I need booze ideas people-BOOZE IDEAS!!!!

These are things I need to do to get pregnant:

Clicken to see the manliness, if you think you can handle it I mean.

I'm so excited! SQUEE!!! So let's get on with the plan shall we?

1. I must dye my hair back to it's original brownish red. It's really red right now and my roots are almost black looking. Jaw dropping red is not a style I can maintain while preggers-so back it goes. :)

2. Low dose aspirin, to be taken every day until I deliver. It's enteric coated. Nothing but the fanciest 81 mg aspirin for Mrs. Hall!

3. Progesterone supplementation. To be started upon ovulation and through the first trimester.

4. + 5. The sponge bob dixie cups to serve as a um, reservoir. A specimen cup to dip the ovulation sticks into if you will. Because iffn I'm going to have to pee in a cup every day for 20 days, I plan on making it fun!

6. Prenatal vitamins. yum. bleah. gag. Wait, noo noo!! yum, I said yummy it's ok, I didn't need to poop anyway!!

7. The booze I drank tonight.

THIS IS WHERE YOU ALL COME IN . . . .

For the next two weeks I get to booze it up. And OH MY GOD I plan on boozing it up. But, I need ideas. Cocktails, microbrews, anything you know and love and will be leaving my face kinda numb . . please, share with me in the comments!

:)

O AND ONE MORE THING . . .

That's a half nekkid Mr. Hall right there. Cause he's the most important thing to do! hee hee hee

I can outlast you, other mom at the playground with your stinkeye

Then Sunday. Everyone was better. More rested. Less whiny. It was nice. The bluest skies, the sunniest sunshine. Hot and summer. Summer o Summer how I love thee. We rode our bikes to the park. The park was silly with kids. Mr. Hall and I sat in the shade. He put his hand on my knee. It was calm. The kids attacked the jungle gym with abandon.

Then I noticed a little girl (not my daughter) saying something to the wee Mac. "My Mommy is talking to you.", she said. And sure enough, another mom talking to my son. She was scolding Mac. Finger wagging even. He had walked up the slide instead of sliding down. Mac was looking at her like she was speaking German.

I've noticed that new moms get all hyper about walking up the slide. I use to get like that when I was new. There's safety issues and all. But. I am a Mom of seven plus years. Walking up the slide doesn't even phase me.

But this other Mom, she was upset with my son. He was clearly not interested in listening to some random Mommy. So he climbed up the slide again. Then the other mom sat down. Far away but directly across from me. Firmly in my field of vision. She was giving me the stink eye. And I felt weird.

Should I be doing something?

Then I thought. No Way!

I thought, I am not going to care about this! It was such a crazy day the day before. It was a Mommy needs a Martini day the day before. The kids were so whiny and like baby dinosaurs, they just kept poking and nipping at each other. Because if you're bored and hot, you need to share the pain with your sibling. It's in the handbook. It was all "He got more jjjoooouuuiiicceee then meeee!" and "Heee's licking me!" (Mac was pretending to be a dog). and "She's putting her feet on me!!!" Then they would wrestle and fight and scrap and I would separate them and then they would start again. All day like that Saturday. JUST LEAVE HIM/HER ALONE ALREADY!!! AAAHHHAGAAAHHH!!!!

So on Sunday, I just didn't care. Let her give me the stink eye. I have more stamina then most Moms. I can last four or five hours at the park. I can stay there all day if needed. And I don't bring snacks or juice boxes either. HA HAAAHHHAA!! There's a water fountain there. And bathrooms. That's all they need.

So I let her keep staring. And sure enough, she left the playground before me. I looked over to Mr. Hall, wanting to discuss all of this subterfuge of the play ground. And then I noticed something else. Mr. Hall had been playing games on his cell phone the entire time. None of this even registered.

:)

Is there anything the Muppets can't do? (I didn't think so)

I love me some Muppets. Oh yes, yes I do. But can they tackle the Queen classic "Bohemian Rhapsody and do it justice?" Oh yes, yes they can!

Do I dare disturb the universe? (Oh yes I do)

There's this poem called, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock". It's about a scared man, who wishes to live life anonymously. But he has wants and needs, just like the rest of us. To fulfill these needs, he must first say them out loud. But to say you want things out loud, this is scariest of all. So he says:

"Do I dare, do I dare disturb the universe?"

And let's just say I took my last birth control pill this morning. Which I did. And let's just say there is power in my thoughts and feelings. Which there is. And let's just say I want things so badly, I am so scared of even asking for them outloud. Which I am.

But I don't want to be afraid any more. So here goes.

(me after yoga)

I say my body is full of womanliness. I have all this ovary and womb and boobie power. I am have all these wonderful parts working in concert. I am made this way on purpose. I have the power to make life, to make breath. I have all that I need to make another baby. I say I will get pregnant.

(my last positive pregnant test and other proof of 'with child' status ;)

I say things will go well. I will swell accordingly and the baby will grow and grow and I will be so happy. I will be full of joy and silly with pregnancy giggles.

And I shall not be afraid.

It's not mine to carry, this fear, this worry. My two ton boulder is where it belongs. Last night, I rode my bike with the stone in my basket. I pulled over and handed it up to God. He took it, held me a while and put me back down to play. I rode off all free. I am free to be what I'm meant to be. I've let go and I am letting it be. And what it will be, will be a miracle.

(My daughter-seven years ago)

(my son-three year ago)

Those miracles happened, and it will happen again.


Now, if you'll excuse me. Mr. Hall and I have some work to do. ;)

Why can't people act more Asian in Asian restaurants?

David Sedaris wrote a book called, "When you are engulfed in flames." It's hilarious, and really, anything Sedaris is a win. The last few bits of the book are about his stay in Japan. In Japan, when they talk on their cellphones, they cup their hands over the mouth piece, move to the side and speak quietly. "What's the big secret?", Sedaris mused.

Yesterday, I took the wee Pancake to a Thai resturant. A Mommy and me adventure. It was quiet and hushed. This was special for us on so many levels. Normally we dine with her little brother who cannot sit still and has little or no volume control. Which is expected, since he's three and all. We go to restaurants that match him.

We sat all lady like, enjoying the red leather chairs. I quietly pointed out the wood carvings on the wall, the linen napkins, the way the waitress bowed after taking our order. It was all sorts of neat for her. A big girl lunch. She was tickled by the chopsticks and slurped off the big soup spoons.



Now, this restaurant is by a liberal college. A small, expensive, private liberal arts college. Needless to say, the patronage of the restaurant falls along those demographic lines. Lots of brainy, skinny ectomorphs. Except for the chubby, balding guy in his mid thirties seated at the next table. He was sitting with a younger, plump woman who smiled easily. Guy was very smart. He was telling the hayseed blond all about this fact. He was expounding on his political and philosophical ideals. He was also poo-poohing her ideas with his smartness. I wanted to go over to the table and yell this:

RUN GIRLFRIEND RUN!!!!

Because he was dominating their conversation with his useless double speak. And the girl was entranced by his twist of tongue. Hypnotized by his break neck verbiage. She didn't see he was being selfish. It's just no good, when your date doesn't give and take during conversation. I bet he claims he's a feminist. Again:

RUN GIRLFRIEND RUN!!!

And I looked at my daughter, with all her wide eyed interest in the place. She was starting to get all silly with rice and sweet and sour sauce. And I want to tell her all of this- about the people next to us. But she's seven. That is far beyond her at this point.

She I ask her about Cooper, a boy that follows her around at school. They like to hunt frogs together at summer camp. "He wants to be my boyfriend.", she says. I don't think she understands what that means but when you are seven, your job is to imitate adult language and roles. Practicing and learning. So I ask, "How do you know if he's quality, if he'll be a good boyfriend?"

She thinks about it. Then she says,

"He opens my ketchup packets at lunch and returns my tray when we're done."



THAT'S MY GIRL!!!!!!

My spanking hand-it's twitching.

Mr. Hall has been back two days now and I must say . . . ahhhh . . . that's SO MUCH better!

Yet, my spanking hand-it's twitching.

Mr. Hall and I run on different wavelengths. As a rule, I am unfocused, prone to wandering and not getting things done. He is a straight line and really good at everything.

Now, me and the kids, we've been alone for three weeks. Our cat like tendencies have grown unchecked. We walk willy nilly through the zoo, not consulting the map, going here and there. Walking without purpose. We take an hour to get a few things from the store. Then we forget the thing we went for. This drives Mr. Hall nuts. He gets twitchy. I can see him sort of fuming on the inside. Which I kind of enjoy.

This is marriage after nine years people. There is pleasure in bugging your mate. Trust me. The eye rolls and head shakes of disbelief-they are pleasing in a very small way. I know it's petty, shush!

Also, since he's been back, he has started to stand behind me, giving me advice on how to get things done. Like at the post office, or watering the plants. Which really, these are things I emailed or called him about when he was gone. I really screwed up on stuff when he was gone. Because I don't know how to do anything. I am not domesticated.

Then he started to tell me how to marinate the chicken for the grill last night.

This is when I snapped.

I got very use to being in charge, doing things all spasmodically. Being messy and haphazard. It gets done alright? And then he shows back up, all efficient and here, let me help you. With the rolling of the eyes and the head shakes of disbelief. With the gah noises. So I threw a oven mitt at his belly. But, as we all know, I am a horrible shot.

I whipped it and it smacked him right in the eye. And it was on. We did this slap fight thing and dangit, he's really strong. And I tried my girliest but in no less then two moves he had me pinned. This also irritates me. With the greatest of ease, he brings me to the earth.

Which is maybe a good thing. Because he's here, with his family and being our anchor. It's like adjusting to gravity now that he's back. And it feels so good to feel grounded again.

One more night and he'll be home

and everything will be back in place and home will feel like home again :)

Then I yelled at my mom and she apologized

With Mr. Hall being gone, I'm relying on my Mom for the day care drop off/pick up mambo. This has caused a significant increase in contact with her. Which results in conversations like this:

My Mom: "So, why doesn't Mr. Hall just have someone just fix the pool already? I mean, he's been working on it all summer, he won't be done until there's no more summer left. It doesn't makes any sense."

Me: "Well, you know him, he can fix all sorts of things, he's an engineer. Plus, he likes fixing things and not paying someone. He's doing a great job and there is a manly satisfaction to this. I'm ok with it. The pool will be fixed when he's done. He always finishes things Mom. Like the wiring in the basement and the lights in the cabinet. Now he's working on the pool that's all."

My Mom: "When will that be though? When will he be done? He's been working on it all summer."

editor's note: It should be noted she has asked me every week when the pool will be done. And the answer is always the same.

Me: "He'll be done when he's done Mom. There is no rushing him. He likes to do projects and do them well. He's caring and thoughtful and that takes time Mom. He wants it done right. And I'm ok with it. This is part of who he is and I love him for it. So none of this bothers me."

My Mom (huffing): "I don't understand how you can stand it. (she gets more huffy) How can you stand him being so slow with everything."

Me (Yelling): "MOM! HE IS NOT SLOW!!!! HE IS CAREFUL AND THOUGHTFUL AND I LOVE THAT ABOUT HIM. HE JUST DOESN'T THROW MONEY AT STUFF. HE DOES IT HIMSELF AND I LOVE HIM FOR THAT."

editor's note: She looked stricken. She always looks stricken when I yell at her like that. She doesn't realize that putting me in a place where I have to defend my husband is incredibly hurtful and really bad manners. Now, I realize yelling at my mom is bad manners, but at least i didn't yell this:

Me Yelling: "MOM! IF WE THREW MONEY AT EVERY PROBLEM WE HAD, IF WE THREW MONEY AT OUR EVERY WHIM AND WANT- WE ARE GOING TO BE NEARING SEVENTY AND STILL NOT HAVE OUR HOUSE PAID OFF AND HAVE CREDIT CARD DEBT. LIKE YOU AND DAD!!!"

But I don't yell that last part. But, she was stricken and she left in a huff.

The next day she calls, starts talking at me about a number of things which I'm not listening to and then I hear this:

My Mom: "Ya know, I see what you mean about Mr. Hall. I mean, he could get all sorts of projects done but still not be the great husband and father he is, so I can see what you mean about being ok with him being slow."

AND THAT is the closest I've gotten to an apology.

Which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy because hey, it's been 34 years that I've known this woman. I takes what I can get :)

Birth control pills, fear and getting on top

After my last miscarriage, I began to take birth control pills. Which made me feel, in part, like a kid. I can say with some hemming and hawing, breaking eye contact, and clearing my throat- the first time I took birth control pills, I was fourteen years old. I rode my bike to Planned Parenthood because I was too young to drive.

In hindsight I find that unfuckingbelievable.

These circumstances, of messing around so early in life, of not connecting love with sex, these are things I have healed inside. And now I think of myself as proud. Proud that as a 14 year old girl, I decided I was worth a whole lot. I was worth enough to figure out what birth control pills were and how to get them. I did that myself, as there was no sex talk. Proud that I peddled my self 3 miles, one way, across a busy bridge, to prevent messing up my future. Because I was gonna be somebody. And I am!

That was twenty years ago. I'm a misses now, all grown up. I can say that being married messes up one's concept of birth control. It's an accessory to the hot monkey love. I used the mirena IUD between our two babies and had forgotten what the heck the pills were like. But here they are, in my life again.

The goal of this three month run of birth control pills was to give my girly system a rest. To cease the relentless ovulation and give my ovaries a chance to regroup. It also served a psychological purpose. My head got a rest too.

I was able to ignore a lot. Then I started having migraines. Then yoga and a meditation session brought up the trauma of having two miscarriages. Then I started opening up a lot of my insides to heal the unseen that was hurting me. It's been working pretty well as I work it out. I'm about done with this three month run. I am about done with birth control pills again.

As such, I find myself being fearful.



Inside, my heart is bleeding all over the place. There is so much joy and happiness with getting pregnant. Making love to make babies is like touching God. I'm scared that my hurt and my fear will overshadow this. That it will taint the process of not being careful. That it will seep in my skin, pool in my veins and sloosh through me. I don't want this to happen.

My biggest fear is another miscarriage. That I will get that flaming positive test then start spotting a few hours later. Or that I will go for my first scan only to find out the baby's heart is not beating. This is what happened the last two times I got knocked up. But the fear grows further, every day, every week I can find things that could go wrong and my pregnancy would be lost. Even through the delivery things can happen and I would lose another baby.

So let me get on top here.

I welcome all the fear and all the worries and all the scenarios. I don't have to be afraid, because being afraid is not going to change anything. All of the above could happen and even worse stuff I've never heard about happening could happen too. So let it come, let everything everywhere come through me. Bring it here and let me jump in. Let it flood through me, making my insides all wrinkly and my body besotted with salty ocean water. I welcome it all.



Ahh. That's so much better!

And now, I'm getting excited. The happy is growing. Just a few more weeks. I will focus on healing even more. Focus on letting all of this be me. Then, and oh yes then, the fun of getting naked and knocked up begins again! ;)

Lost in Translation type emails

Lost in Translation is a beloved movie of two misfits in Japan. One is a young, snobby graduate, all introspective and wanting to be noticed. The other is Bill Murray with all his textured love and layered humor on display. They are both married to other people. They are both alone at the Hyatt Japan.

I've seen the film twice now and each time I fall more in love with the film. I didn't realize how funny it was. It's milk shooting out the nose funny. But that's not what I focused on last night. I focused on the way Murray's wife talks to him via fax and phone call.

Murray has been married for 25 years in the film. Domestic life has taken it's toll. Thus, the wife will say things like, "Which cabinets should we put in the kitchen?"-then she sends him a fax of the specs. Then she sends him carpet samples, asking him which shade of burgundy he likes. He receives these missives from far away while he stands awash in Japan. It's a dizzying, confusing place. It doesn't help he was lost when he got there. Now he's double lost.

It all reminds me of how I talk to Mr. Hall when he's out on these trips. When he was in Iraq (the first time), Mr. Hall would send me these wonderful emails full of I love you and can't wait until we. Sometimes I couldn't read his emails at work, they just weren't safe. It was so wonderful, he would write of dreams and love and everything it all means to him. Waxing poetic and double dutching joy.

Meanwhile I would write back about taxes, dropping Pancake off at school, questions about mowing the lawn. I would talk about work and getting the oil changed. Emotionally empty every day things. Like ticking off a list.

He then got mad and let me know about it. He needed to hear me, not a to do list. I didn't realize that I was shut off in this way. I didn't realize it was making him mad. But, he told me. And I listened.

This effects every time I write to him or send him a text when he is away. I stay light and positive and effusive. I keep housekeeping conversations to the minimum. I make good use of the cell phone cam. And I will never, ever send him a box of carpet samples ;)




Now go, go see the film! After all, that's Scarlett Johansson's tushy in the opening credits! :)

A few of Mac's favorite things.

1. Trains

2. Half naked dancing girls

Christina Aguilera - New Music - More Music Videos

I think the kid's gonna be alright ;)

This is me, and this is how

This is me in my car up there. My white Capri's are a summer stable. If you embiggen the photo, you can see the ring that's in my blog banner. I love that ring. We bought that ring to celebrate my son turning one. It means as much to me as my wedding ring. I wear both rings every day. One means I'm Mrs. Hall, the other means I'm their Mom.

When I took this photo, I felt a growing ache in my chest. Once familiar and weighty, tucked behind my sternum. It means Mr. Hall is away, on a guard trip. I was wondering when it would show up. I've been so distracted by my work and our cute little monkees. I thought I'd developed an immunity to feeling this. Turns out, I was wrong. It still hurts being away from him.

But, this will be the last trip for the air national guard. Only four more weekends left, one for each remaining month of the year. Then he'll be done and I won't have to share him with the military anymore. And this ache will be just a memory.

But for now, I'll take a deep breath and hugs the kids. This helps a little.

A little.

Ok everybody, get ready to raise those lighters! Because this was the song that was playing when I took that photo.

update-sorry about the advert in the beginning! blame on it on the man!


GUNS N ROSES - Patience
Uploaded by GunsnRoses. - Watch more music videos, in HD!

Never read the craigslist 3sum ads before you go to bed (trust me on this)

So, I was poking around in the pet section of craigslist because I still miss Henry. And with Craigslist pets, you get a ton of 'free to a good home' ads for dogs and there is none of that pesky petfinder $275 dollar adoption fees. Or needing three references and submit to a criminal background check. And having to pass a drug screen.

Wait, that's not right. I think I just make that last one up. Anywhoodle . .

I read about the dogs and then decide I kind of like having a clean lawn and not having a big dog giving me the doe eyes until I walk him. Plus, we can come and go as we please, no kennel fees even. So I look and dream and that satisfies my Henry sadness for now.

Then drifted to the craigslist 3sum ads. GOOD LORD!! Have you people read these things? I was interested about how people advertise for such things. But then again, I'm interested in everything, at least once.

There are piles and piles of these ads. They seem pretty simple, my girl wants this or I want to party for my bf birthday, et cetera. These people seem very simple. They advertise themselves as muscular, trim and shaved. Noone described themselves a bigger or plump. Some put up pictures of big fake boobins and long acrylic nails. Which really, white trash alert! Acrylic nails and bowling balls stapled to your chest is not a good look! How did this become something women want to look like?

This is Shawna Sand. I.do.not.like.her. Because that's the outfit she brings her kids to the beach in. seriously. that outfit is like child abuse or something. look at those stripper heels! Oh I judge her, yes, yes I do!

Anywhoodle back to the 3sum ads. . . .

Then I got to thinkin'. A lot of the adverts were from 2 hours away from me. I live in a largely agricultural state. Lots of dairy, lots of cheese, lots of beer. And lutefisk. Two hours from here is rural in all directions. There is no way these people can be all fit and fake boobin. There's only one plastic surgery shop in this part of the state. And farmers do not make enough cash for that type of thing. They must be lying through their missing teeth I say!

Then I thought some more. There a lot of ads that say, 'we'll entertain'. I think this means they will invite people over for these 3sums. How does that work? Do you make dinner? How do you plan a menu for this? I imagine one must cook light, no gassy foods. Wine should be part of things to loosen everyone up. Not too much wine, or whiskey. This would cause the men to well, have whiskey dick. Plus, you don't want your new friend too drunk. I imagine there will be a lot of bending, twisting and upside down business. This is no good on a full drunk belly.

Also, how does the conversation go? I mean, when the person arrives, what the hell do you talk about? I imagine that the sex is a like a big elephant in the room. It must clogg the chatter quite a bit. This is no good!

And really, threesomes are just no good. In the words of Bill Maher, or (Bill Maher's best friend HEFF) "sex is designed for two people only. If you have a third, someone is always disappointed." And yes, I totally agree. Not that I know anything about this type of thing. OK well, there was this once, maybe twice, but I tell you this-I was an artist once and that's the kind of thing one does while ensconced the studio apartments of friends, lounging on their Indian rugs, basking in the glow of a particularly rousing poetry slam at the local coffee hause. And I never needed to advertise for anything. What? Stop looking at me like that!



ANYWHOODLE!

So then I decided to go to bed because I was getting obsessed with these crazy craigslist ads. I had started to read the various fetishes. People are freaks I tell ya! I am so glad to be married lo these past nine years. Best bedroom loving in the entire world happens between two people who can stare into each other's eyes while bumping uglies. It's all about intimacy and love. Just sayin.

THEN I WENT TO BED. Guess what I dreamt about?

I dreamt I was part of a 3sum with one of those couples. I was smiling and being with the girl. Only she was only half into things. I could feel some dude in the background. Then I realized she was really sad inside and she was also kind of bigger weight wise. She felt self conscious. So dude and I tried to coax her into smiling and being happy with herself. Only the more we tried to make her feel good about herself the more she retreated. And it was sad because I think I liked her. Then I woke up all sad that my 3sum went all sad.

THAT DREAM SUCKED!!

So, let that be a lesson. Never read the craigslist 3sum ads before you go to bed.


Ok! class dismissed!

What are these things?-Answers

What are these things?

1. Air compressor

With the kids' bike tires running low and a soccer ball all but deflated, it was time to conquer my fear of the air compressor. As a nurse, I have a healthy fear of pressurized metal containers of air. Like oxygen tanks. If you twist the nozzle wrong, or drop one of those to the floor, it can blast through concrete walls like a missile. But stuff needed to be inflated. I took a deep breath.

Then it came to me, like manna from heaven. Our wee air compressor is like those "Free Air" machines at the gas stations. I've used those PLENTY OF TIMES!! AND POOF!!! My fear was gone. And now the air compressor is my friend!

2. The drawer of the front loading washer (where the soap goes).

Mr. Hall is a fastidious individual. As such, I leave the dishes and the laundry to him. This why I stood in front of the front loader for a full five minutes trying to figure out where the soap goes Then I noticed the drawer. hee hee hee. LOOK AT ME! FIGURING IT OUT!!

3. the furnace

Mr. Hall had placed a water alarm next to the sub pump on the basement floor. Yesterday it went off. Only, it wasn't water from the sub pump setting it off. I called Mr. Hall, he said, "Where is the water coming from?" I traced the a trail of water to that thing up there. Then I said, "I don't know, it's the big metal thing that blows air."

Yes. I actually said 'the big metal thing that blows air.' You people who knew what this was- you hush!! I had no effing clue. How do you people know these things? So I took a picture of it and sent it to him because I couldn't describe it any further. He said, "Oh, the furnace". And he didn't laugh at me because he likes me.

He then pointed out, it's been really hot lately so the 'coolant' might have 'frozen'. Or, the yellow hose (see the yellow hose in the picture??), that actually goes to the sub pump. It might be blocked and that's why it's dripping water from the side. He asked me to check to see if anything was on the yellow hose. I can't believe he came up with no less than two reasons that the furnace was dripping. That man is a genius.

So I checked the hose.

And now I know-I must be careful where I put things in the basement. I moved a big heavy oak table top right on the yellow hose. This clamped it off. I thought it was odd, the yellow hose, I had no idea what it was. D'oh! MAH BAD!!

And now I know what the furnace looks like and what that yellow hose is. :)


4. The FABOOSH Irish Princess Hair!*


With Mr. Hall gone there is noone to watch the kiddies and we are trying to trim our budget anyway. And something had to be done about my hair. I had had enough!

First I had to use dye remover to remove all the old hair dye. Then I bleached the hair. Then I applied the hair color above. It took five hours and the top layer of my scalp (which is now healed). But dayum! How cute is that color!? Look what I did! So proud of me!

And there was no $200 dollar salon fee attached. Look what I can do when I put my mind to it!

so proud of me!

OK--stay tuned, there will be more learning of basic household appliances, trouble shooting the mowing of the lawn, and personal tips of the new and freshly useful-- Mrs. Hall!


*I am not Irish. at least I don't think I am. :)

Let's play a game-What are these things?

What are these things?

1.

2.

3.

4.

Leave the answers in the comments below.

Real answers tomorrow :)

hee hee hee good luck!

Always look on the bright side of life

That up there use to be my wee avatar. It's me smooching the Mr. Hall. And this is where the saying came from.

OK EVERYBODY!! ALL TOGETHER NOW!!

ALWAYS LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE OF LIFE!!

mechanical bull riding contest in a strip club

That (up there) is a photo from Mr. Hall from his current business trip. After work yesterday, he went to a mechanical bull riding contest in a strip club. I was jealous about it because I would have loved to see something like that! Doesn't it sound like fun?

Mr. Hall said it wasn't that exciting. I guess it takes skill to ride a mechanical bull. You can't just clamp on and be all stiff, it takes a certain talent that most of the strippers lacked I guess. He didn't stay for the stripper's show afterwards, because it was after midnight and he was tired. Hee hee hee.

I've always wondered what it's like in a strip club. Mr. Hall tells me it's not what I think, it's smoky, expensive and the girls smell like stripper sweat. I guess the drinks are expensive too. But he's with a bunch of guys in a bigger city for two weeks. I suspect he'll go to some club with half naked ladies at one point. I wonder if he'll take pictures of them. huh..

None of this worries me though. Because he is mine, all mine. The crazy strippers can look and be all jealous. I love Mr. Hall so much. Can't wait till he comes home :)

A boy named Sue

I am so unbelievably tired this morning. YAWN! There is no Mr. Hall to poke and push out of bed when the kids wake up at six thirty. So tired. But, i'll go to work then I have the next three days off so it'll get better. Yawn! off to make oatmeal :)

Things I get to do when Mr. Hall is gone

In every marriage, no matter how awesome, there are compromises that keep the household peace. One does put the lotion on the skin before it gets the hose again . . . . (for example) However, Mr. Hall will be away for a week for business.

So, without further ado, I present:

Things I get to do when Mr. Hall is gone:


1. I get to paint my fingers and toes INSIDE THE HOUSE!!

This is me and the wee Pancake after our weekly pedicure on the porch. Mr. Hall abhors the smells of nail polish and nail police remover. As you can see, I take great pride in my work. And this painting takes a good hour. So outside we go.

Only outside is flipping hot in the morning and full of mosquitoes at night. GAAH!! I curse Mr. Hall and his sensitive nose! But he's not here, SO INSIDE HERE I COME!!

2. I get to shower in the morning

Mr. Hall thinks people should shower at night. You get dirty during the day and bedtime is for sex. So, for the last decade I've been showering at night or else I get the pinches. And his pinches really hurt people. So I shower and scrub. It's ok, because if I go to bed with my hair wet- it's all poofy the next day. The bigger the hair the closer to God I say.

But I'm tired at the end of the day. I don't want to shower. I just don't want to get pinched. But again, Mr. Hall is GONE BABY GONE! No shower tonight!

3. HELLS YA BODY PILLOW!!!

I got this baby when I was preggers with my daughter and HELLS YA BODY PILLOW!! I call it the nest. AH MAH GEE. Mr. Hall gives it a big frowny face though. Something about it getting in the way of spooning. He can't touch me or something. But he's not here is he? SQUEEE!!! The nest, it waits for ONLY ME!!!

4. I get to eat the good yogurt and drink propel water

Mr. Hall is a yogurt connoisseur. Only we gooble his good yogart so he buys the crap stuff instead. The fruit on the bottom stuff. BAHH!! But he's gone so HA HA HA!! I buy, I gobbble haa haa haa!! and ANNNNDDDD!! I will drink as many propel waters as I GODDAMN WELL PLEASE!!! None of this, "I bought you those for after yoga babe" comments!! None of that, "There's water out of the tap." crap!!

FREEDOM!!!! sweet freedom!!!

Anger as viewed by a nurse

Welcome back to "As viewed by a nurse". Currently my role in nursing is Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner. I will always be a nurse and these stories are what that means to me.

Men often express distress through anger or rage. This will cause adverse attention from their wives, bosses, and the police. They will be told 'get help or get out' 'get help or get fired'. Or the judge will tell them, 'get help or go to jail'. Then they come see me, "To do something about my anger."

I then ask them series of questions which measures their temper. I ask them, Do they raise their voice when they become angry? Do they become irritable or sarcastic? Do they throw things? Punch walls? Have they ever broken anything? What is the most expensive thing they ever broke?

This provides a gauge and give us goals to work on. If they don't raise their voice or become sarcastic, anger is not an issue. If they have smashed their flat screen T.V, put gaping holes in the drywall or busted out the windshield of their truck, anger is an issue. I see many scrapped up knuckles and forearm scars at my job. This is anger released onto objects.

Then I move onto the other area of anger-anger released onto others. Have they raised their voice at others? What about shoving? What about kicking, slapping or punching? Do they get into bar fights a lot? Then I ask about their significant others. Have they hurt their wives, girlfriends or partners? What about their kids? Have they ever put anyone into the hospital?

Then comes the clincher questions. How do they feel about the yelling? How do they feel about the fact that they busted a bat over someones back? Does it bother them that they smashed their flat screen? Do they feel bad about it?

One guy said yes, the flat screen was tough to take. The other guy, that busted out the windshield of his truck with his fists- yes, these were regrettable moments. Only because they still had payments on the T.V and the windshield repair cost 450 dollars.

That is the decisive factor. If they do not see a problem or feel justified with busting up others and objects up with words or deeds-then they are sociopaths. That particular brand of psychopathology is not treated with medication. In fact, there is no treatment at all. Except jail.

Sometimes, with some patients, the anger is not apparent through answers or tales of misdeeds. Like with my patient Adam (not his real name of course), he was about twenty years old. Young. Very young. He was quiet and gave one or two word answers. During his intake appointment, my mouth went dry and I felt myself shaking. I did not feel threatened, and make no mistake, I have felt threatened before. I was just completely knocked sideways by his anger. It was unbelievable.

He would show up month after month, not saying anything about his anger. I would point it out though, the clenched fist, jaw, and the muscle spasms in his neck and biceps. I would point out his short, forceful bully breath. 'That isn't anger' he said, 'It's just piss poor sleep.' This was his reason for seeing me. It was no surprise the medications we tried did nothing. Sleep was never the real issue.

Each time I would see him, I would do my yoga breathing to slow down my shaking. I would sip water to help with my dry mouth. I would not challenge him, I would just let his unspoken rage fill the room. It could have filled the whole building. It went on like this for almost a year. He just kept coming.

Finally, he started hinting that things were not so well. He had to drop out of school because threatened to rip a guys arm off. This was the first time he saw something what was glaringly apparent all along. He looked scared.

Then, for the first time, he made eye contact and said a whole sentence. He said he didn't want to be like this anymore. I was so excited I could have stood up and cheered. I could have shouted to the rootops. Finally I thought, finally we're getting somewhere! I didn't though, I just quietly acknowledged the truth that he had found.

It took six more months to convince him to go to counseling and anger management class. He did go though. And maybe just maybe, given enough time and effort, he won't be so angry anymore.

One dress for dipping, one for after

Today, The Tribe Called Hall to the big lake for the church picnic.



I wore one dress and packed another. One for dipping, one for after.

At the picnic I gathered with others and we formed a line. There was singing and rejoicing. When it was my turn, I walked into the lake and made my declaration. Then the pastor gently lowered me into the lake and I felt it gloosh over me. Then all of me was under the water. Then I was lifted up into the bright summer sun.

And now I am baptized.

This photo below is not me, but it pretty much explains how it felt hugging Mr. Hall after.

And the song in here, "Down to the river", it meant the world to me when I first heard it, and now it means even more.