art is paramount, beyond important. It is a measure of evolutionary superiority. The muse is a vital part of this attitude and I needed to act accordingly. So who was I to take joy in watching 90210? How dare I begin to enjoy my girly side, wearing high heels and pretty dresses? It was beneath me, their muse.

Eventually I had had enough. Somewhere around the seventh boyfriend such as this, I realized I was going nowhere with this fake adoration. And I was going somewhere. I also realized that they weren't socially isolated because of their artistic temperament, there were alone because no one likes an asshole. So I left that kind of life. And vowed never to defend.myself.again.to.any.guy. NEVER.AGAIN. I made a promise to only reward the kindest of company that loved me for all of me. That's when I found Mr. Hall.

Why am I telling you all this?

Lately I've been reaching out and making friends. I make friends easily- I'm pretty, thoughtful and smile a lot. I ask questions about who they are and what they like. I can speak to any number of topics and laugh easily. Plus, with Mommy friends, 3/4 of the work is already done.

I wasn't always like this. Most writers tend to be shy and introspective. I've worked very hard to become outgoing and fabulous.

So at this point, I have made two or three friends who are steadfast, Mommy friends. They are nice and I am so thankful they are here.


I have a wild artistic side that still throbs inside me. I realized this last night, at dinner. I was explaining the appeal of foreign films to a new set of couple friends. I was wearing a small cardigan to cover up my tattoo. Because tattoos are shocking to some in this small town. Sigh.

So I ask myself, why isn't art more of my life, like when I make friends? I think what has happened, is that when I left the role of muse, I left art out of my life expect within the tight, inner circle of my tribe. So, why don't I let it out more?

So let me do this. In the next few months let me emanate energy. Energy in yoga class, energy at gatherings, energy walking 'round town. Energy that says, I am one of the artsy ones, come find me. Maybe I'll take a pottery or painting class and put myself out there for real.

Because life is too short to have to explain the appeal of foreign films and who Picasso is. I need people in life who already know. ;)

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Happy Father's Day

This is what Daddy's do.

And Mr. Hall does it the best!

Happy Father's Day everyone!

Now Go!
Give a Dad a manly handshake and hardly slap on the back-

Maybe even give your Dad a hug! :)

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Guess what happened to me at Target, with my x real estate agent

So I was in line at Target, in my stretchy black yoga pants and my fleece pullover. Just finished working out for an hour at the Y. I worked that eclipse like it owed me money. GEEEERRAAAHWWWAHHH!!

And there I was, hair all plastered to my forehead and back of my neck, tank top all sticky to my torso, dazed look on my face and one box of pull ups on the conveyor belt. Then I hear,


I turn and see my x real estate agent. She's blonde, cute, busty and trim waist. She drives a silver BMW and was buying a pair of toddler sandals, size seven. Which means she has younger kids then my kids, thus no playgroup possibilities. This is going through my head as I say,

"Oh hey, Sally? How are you?"

"Good. Did [Mr. Hall] get those pool inspection reports I emailed him?"

In my head I am processing her outfit. It is stylish. She is always stylish with a cute flair to her ensembles. Girlfriend goes shopping at the expensive stores and does not haunt goodwill and consignment shops like me. I'm kind of staring at her, all out of it. I underestimated the amount of food I needed to eat in order work out like I did.

I'm starving and lightheaded.

"Oh yeah, he got the report."

"Did he call the pool guy yet?"

I start to understand what she is saying now. Our pool has a rip in the liner and we'll, most likely, have to have it replaced. But, Mr. Hall is an engineer and a thrifty type of guy, so needs to research the options first and then form a plan. Then he will call.

"Um, yeah, I think he is researching it at this point. You know him, he can't be rushed."

I think about the 1700000000000000000 houses we went through and how much time Mr. Hall took with each one. Each time scouring the places with a tiny flashlight, wheeling and dealing with the agents. Mr. Hall would make a great conman. He has that circular logic way of arguing. You just can't win when arguing with him.

Then I see something flip behind Sally's eyes. I see her go into type A mode.

"OH he should call them because the report said . . . . ."

It is at this point I drift off because I am so starving and dehydrated. I could EAT THE PULLUPS at this point. I need to get out of there. But, she's going on and on, her and her busty blondness. And I want to say, 'Bitch please . . . Mr. Hall can't be rushed. I've accepted this. In fact, being all crazy and nagging fucking slows the process down!!' But I don't. I just stare. Blinking. I start to listen to her again,

"Every time I show a house with a pool I think of you guys . . . I think, do they ave their pool fixed yet . . ."


Instead I say,

"That's a good idea to call the pool guy. I'll tell him to do it right away. You are so on top of things. Thank you for all your help, to this day I get all giddy when I put the key in the front door. Nice to see you again."

Then we smiled and I took off to the car.


I can say this. If you are going to work out all hard core and badass, have a plan.


Have a protein shake at the ready post work out. That way you can be sipping and replenishing while being accosted by your busty blonde, x real estate agent!

Monday, June 14, 2010

Riddle me this

1. My husband and I sleep in the same bed, in the same room. He sleeps closer to the door-- so why do my darling, cherub children come in our room, cross all the way over to me, stand there and stare until I open my eyes. After which they ask, "MOOOMMMM, can you make us oatmeal?" I mean, their Daddy is RIGHT THERE! Plus, HE MAKES THE OATMEAL IN THE MORNING.

2. Where does the Kama Sutra come up with the names for positions? I mean, sixty nine is pretty obvious, although I don't think sixty nine is the technical name. As for me, I tend to get wicked awesome visuals whilst in the middle of things. Thus we have our own set of names for maneuvers. There's The Envelope, The Flying Squirrel (that's an extension of The Envelope), and The Egg. Those are just a few. Does anyone else make up names for their fun?

3. Why am I more sore two days after a work out? Not one, but two days?

4. At this point, I've made a few friends in my quest to build a social life. A few mommy friends. But, I still am feeling the need for a bestie. I mean, Mr. Hall is my best friend but he has no idea who Kate Spade is. How do I, a traditional wife and mother find someone who is odd like me? Who likes foreign zombie films. And tattoos. Can I find such a person at bible study on Wednesdays? We shall see . . .

5. Why does my OB-GYN want me to wait three months of "normal cycles" before we try again. Then, THEN she advises I take birth control pills for those months? JUST SAYIN!!!

6. Speaking of tattoos, why do people say they don't hurt? I mean, a tattoo gun is like a sewing machine, only the tattoo gun needle is not sewing through fabric with thread, it's threading ink through your skin. I am contemplating this while I plan my next tattoo. If I commit to one, then pain will be part of it. But, I beginning to think it is time.

7. Why don't more shows/movies make sex scenes funny? I mean, it's all grabbing the chick, lifting her up and slamming her back against the wall. HOW is that fun? HOW is that passion?

Now this clip right here, THIS IS FUNNY AND SEXY. (almost NSFW because of language but otherwise pretty tame)

Man o Man I loves me some Jason Stackhouse. He does the yoga! ;)


Let's hear it people, give me your answers in the comments!!

Sunday, June 13, 2010

You've got red on you.

oh my god.

this film.


I would leave Mr. Hall for this movie.


I said it.

Now go, exacerbate things!

Saturday, June 12, 2010

Hot tub time machine. Lizzy Caplan. Rolling with the changes.

Saw Hot Tub Time Machine Last night. It's really quite the charmer when imbibing rum and cokes. Yes, I got really drunk last night and IT.WAS.AWESOME. Don't watch this movie sober. Just sayin'.

The actors (John Cusak, Craig Robinson, Lizzy Caplan (above) etc)), really sell such silly fair. The actors go back in time and get the chance to redo their lives starting at age 19 or so. 1986 baby. When Michael Jackson was black.

The lives of the characters (in the present day), they basically suck. So, it behooves them go back and change stuff because it all started to suck when they were nineteen or so.

Got me thinking about me being 19, all shaved head and punk. (Left a fringe of bangs that I would dye different colors though). I was so sure of myself. Flagrantly in charge and bossy. Army surplus combat boots. Anti-establishment. Smoking camels and thinking deep thoughts. Beholden to noone. Throwing myself around as a I pleased. I had no clue how sacred my boobies really were.

I've started birth control pills again. All part of the healing process from miscarriage numero two. The last time I took these was ten years ago. Talk about a flashback ;)

I can say this. Whatever I was then, it helped from the steel core I have now. I can still call up the unrepentant punk energy at will. My line of asshole ex-boyfriends help me see the awesome I have with Mr. Hall. And I still have my deep thoughts, there just my own now.

Everything now is just better. All that I am and all that I feel is rooted in my family and so much more meaningful. I am so thankful for all that I have and all that I am.

And whatever comes in the next months can come. I can, indeed, roll with the changes to come.

So, if you could go back to age 19, would you change anything?

Friday, June 11, 2010

Fabulous Fridays

This is my skirt.

These are my espadrilles.

They are fabulous, no?

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

And then. I was. A duck.

There's good news and bad news kids. First, the good news is, I had two positive pregnancy tests this weekend. Then the 'fuck are you kidding me' bad news is that I lost pregnancy too. I was at work. Talking with a patient. It was ugly and I knew it before I hit the bathroom. I was barely four weeks pregnant. bah. I'm still dumbstruck by all this. I mean, I have two awesome kids from two awesome, normal pregnancies. So now I'm what? A lame duck or something?

I cried and sobbed really hard last night in Mr. Hall's arms. That felt good. I took a long, hot, scalding shower and put on warm jammies from the dryer. That felt awesome. Then I cried until I was done. Best to get these things out anyway. I feel much better today.

And this morning I went back to the doctor I didn't like and got all sorts of blood work. And I will get any blood work she needs throughout the week and next week because I don't care anymore, take a goddamn limb if you need to if it gives me answers. Here, here's my left foot, take it.

But the thing is, there may not be any answers. They will give me two medications when I try again because that will cover the common causes of miscarriages. And they will have me wait three months to try and get pregnant again. Which I say, fucking a.


Here's the plan.

I will work out with my friend Amy at least two days a week. I will weight watcher and get all buff and such. I will read books, get back into yoga. I will watch foreign movies. I will bicycle around and around. Sign up for bible study, set up play dates and get togethers. And I will get up every day, put on my dress and heels and get on with it. I will lipstick and be cute and smile.

Because I am a beloved wife of a hot husband. Because I am mother to two cuties. I have so much to give and I will be giving it.

Because I am Mrs. Hall and I am awesome.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010


Open letter to my patients:

Look. I am a mental health nurse practitioner. Unlike your primary care team, I don't have a nurse or a secretary to make phone calls for me. So it's just me, in the red headed stepchild section of your health care, calling you.

Could you please change your out going message? Yes you, the one with the voice mail that goes:


The fact is, I need to leave a message. In fact, if you no-show our appt, I have to call you THREE times and listen to you be a jerk.

Also, could you and that other guy change the following outgoing message:

"This is ADAM. you know the drill."


".....(static....mumbling i don't understand.....yelling kid in the background)..."

Also- could you and your brother please try not to be funny because this:

"Hello . . . .. . . . haa haa fooled you, leave a message".

is not funny.

Allo me to repeat that.


Also- I appreciate that you enjoy death metal/heavy metal/ear splitting techno or loud classical baroque but having it BLARE IN MY EAR FOR THIRTY SECONDS is not pleasent. Change that please.

Lastly, consider this. Part of the problem that you are seeing me for is that you are unemployed because of your anger/depression/piss poor attitude. So think of what employers think when they get hear this outgoing message:


or the white trash version


or just don't be white trash at all, like this guy:


So, please, clean the voicemail up people. Do it for me, your friendly neighborhood NP.

Thanks a bunch!!

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Pace yourself for me, I said maybe baby please

Breaking my back just to know your name....

and now, Mrs. Hall takes a day to walk around freaking out. Blaring this song really loudly and singing really loudly because joy is explodeyinmybodyandineedtonotthink.

I just need to feel.



Saturday, June 5, 2010

That's Amore

Today Mr. Hall turns a year older today.

And here I sit, still besotted.

Thank you for still making me giggle when you call me during the day. Thank you for still making me feel all gooey when you grab me and kiss me just right. I love you so much.

Thank you for marrying me and knocking me up.

Happy Birthday to the best man walking:)

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Whitey Tighties

Look! The stools from this post.

So I ask Mr. Hall, "What have you and Mac been doing these past three days now that he's not in day care? Are you keeping him stimulated and doing activities with him?"

He says, "We cut stuff up with scissors, couldn't find any glue though. Watched some cartoons, ate lunch, napped, mopped the floor, played in the yard and hung out in our whitey tighties."

"Sounds like a good time," I say.


Have a good weekend all!

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Two sided crazy

There are often two sides of life, the clean, lovely surface-then the crazy underneath. Like looking at a pristine river rock, only to pick it up and find all sorts of bugs freaking out.

Such is the life of Mrs. Hall right now.

The bugs:

Underneath I am calling midwifes and figuring out what a doula is. We are not _______ yet, not that I would tell anyway. superstition and all. Our insurance is not covering a lot of things and we have to make some out of pocket decisions. Pfft. Offt. Gaah. Offt and an extra Gaah. It's just that this time, no matter what happens, we will want this to be special and we want support.

The lovely river rock:

Because two weeks ago Mr. Hall and I were sitting on a park bench. He was sitting directly in front of me, betwixt my capri's. I was working his lower, mid and upper back. Massaging his neck, then ears and finally giving him a good scalp rubbins. Several times I had to tell him to shhh 'cause he was moaning so loud.

I mean, kids were all around us. It was a public park after all. Our kids were absorbed in the sandbox. We could see them playing enthusiastically. I was going to go over and make sure everything was ok, but then Mr. Hall said, "I'm pretty sure they can figure out how to play with sand all by themselves."

Which made me laugh.

Then he moved from my front to my right side. I draped my legs over his. And we held each other, arms wrapped tight. I buried my head in the nuk of his neck while we basked in the sun. Our bodies were close and humming. There was quiet. And feeling the love that day, I melted like butter. Because that day was the day we might have made another baby.

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