Eric Northman vs. Alcide: two enter, only one can survive

Alcide is up there. He is a werewolf on the show true blood. I wonder and stare at those muscles when he appears. Especially the muscles right above his jeans, where love handles usually are. I wonder what it would take for Mr. Hall to puff out like that. I wonder about Alcide's manly abilities. Beyond lifting heavy things and putting them down.

I wonder why this appeals to me, the Alcide muscles. I mean, I've never been much of a beefcake type of girl. So why does Alcide make me wonder and stare? I don't think Mr. Hall could puff out like he does. Alcide, well the guy who plays him, is probably 6 foot 4 and has been working out since junior high school. Mr. Hall is five foot ten and has a body style more of the Eric Northman type.

Northman is up there. He does not have the bulging muscles that make me wonder about his prowess. I don't need to wonder because I can already tell. No need to be all puffed out about it. It's subtle and strong. That is what Northman has-nuance. And better acting skills. And better story lines.

And the ability to wear the hell out of a pastel blue sweater. Most of last season no less.

Normally, I don't think these thoughts but being 8 months pregnant my brain isn't working in the usual way. It's a weird, wonkey world all up in my head and I'm becoming a lot simplier. I'm too tired to think deep thoughts. :)

So yeah, bring on the pretty men. They please me. Especially the Northman. :)

Dealing with my foster mom energies

This is me yesterday. With my daughter Pancake. And a turtle. At a zoo. :)

SO. Becoming a foster family is providing some good blog fodder. It's hard though, I can't really write anything about anything but I want to provide some insider information about the process. That way I can share what I'm learning and encourage others who might be thinking about becoming a foster family.

Right now, we are doing what is called 'respite' care. Not full on foster care, but temporary care to give a break to foster parents. Basically, it's like babysitting at this point. We've had the same child twice now. Again, we'll call him Sam here.

Sam has a birth family and our job is to help support a reunification plan with that family. He's staying with us more and more lately which makes a thousand and one questions swirl around in my brain. Followed by a thousand emotions.

All these questions and emotions are largely self centered. I want to know why the birth family isn't following their plan to get better to get Sam back. I want to know what role the Dad has. I realize he's a guest of the jail system, but when does he get out? Can he take Sam to live with him?

The first questions, about the birth family getting better, are tough for me. I'm in mental health. I know about mental illness, addiction and general behaviors normally seen on the show COPS. Well, I know about them from a clinical point of view. But, being with this kid is opening up a bridge to the actual reality of it.

It's hard because I want to get in there, with the birth family, design a treatment plan and get on with it. However, that is not my job. They have social workers and counselors and treatment teams. There is a plan. Again, my job is to care for the kid a few weekends a month.

Then. There is the other family. The ones Sam lives with during the week. She is kin. She provides kinship/foster care for Sam. She has to deal with birth family not getting better too. Only it's her family. When we do the drop off/pick up for little Sam, I see the pain in her face and it just.frickin.kills me.

I don't have the protection of clinical detachment here. She is not my patient, but someone who loves Sam just like we do. I want to raise my hand and volunteer to be Sam's full time caregiver while the birth family gets their act together. That is what real foster care is.

Then, if I look deeper, I realize I want to adopt the little guy. But use an open adoption model so we can still keep in contact with his birth family. Then I realize I have to stop.

This isn't about me. It's about all this gifts my family has been given. I have a fantastic marriage, two awesome and loving kids. And a big, round belly full of number 3. God gave us these gifts so we can share them. This journey of becoming a foster family is not something I am in charge of. It's my job to let it all happen.

God has this all planned out anyway.

So. I'll let go and let God guide the way.

:)

Here is the church, here is the steeple-God save me from your people

I’ve been getting ancy lately with my fellow brothers and sisters at church. Not so much ancy but irritated.

Not so much with all of my brothers and sisters but those who post pictures of themselves gleefully eating at that chicken restaurant which I won't name because I'm not interested in getting traffic about it on my blog.

Which is not an entire surprise. My church people tends to run a little more fundamental and I'm from a smaller town and well, bud light is the beer of choice. And I don't really care about the particular issue that is driving them to that greasy chicken restaurant but it's that fact that that has become a hot button issue. A polarizing point where people gather round.

Much like the Runner recall debate a few months ago, this chicken thing is like a bell that calls people apart. And I didn't care about that particular political mess either. Except to say my Mom was part of it by wearing a sandwich sign and walking up and down downtown. AND SHE DIDN'T CALL ME TO LET ME KNOW THIS.

SO THERE IS NO PHOTO OF THAT. I scolded her about it. BECAUSE MY 70 year old MOM WAS WALKING UP AND DOWN DOWNTOWN WITH A SANDWICH BOARD ON. How awesome is that?

And it's not that I don't care about the underlying issues, it's that you can't have a reasonable debate about politics or religion. EVER. It gets all frothy mouthed and angry. And polarizing and ugly. I for one have had enough ugly to last me a lifetime.

The problem though, is the photos. Gleeful people standing in the chicken line.
That is what irritates me. People celebrating an anti-stance. In such an inane way. Why celebrate your beliefs at a place that is a machine for environmental destruction and animal abuse? Most likely they provide no health insurance for minimum wage employees. Corporations are ugly places. It's ugly framed at the ugly store. On facebook. By my Christian brothers and sisters.

ugh.

errggghh.

@#@$@#%$%@Q#!#$!$!~~~~!!!!!!

LOOK.

We are called to love as GOD LOVED US.

These photos are not spreading love. They are spreading ugly and sad. I get sad when I look at them and make me question my choice in churches. I am a Christ follower. And I choose to love all these people, even in the ugly photos. I'll pray about this and let God lead me.

Because my fight is not with them, but with the spirits between us. My struggle is not with them, but with the enemy working inside them. And I will let God's love rule.

Ephesians 6:12 (NIV version)

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

it all started @ 2.53 am this morning

OOOOOOOOFFFFTTT!!

so i woke up and for lands sake i had to go potty. only i couldn't wake myself up because it was the third time i woke up that night. it was like try to surface from deep sea diving. i made it though. then i got out of bed and my horizontal hold shifted in a see-saw pattern. I made it though. And that's all that matters.

It's been about a month since I slept through the night. offt.

then i woke up at 5.30 and decided to screw working out i'm tired.

6.50. Woke up too late to make breakfast, needed to hit the mcdonalds. every time i order a medium latte and an egg mcmuffin. EVERY TIME I ORDER IT'S AN ORDEAL FOR THE GIRL TAKING MY ORDER. The egg mcmuffin part is ok, she gets that. But ordering a medium latte is akin to speaking Chinese appearently.

It's 7 am now.

'A COFFEE?'

"No, a medium latte please".

"DO YOU MEAN A COFFEE?"

"Um, no, I would like a medium latte please."

I don't want a coffee, I want a medium latte. Latte is french for milk. Which is steamed and put into a delicious coffee beverage. Which the girl has never head of despite it being on the menu. RIGHT THERE. UNDER THE WORD LATTE.

Frustrated, I slam my hand down on the steering wheel because I have to do this every.single.time. I realize I look like crazy person but noone can see my hands so it doesn't count. And I don't snap at the McDonald's coffee girl because I'm better than that.

7.35. I get to work and the door is locked. Mondays and Tuesdays are my days at a tiney tiny clinic. With a security guard about the same age as Grandpa Simpson. His hearing aid is constantly high pitched humming. He forgot to unlock the door.

SO. I am noticing something lately. Like everyone else in this world I have an inner voice. However, my filter for this voice is becoming very weak and very useless the more pregnant I become.

So i'm outside the door yelping "FOR GOD'S SAKE!!! STUPID DOOR IS LOCKED!!!"

AND I'M KNOCKING ON THE DOOR. YELLING.

My crazy person is on full display.

The clinic is tiny and the walls are thin and everyone inside has heard me.

Someone opens the door and smiles at me. Luckily they like me and just laugh off my crazy.

7.37 My tailbone starts to throb as I sit down. My eyes feel like sandpaper. I can't breathe and the stomach acid is splashing around in the back of my throat. I open my email to learn I am officially in the third trimester.

Which is awesome really.

I mean, the baby is getting so big he's literally moving organs out of his way. I can feel him so much lately. All kung fu fighting in there. I can't help but feel so happy and proud of my belly. He has about 2 more months to cook and then, God willing, he'll be in our arms, nursing and snuggling.

Then I'll get my body back. And start to sleep through the night again.

oh wait.

;)

Moments from our first weekend as foster parents

We offered respite, aka, temporary care for a kid in the foster system this weekend. We'll call him Sam for our purposes. He's about 5 years old.

Friday night:

Sam's Grandma drops him off and spends an hour. She explains Sam's wants and needs in a lot of detail. I am tired from work and smile and nod a lot. I am thinking, why is this woman going on and on? We've met Sam before and he's a good kid. He'll be fine, I think to myself.

I can tell she's nervous. She tells me she's been Sam's caretaker for a year now. Then it all makes sense. She is a nervous mom dropping off her kid. It'll be his first weekend away, with any sitter of any kind. I'm humbled that she trusts us so much.

Saturday:

We go to a festival. Lots of kiddy rides and ninety degree weather. I am nervous because we don't know Sam in public. Is he a runner? Does he listen when full of hot dogs? Will he throw up at random times?

Mr. Hall and I struggle with juggling three kids in public. Two is easy, three outnumbers us. I begin to groan under the workload. Three kids is a lot of work. Lots of shoes to tie, potty times to enforce, meltdowns to manage, pb and j sammiches to make. I realize how good I've had it.

My kids don't ask for sweets. My kids take direction and listen. They march off to a time out when told. Sam is now relaxed enough that he begins to test boundaries. We discover he listens to Mr. Hall more. Mr. Hall takes the reins.

Later we go for a swim. I am in super nervous mode. Sam doesn't know how to swim but we have a life jacket and I'm holding him. Mr. Hall let's Sam float and doggie paddle back to him. I freak out and shriek a little. I realize I need a cocktail. I realize I can't have one because I'm 7 months pregnant. I go inside and put myself on a time out.

After shower we put in a movie. For 30 minutes Sam snuggles on my lap, not moving. I breathe in his hair and little boy stillness. I realize he's like every kid. LOTS AND LOTS of work during the day, unbelievable sweetness when the storm settles. I have trouble not crying.

Sunday:

I wake and I fumble with my cell phone to check the time. 5.53 am. I realize Sam's awake but didn't make any noise. Didn't wake up my kids either. I know he's awake because a mother knows when children are not sleeping in her house. I find him in the sun room, looking at the pool. I give him a hug.

"I miss my Mommy cause she went to jail. She's out now. My Daddy's still in jail because he made naughty choices.", he says. Then, in the next breath, "Can I have mini wheats for breakfast?"

I give him another hug and make him mini wheats. I don't really say anything about what he said. I see he's focused on the cereal so I just let it be.

After cereal he sits on Mr. Hall's lap, watching Simon the cat videos. He relaxes and puts down his matchbox cars. The ones he's been clutching all weekend.



We drive to church and he's a chatterbug. Says more in those 15 minutes then he's said all weekend.

At church there is a sermon on how God gave us gifts for a reason. We are to share what we have. I am humbled.

We have this marriage, this parenting partnership, this house and these good kids so we need to share them with others. If not just for a weekend. I realize I have a lot of work to do too. I've been too short with Sam. I'm not a patient parent and while I'm getting better, I need to get a lot better. I'll pray about this.

I realize that without Mr. Hall, I couldn't do this. I love that when I get ideas (like becoming a foster parent) my husband is right there, encouraging me and giving of himself right beside me. I am humbled to have such a husband. I don't even try to hold back the tears.

When we get home, my son, Sam and I all lay on the grass in the front yard under a shady tree. I'm exhausted and know his Grandma will pick him up in an hour. We don't say much. After we're done we get up and go into the house.

When his Grandma comes I can see she's still tired. She wanted Sam's mom to come along for the pick up. I don't say much about that, just look kindly in her direction. Then, as Mr. Hall loads Sam into the car, I give her a big hug.

How to Handle Your Wife

Sadly there is no picture I can post here because my work doesn't support the new blogger platform. So close your eyes and envision people holding hands and hugging. Nice huh?

Now, imagine everything below being spelled right. :)

In the last month of my pregnancy my nausea has receeded. OH GLORY DAY!!! I can eat again. Food tastes like food. Apples taste like apples. Rasberries taste like rasberries. Snozberries tastes like snozberries! My belly, it grows so big and round!

I'm six and half months now. I feel the baby move. He's so strong that if I lay right, others can feel him move too. Like my daughter and my husband. My son says he can feel the head, the hands and the string that's feeding him. It's all very unbelieveable and makes me misty eyed. We love him so much already.

Praise Jesus!

My waking up from five months of nausea and the misty eyed love of my unborn son, has caused a bit of crazy to pop up. It's coming to a point where we need to figure out what to do with our fertility after the babe is here. I don't want this squishy love to ever stop. I want to be like the Duggar family. You know the one, with the 19 kids and counting.

But Houston, we have a problem. We aren't a family supported by a church who own storage shed facilities or radio towers. We aren't a family with two stay at home parents. That is not our reality.

Which is harsh, when the world I live in collides with reality. The reality is, Mr. Hall is tired. He is so happy for the new baby and this will be it for him. The last butt I wipe he says. Last food we'll cut up. We are so close to freedom he says.

It's sad but I agree. I'm just never going to feel right about being done having kids. But you have to cut it off sometime. Sniff sniff.

Then, I enter my maternity leave request at work and that was huge for me. Having people notice my pregnancy and openly talk about it is huge. It's very scary still because of the losses. But, I'm getting better at trusting God with all this. And the more I let go, the more gooey eyed I get.

Wait, where was I?

OH YEAH-

Feeling cute preggy + baby moving so strong = crazy

So, we've decided to revisit the foster care family idea. It's been on hold while I was five months of pukesville. And lo and behold, once I got better we starting getting calls for respite care needs. The social worker suddenly started calling us again.

So we'll start small. Having a foster kid for a weekend here and there. Dipping our toes in the water.

"This will handle your energies, give you something else to focus on for a while." says Mr. Hall.

Which makes me wonder. Who alerted the social to my wellness? Maybe these calls aren't so 'out of the blue' after all.

:)

The time I got hit on and didn't know it (x2)

I was studying to become a mental health nurse practitioner and spent a lot of time in the library. Mr. Hall, who was my boyfriend at the time, bought me a sweet Acer laptop to facilitate my learning. He tricked it out with everything I needed.

Let me just say I had, and still don't have, any idea how much that man loves and supports me. I didn't ask for a laptop, he just saw the lines at the computer lab and made sure I didn't have to wait. Love you babe.

ANYWHO

I was studying and a dude came up asked me about the acer laptop. He keep asking about this feature or that feature. It was kind of weird, I mean, I didn't really know what he was asking, but the string of questions kept coming. I remember he was sort of blushing and nervous. Somewhere along the line I mentioned it was a gift from boyfriend. Dude promptly disappeared.

THEN SOME YEARS LATER

I was in the grocery store with a big old can of Swiss Miss hot chocolate. Some dude came up to me and asked me how I liked that particular brand. What was the taste/texture? How did it compare to the others? He said he ran an office and wanted to have hot chocolate in the waiting room for his clients. This discussion went on for a good five minutes. Somewhere along the line I mentioned that Swiss Siss is my husband's favorite brand and the mix was from him. He promptly disappeared.

Which makes me wonder.

What was I wearing/doing that attracted these people? These were just ordinary days. Nothing spectular about what I was wearing or how I looked. Why then?

What does it take for a guy to come up to a girl, all cold calling like, and hit on her?

I feel for the men. Women live such a life inside their own head. We have no idea what men go through trying to reach us. No idea when we are being hit on. :)

Yep, good times :)