Good, even better

Good is eating cottage cheese right from the container with a smaller spoon. It's daintier that way.

Even better is waking up from a wacky dream. A dream where I am puddling along atop a tractor. Much to my suprise, I start to sink into the seat. Now, I am the tractor driving mostly straight, In too short of a time, I wake absolutely roasting hot. Swept downstairs all sweaty seeking oasis. In the end, I'm in the kitchen, gently chugging chilly milk right from the jug.

Ahhh!

Tasty!

Irony . . . oh sweet I RON KNEE

I was annoyed at the kids because they wouldn't hurry up for 6.00 pm church on Saturday night because they normally don't go to church on Saturday night. I was all, get yer shoes on, get your shoes on and on and on AND OH MY GAW!!! Why do I have to repeat myself sixteen million times to get them to do the most simplest things?

This is a daily, no multiple daily event. The repeating. Kids just don't have a sense of urgency. They feel NO need to stop the potty jokes and giggles long enough to get ready. So, I repeat. GAH. Sometimes I really wonder what people without kids do with all their brain power. With their free time and extra income. I bet they travel to Europe. Paris even. I'm a little jealous. I wanna European vacation.

So I start to get huffy and stuff. They get their shoes on but they won't zip their coats. GAH. But, it get done because we can't go to church on Sunday this week. Because I have a special yoga class on Sunday. A workshop even. It's called:

"Yoga for Fertility Workshop"

Guess my European vacation will have to be a virtual one for a while :P

OH irony. OH SWEET I RON KNEE!!

the importance of projects

I am, by default and design, a lazy individual. I need projects. And side projects. Otherwise I grind to a frickin' halt.

This is what I'm thinking about today. This being a snowy day when patients are not showing up and I have no back up projects. I didn't bring my book or needle point. And this blog is falling off too.

I blame the latter on God. Now that my faith is growing stronger, all this stuff I use to write about isn't there to write about. I don't really struggle with internal demons, anxieties or social mores. I blog about my kids but I also facebook about them. So a lot of content is shifted to there.

OK

SO

Then, my mind has nothing to focus on. Nothing to obsess over. I mean, sure, I could look up how soon I can test for pregnancy again but that's no fun. I've made the unilateral decision to place that in God's hands. Not the pregnancy test, but the pregnancy. I don't have to test anything. My body will let me know if I'm pregnant.

Then, I start thinking about the foster care classes. That will be every Tuesday x 10 weeks starting in a few weeks but even those are just part of a process. A process that takes 3-4 months which is nothing to talk about. I mean, again, this is in God's hands. We are letting it all happen. We welcome the gifts He is about to give us.

Then, well, that's about it.

If I come up with anything new or get knocked up I'll let you know.

Meanwhile, maybe I'll slide into random thoughts. Those are good. Maybe I'll try of series like that :)

I onced shoved Mr. Hall in an art museum

Mr. Hall will be going to the same museum tomorrow. Let's hope there is less violence.



When we were dating, I shoved Mr. Hall in an art museum.

It was the post modern wing.

Mr. Hall has absolutely no patience for post-modern art.

It riles him. He feels this type of art is a scam. A waste. That it means nothing. Well, it means the buyer is a fool.

He said this as we walked through the post modern wing. Walking through the art installations.





I did my best to educate him on the theories and concepts behind post modern art. How the artists challenge themselves to reinvent what art through different mediums, different arrangements of objects. This way, art can be found anywhere and everywhere. They challenge all of us to define what art is. Or what it can be made of. I say this like a tourguide. All chipper, smiley and earnest.


That's just crap he says.





This goes on for some half an hour.




I try explaining it again. We both view a large painted canvas. It is solid yellow with the word commerce in green block letters.

Ya know what that says, he says to me, that says SUCKER!






I begin to bite my tongue. After all, I am not a fan of post modern art. In fact, I believe that it's better as a concept than a reality. I believe that post modern art fails to make the artist work at developing their ideas and honing their craft. It fails to challenge their creativity. It fails as art too. It is not art.

Yet, I am upset that Mr. Hall is not listening to me. Not even considering other ideas beyond his own. Even though I don't agree with post modern art, I appreciate that someone went to the trouble of giving it a go.





The final straw was two large squares of sheet metal, suspended from the ceiling, painted solid red. They are hung askew, tilted to the right.





He sees this and smoke comes out of his ears. THIS IS CRAP!! THAT IS JUST SHEET METAL HANGING FROM THE CEILING!!


I see the humor in his frothiness. I try to playfully push him, in a cute girlfriend kind of way.

I end up hauling off and shoving him. I really shoved him hard and from behind, with both hands even. I knock him off balance.

I was caught off guard by this. Such violence is not me. But I like it. I am very pissed off at this point. I mean, can't he just expand his mind a little? I'm all steamed.

So I attempt to shove him again. Only this time, he grabs my wrists.

My husband has an excellent kinesthetic use of his own power. He was deft with his defense.

We both stopped. Realized how ridiculous this was. Laughed a little. It was odd. And never repeated.

But even now, some eight years later, I am still perturbed. He had such ire over post modern art. Still does. And really, I agree with him.

I'm still mad though. Not sure why. But, either way, post modern art is pretty much crap.

I leave you, as I began, with a contrast between Norman Rockwell and Jackson Pollock.

Guess which I am a fan of.




The Connoisseur by Norman Rockwell circa 1962


Have a good weekend.

And try not to get into any art related fights. Unless it's body painting, then, by all means-have a go ;)

Family love, day three and three quarters

I had a statue of an Indian woman in my house for years and year. Indian as in Hindu/Buddha type woman. It was a leftover from my love affair with Buddhism. This love affiar is now a sweet remembrance and not a present part of my life. Don't get me wrong, I love a chubby Budda as much as the next one. Asian philosophy is a kind and wonderful way to think about life. But, it's not my religion.

I fall under the category of garden variety Christian. I co-lead a women's bible study group. Within that group are women that run more fundamental than I. Fundamental meaning they don't watch R rated movies, drink alcohol or read books like Lord of the Rings. They're kind of like nuns. Only they're married with kids, just like me.

These women I study with, they've been with me through my miscarriages. There has been some movement about this in terms of healing. Mr. Hall and I have started to talk about miscarriages like it really happened. We lost real babies. Complete with names.

SO, here we go.

The first baby we lost lived six weeks in my belly. I didn't really have a name picked out, but we've named him John.

The second baby we lost may or may not have been real. I only had a pregnancy test and my left over HCG (that's the hormone that makes the pregnancy test turn positive) may have been left over from John.

The third baby was already named. I called her Chloe. She made me super sick during the 16 weeks I had her in my belly. Even when her soul went to heaven (at 11 weeks) my body was still trying to take care of hers. My placenta was still pumping out hormones and nutrients. I feel enormously happy about this. Even after she was physically taken from my womb, my body started producing milk to feed her. I am happy about this too.

And we still love them. John and Chloe. They are as real to us as Pancake and Mac. And we have our faith. I lean on this and wow is that healing! Some days the pain of all this knocks me down and consumes me. Some days I feel such joy that I had them even if it was a few weeks. On those days I really feel I'll see them again. God didn't take them from me, I'll see them in heaven. I can feel this on days I let God in to heal me.

Which brings us to now. Mr. Hall and I are without barriers to pregnancy. No more birth control. We've surrendered our will to God and are letting Him work through this, through us. And naturally I turn to my Christian sisters. Even the fundamentalist ones because they love me and support me in awesome ways.

One thing they did say was to rid my house of false idols. Which sounds silly. But, we already love the baby that will come next. And it's best to care for her every way possible.

So, I gave away my Indian woman sculpture in the name of family love :)