So, I've been thinking about TV lately. Everyone blogger is doing their rundown of what they watch and doing reviews. So hear's mine:
True Blood: A bit much but I'm commited to the end. All because Jason Stackhouse said, "It really hurts down there. It's like when my uncle had gout, I've got gout of the dick!"
Mad Men:
Need I say more?
THAT'S IT! I don't care anymore about anything else. And when these shows run out, I'm done. I don't have cable any more. And I only have about an hour and half after the kids go to bed to do what I want to do. Which is often taken up by bible study, cross stitch, yoga, marital time with Mr. Hall or reading.
I'm exhausted at the end of the hour and a half. So no, TV can suck it. It' my hour and half. I give it only to those that are worthy.
So, Pancake and I were doing crafts on the couch this Sunday. She has a kid's knitting tool, I have my counted cross stitch. Everyone was settling down for a nap. Mr. Hall put the wee Mac down, despite his howling protests. I nestled on the couch. It was a good two hours before I surfaced. I can't tell you people how much I luuurrrvvvess the naps.
I gain 10 IQ points per half hour of nap. And my mood-OH MY GAWD! I'm all happy and talking in my faux french accent again.
Anywhoodle. When I woke up, I woke up Pancake and said, "Let's go shopping before the others wake up." Two seconds later she's by the door, shoes on and everything. Faster than a speeding bullet I tells ya.
Then we're driving along. I'm chewing on a chocolate granola bar and drinking Diet Coke. Now, I have problem with DC. I will drink up to 10 cans a day if left to my own devices. I realize I have a problem. That's why I stopped drinking the stuff. Except this day, I needed the burn and jolt that only comes from the sweet, sweet DC. Oh MANNA FROM HEAVEN!!
Then, I began passing the DC and granola bar to Pancake. She sipped quietly and chewed thoughtfully. She looked at me with wide eyes. Then, with a small voice she said, "Momma? Why do I get to have soda and the bar today?"
I could tell the wheels had been turning in her head. She never gets soda and those bars are my bars. Even Daddy can't have any. So, as you might guess, this was huge for her. I think I scared her a little.
"Oh," I said, "You've been such a good girl today, and I could tell you had so much fun at church and Mommy is so proud of you."
She didn't respond to that. She just kept staring at me, then the soda and then the chocolate granola bar. She was all tight lipped, silent and amazed. I bet she was thinking, "Best to just let it happen and say nothing."
tee hee hee.
It's important to mess with your kid's head once in a while
I didn't quite expect to be this way today. Well, this way the past week. But after I got dipped, and after multiple women's bible study nights and consistent church going, I feel a fundamental change happening. A change in me.
It's subtle, but it's there. It's all for the good though. I feel calmer, closer to the earth. There is less verbiage bouncing in my brain and I am here again.
It's affecting how I take in though. Like the shows I watch, the stripper stories from coworkers. All if it is affected. I've managed to play both sides for a while now, the angel and the devil. But the ugly is much less fun now. Less cheeky.
I feel like I'm leaving chunks of me behind. The chunks that were not really fun anyway. It's so weird all this changing. I should have known though. One can't get dipped and remain the same.
I've always been a fan of "Madonna and Child" paintings. Madonna means Mary, Mother of Christ. Having been raised catholic, these types of paintings were found at my house and at church.
I still like the paintings, for the religious symbolism and for the fact that there is a mother and child in these paintings.
I deal with patients every single day. I count the victories, the patients that are sober for 10 years after having a forty year history of alcohol dependence. The patients that are off probation, keeping their job, saving their marriage and generally doing great. Which is different then when I first see them. When they first come to me, my patients are usually a mess.
Then, after they come, it is my job to help them sort things out and guide them on the path of getting better. Which is great, if they cooperate. But sometimes they cooperate a little. Sometimes they don't cooperate at all.
Which is kind of tough for me to tolerate. Because I am a nurse, I care and help outline a plan to get better. But, they are in charge. It's up to them to follow the plan.
So, the last few days I've had people really challenge me with their not cooperating. The worst is then they don't cooperate and claim I don't care. That I am a vending machine to dispense pills. A tool of the man that only serves to make their problems worse. A tool of uncaring.
This is my Achilles tendon. To be accused of not caring gets to me. Because if there is one thing I do do, it's care.
We're trying to for a third baby again . . . or, as Mr. Hall says:
"Game on!"
For us, first came the love, then came the marriage, then came the baby in the baby carriage.
And make no mistake, there is no love like married love. Living together doesn’t even come close. At least not for us. Then there is the love I have for him- because he made me pregnant. Our babies grew inside my belly because of him. There are no words for this. Just paroxysms of joy and permeated bliss.
Which I find myself feeling, over and over again, in the dark. We turned off the lights and we crawl into bed, feeling the warmth of the burgundy comforter. We nuzzle and spoon in our cherry wood sleigh bed. Our babies snoozing sleepily across the hall. Babies we birthed. All of us here, home.
In the dark, during these nights, I feel whole and full of God’s grace. I feel the swirling energy emanating from inside and outside our bodies. In the dark, when we are bound round each other, smooshed and warm, I feel touched by the hand of God. I feel the miracle of our marriage. A miracle we've been blessed with.
And maybe, just maybe, before next month, we will be blessed with yet another miracle still.
At 2.22 am last night the wee Mac was yelping on the bathroom floor. He's had a cold recently and was cough, cough, coughing most of the night. "I gotta go potty!!!", he yelped. With my eyes still closed I yelped back, "YOU'RE IN THE BATHROOM!! JUST GO!!!" This did no good.
I got up and helped the little guy. He's a such a heavy sleeper, sleeps through thunderstorms and everything. So even though he made it to the bathroom, he couldn't make it any further. He was just sitting on the floor, like his legs didn't work. Poor little guy.
I had to carry him back to bed even. Then he starting coughing again. Cough, cough, coughing and sleeping at the same time. It's a skill. I can't really sleep if he's coughing though. I wake up every so often and listen to him breathe and cough. Cause that's what Mommies do, its involuntary.
At 3.37 am I heard Mr. Hall running the water in the sink, shaving and swearing under his breath. He'll let his furriness grow until guard duty and then hack it off. I heard him make coffee and head out the door. Three more weekends of guard duty and he'll be retired. Can't wait.
At the butt crack of dawn the kids piled into bed with me. I didn't look at the time because I didn't want to cry. It wasn't all that light out yet, I knew that much. They did their best to heed my warning of "You can both stay here but!! NO talking, no singing, no twitching or moving!!" Alas, they couldn't help themselves. They get so excited in the morning. Out of bed we went. It was 7.15 am. Not too shabby actually. Like sleeping in. ;)
Been a good day. Parks, games of tag and general tomfoolery. Came home, had lunch complete with apple juice. Gave Mac some cough medicine for his nap. Pancake settled in for some Lego Harry Potter. And I did a face plant for two hours.
GODDAMM that was a good nap!! I feel ten years younger.
Then, tomorrow, Mr. Hall comes home. Woo hoo! I do so miss him on these weekends :)
Mr. Hall receives many mini phone calls from me throughout the day. These phone conversations are about a minute in length. I call to share some random thoughts, to tell him how my day is going or giggle over what happened last night. Sometimes I call him and say nothing but I love you. We average 4-7 phone calls during the day. We have done this since we started dating.
Then, sometimes, my life gets busy and I can't call so much. Sometimes I don't get to call all day. Then, when I come home at night, he says, "I was worried, you didn't call today."
Last night, at my women's bible study group, we were studying The Book of Acts. At the end of the meeting, as is our want, we take prayer requests. We all take turns and ask the group to pray for us with something that we need. It was a lovely meeting with pastries and pleasantries. I was light hearted and smiley. Then it was my turn. I was going to cop out and say something about praying for more patience with my patients.
Instead, this came out:
"Well, maybe I should talk about what's really on my mind."
Then, I could barely choke out the rest. The rest being that in the prior six months I've had two miscarriages and we are trying again and I'm scared. Then I seriously lost it. Snot bubble cry. One of the women came behind me and started rubbing my back. Another ran and got a tissue. It just came out like a hurricane and then I lost the power to use my words. I COULDN'T USE MY WORDS.
Then one of the women said, "I want to do a healing ritual. Let's do a laying on of hands. Is that ok?" She looked at me. This particular women had hugged me in church the week prior. She's a hugger. I let her hug me.
I really didn't know what "laying on of hands" was, but I said yes. And that photo up there, that's kind of what happened. Only that's not me. But, that up there, that's what happened!
Then the hugger said the words I couldn't say, all wrapped up in prayer. "Please Lord, let her lay down all the hurt and pain from losing her babies, let her give all the pain to you. Let her heal Lord. Let her know your love. Let her feel your presence her now."
At that point I was kind of freaked out because well, do you see the photo up there? Then I made a conscious decision to deep breathe and let it all come.
The women went on, "Lord let her know she doesn't have to carry this, this is yours, let her lay it down, right here, let her feel your arms lifting her up. Let her feel the joy of making another child, of creating a miracle. Lift her up lord, right here. Let her feel the joy."
And did I mention one of the women started speaking in tongues? DID I?? Speaking in tongues was a freshly explained concept to me, just that night in fact. It's in the Book of Acts.
This went on for about 15 minutes. All the while these hands were laid on me. Some where gripping, some were lightly touching and some were just laying there. It was kind of crazy but I let go and let it all happen.
And I can say this. Today I feel absolutely fabulous. I am joy upon joy. Praise be indeed ;)
P.S. Maybe these are my sister wives in disguise no?
I'm reading my second book this week about polygamy. This one is fascinating. The woman up there, she chose that life. She had other options, really, really good options. But she choose to be a second wife. She's an older, well spoken and funny woman. This book cracks me up half the time. Which really, you won't expect with that title up there.
It's really fascinating, polygamous marriage. The whole concept being if a man married seven women, and they had many babies, they would go to heaven and get their own planet and he would become a God. The wives would become Goddesses on these planets. The single and barren women of the community would be angels, serving the different planets. This is called 'the principle' or celestial marriage.
However, while on earth, the sister wives have a much different go of it. I think I enjoy the romantic ideal of sister wives. A community of women tending to their houses together. I've never had a sister or community of Mommies to live nearby. No one teaches me how to bake bread or sew quilts! Where do I go for advice on diaper rash or naughty two year old tantrums?? I go to Google!! GAAAH!!! Where's my sister wives???!!!
But, their reality is much, much different. It's a pastoral life, all isolated and hard work. The poverty is bone crushing. Sometimes the sister wives are crazy and not at all friendly. The wives' role are bound to planting and harvesting crops, sewing their own clothes, making the meals, tending the children and keeping a clean house.
And constantly being pregnant.
Which is what the sex is for. It's the only reason for the sex. Because the more kids, the more you populate your planet in heaven.
And did I mention the fifty kids? Piles and Piles of them. As a results of all this, most plural wives die before they're fifty. At this point I remember I love my life and move on.
Because, really, I would never want to share Mr. Hall. He looks at me with crazy love. I am number one wife. And no, even if we got our own planet in Heaven, I wouldn't want to share him with six women and have our collective fifty kids running around the house. Seriously. Plus, I don't like really like baking.
There is only one Mrs. Hall, and this is the way it will always be.
I want everyone to know that I do, in fact, read the comments. I've been so busy I haven't had time to comment back. And then, when I do have the time, I've lost what I was going to say. But let me say thank you, thank you for speaking up. And thank you lurkers, you guys rock too. :)
That being said, here's a rather dark song from R.E.O. Speedwagon called "Golden Country" I don't think R.E.O Speedwagon gets enough credit, they have rocking songs but lack the fucked up lead singer that make most bands of this era legendary. They are earnest, have awesome lyrics and have lengthy guitar solos. So raise those lighters people, give up the goat, and let's get to it.
Here are three from this past week. They are effed up indeed.
The Bill Gates dream: In this dream, I fell in love and wanted to marry Bill Gates. Let me state that during the day, I have absolutely no interest in that man. He is skinny and geeky. I have no attraction to this person as a man or a media figure. In fact, eww.
Yet there it was, me falling for him. I was really aware of it in my dream. I also aware of the gigantic pile of money he has. I was very careful to separate my feelings for him and the influencing affect that money has. I was careful to offer to sign a pre-nup to demonstrate how committed I was.
I can say that in this case, I was morally intact, even in the dream state.
The Pie Dream: I was in a residential neighborhood. There was a block party of sorts going on and each house was open for visitors. One house was a pet store filled with aquariums and exotic fish. They also sold snakes. This part of the dream makes sense. We recently bought our daughter a corn snake.
After leaving that house, I saw a group of ladies gathering in the front yard of the house next door. The women belonged to some sort of club and I knew I was not a member. They gathered around a circular picnic table that had many tastey pies on display. I hopped over the fence knowing full well what I was about to do.
I walked right up to the women and said I was with Karen. I said she was coming soon. This was a lie. I lied, looked everyone in the eye and scooped up two slices of pie, one cherry, one apple. They looked scrumptious!
As I was scooping people started questioning me. They didn't know any Karen. Then I said, noo! Not Karen, Susan. There was general confusion but I just didn't care. Those pies looked sooo goood!
Which really, this relates to something Mr. Hall said recently. Act like you know what you are doing, where you are going, walk with purpose and people won't bother you. People like security guards or bosses. So this is what I was doing in the dream-testing this out. And it got me some pie!
Unfortunately, my alarm went off before I tasted the pies. :( !!!!!
The ants in the jam dream: Mr. Hall and I were getting ready, back stage, for our debut on Saturday Night Live. I was putting on make up and he came to me with an open jar of jam. He was miffed because I had left it open in the living room. I am a messy person, this type of behavior from me is not unheard of. We kind of giggled about it. Then I took two spoonfuls of the tasty jam. It was blackberry, all dark and sticky stems and such.
Then I started brushing my teeth only I noticed some bits of blackberry on my toothbrush. Then I started noticing bits of blackberry coming out of my mouth. Then I realized it wasn't blackberries at all, but ants! Ants got all up in the jam jar when I left it out with the top off. I wasn't freaked out, but it was gross.
There's like six more hours of this dream but I'm done talking about it.
SO!!
WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED??
My dreams can be so vivid and take up a lot of energy. These dreams are exhausting and kind of piss me off. I can say this:
I need to start taking control of my subconscious. Because all this vivid garbage is useless. I need start bossing my subconscious around, tell it to put some lovey dreams with Mr. Hall in the projector.
Yeah, that's what I'll do!
I'm in charge here! Not my subconscious!!!
RAWRR!!!
I want some dreams with naughty Mr. Hall time, then we go flying over beautiful mountains!!
Mr. Hall and I are at dinner. Babysitter booked, night to ourselves. Oh Glory Be.
I was kind of blubbering, softly though. We were looking through the menus and I was trying to not to talk about ovulation apps I downloaded on my phone. He doesn't like me getting obsessed. But I have to keep track of things now, closely. And part of me is still scared.
"What? What's wrong?", he says.
"Well, I just find it too much sometimes. And I want to sign up for Mamaste, the prenatal yoga, with the special yoga teacher. But, do I tell her what happened? I don't want to weigh her down with knowing that me, one of her students, has had two miscarriages. I don't want her to be sad and watching me during class. I've been thinking about it a lot and I don't know what to do. I know it's silly, I'm not even pregnant yet. But I can't not tell her. But I mean, I mean, it could happen again.", I say.
(The waiter takes our orders, I order a strawberry daiquiri for my dinner drink.)
"Nothing's going to happen babe. It'll be alright.", he says, staring. I can tell I've prickled him.
"Look, it's foolish to say that. I mean, chances are, everything will be alright this time. But there is a chance it won't. And I'm still sad about the last babies. I mean, it's ok sad, but I'm still sad. I'm happy though, more happy then sad. Still working my way through all of this." And I'm looking at him and he has softened.
He's smiling now and says, "There is one way to know things will be alright."
"How's that?", I ask.
"We can have faith." He said this, looking directly at me.
Then I feel so happy because he makes me so happy when he says stuff like this. And when he says stuff like this I believe him. Then I realize I'm kind of sobbing so I saunter to the loo and clean up a bit. I come back to the table to find a king size, pale green margarita where my strawberry daiquiri should be.
"Don't sip this. Drink it.", he commands, "I told them to make it strong. And don't be slow because there's another one after this for you. "
The taste of the thing was crazy. It was really, really jarring. Strawberry drinks are so much different then the pale green monster before me. I sipped and shook my head involuntarily from side to side. All the while making a pucker yuck face. However, I knew I was in no position to argue.
So I breathed out, like fogging up a mirror, held my breath and sucked the juice in. Taking big gulps and hoofing it down. And I must say, the pale green monster gets the job done nicely. About 3/4 of the way through I was giggling. I giggle ferociously when I'm drunk. Everything is just so funny. The table is funny, the drink cups are funny, the lighting is funny, the food is funny, I'm funny, Mr. Hall is funny. I laugh and laugh.
I finished off the one. My belly was bursting with margarita goodness. We munched on chips while that absorbed a little. Then the next one came. And I was able to finish a good half of it.
Then I noticed the car was funny. Well, not the car, but the fact that we parked right outside the door of the restaurant but now it seemed to far away. That was so funny. Then I noticed Mr. Hall was kind of holding me up. That was hilarious. I must have laughed the entire ride home over this.
Maybe this is why Mr. Hall limits my adult beverage intake while in public. I am a mess and can't walk very well. Huh, well, anywho . . .
Another thing I noticed was my lack of pain. I had been hitting the yoga mat hard lately, beating it like it owed me money. My legs, belly and calves were throbby sore all week. But with that much booze on board, I knew the meaning of feel no pain. It was wonderful.
I was put to bed and that was funny. Mr. Hall napped beside me for a while. It took a good hour for the room to take a square shape again. It was a surreal night all clouded in pale green goodness.
And nights like these, this is why I love Mr. Hall. ;)
Thanks everyone for the booze suggestions!!! Will sample and report back!
This photo is from awkwardfamilyphotos.com
People have a 100 things about me list in their blogs. I got no gumption to accomplish that kind of list. So instead. Here's eight.
1. I named my blog Mrs. Hall because I wanted there to be no doubt of who I am.
2. Because of my ADD, I can appear quite daffy and disorganized. People think I am not so smart. But that's not true. So, I use to do things to prove I was smart, like using big words all the time or becoming a fan of R.E.M even though I didn't like them. But I don't have to do that anymore, because I'm ok with all of me and who I am.
3. I like to talk in a french accent when I'm all happy and goofy. I like to use a Pakistani/Indian accent when telling my kids to do something. That was until I did this at a grocery store and then noticed a small, sarong wearing Indian woman standing next to me in line. Now I reserve that kind of behavior for home. Well, the french accent comes out whenever. That's the funner accent though.
4. I need to increase my tolerance for my holler monkees. Their noise and constant motion is getting to me lately. I need to chillax. breathe . . . breathe . . . .
5. Part of the problem with being really smart and analytical is that when I do get drunk, I am analyzing my drunk state. I note how I feel and different bodily sensations in relation to how much or what kind of alcohol I have ingested. BUT. I've noticed that if I drink more I can stop this foolishness and enjoy being lubricated. WEE HEE!!
6. My husband is my everything.
7. I have a plan if he dies. I would take three months of hard core mourning. Wailing, howling, wearing black-- the whole nine yards. Then I would start dating, spending a month trying out different men. Then six months of dating someone awesome. Awesome to me, awesome to the kids, awesome all around. And within a year I would be remarried.
8. I've very proud of the fact that my mom and I still have crazy issues but because we love my kids/her grand kids so much, we are willing to work on it. And now we can even spend the day together not fighting. This I did not think was possible. Yet, there it is. :)
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