Here, let me help you

Two things:

1. crossfit tends to be a bit guy heavy. Being a girl does have it's advantages though. There is strength in the softness. Also, I'm a kung fu master of deflecting macho junk.

It seems guys have a thing about facial hair. Beards are important business. Manly business. Recently, one of the guys shaved off his manly beard and said something like, "All the chicks are after me now." This made me feel uncomfortable. Icky hung in the air. He realized he said something dumb, slighting inappropriate. So I said, "Everybody loves a baby face."

BURN!

Burn to turn it around yo!

2. Foster kids have many family members that come with them. Like birth mothers. Birth mothers who can't quite get the hang of fricking FOLLOWING THE REUNIFICATION PLAN so they can get their kids back. Part of me just wants to go and sit with them. Explain that it really isn't that hard to get your kid back. The reunification plan, designed by the county social worker, has very clear bullet points for them to follow.

It's not dumb that keeps them from following the plan. Oh no. They are smarter then I'll ever be. Masters at the game of getting what they want. Maybe it's the want of stuff that interrupts this process. They want everything, including the stuff that gets them jailed.

Sigh.

A few months ago i renewed my passport in a fit of optimism. COMPLETE BLIND OPTIMISM. I wanna go to niagra falls and have a vacation with the mister.

Guess it's going to have to wait. . . the foster kids will be with us for a while. :)

Happy New year everyone ....

Make it a goal to help someone next year :)

Using the f bomb doesn't make you an artist, it makes you an idiot. OR A TODDLER

 

I got really irritated at yoga the other day. Irony, I know.

I get irritated at crossfit too.

It's the music. Crossfit people like loud, angry, german RAMSTIEN type music. And heavy gansta rap. With n words. It's bothersome but not overly so. If I'm working hard enough, I can't hear anything expect DEAR GOD MAKE THE PAIN STOP . . WAIT . . I CAN DO THIS . . . I HAVE FIVE MORE ROUNDS OF BURPEES AND THEN I'M DONE!!!



But at yoga, this is suppose to be gentle. Maybe some soft Indian music. Maybe the 'soft alt' channel on pandora. Or the teacher's personal mix of "memories". But they need to be gentle songs, not songs that include the f word and sex talk.

GAH.

So I'm doing the downward dog. Enjoying life. Then music kicks up and the f bombs start and I start shaking my head. I'm a child of God and a full grown Christian woman. I put up with a lot in yoga class. I put up with their psuedo hippy dippy talk of chakras and hugs. I'll get over myself with their meaningless namaste chanting. I'll tolerate their eastern (INSERT HUGE ASS AIR QUOTE) "religion" (INSERT HUGE ASS AIR QUOTE) because it seems well meaning. I studied buddhism for years. It's a great philosphy and very kind in nature. It's still hippy crap though. Again,

 

And make no mistake, yoga will always ALWAYS BE PART OF MY LIFE.

But the f bombs bugged me. REALLY bothered me. And I like the teacher. So I didn't say anyhthing. She's a nurse practitioner just like me. I could totally be her friend.

But, the music. Offt. . . the class starts chattering about the f bombs and she explains, "I don't buy the censored version of songs because that's not how the artist intended the song to be heard."

THE FRICK! SERIOUSLY??!!! THIS IS WHAT I HAVE TO PUT UP WITH?

Using the f bomb doesn't make you an artist, it makes you an idiot. OR A TODDLER.

Either way, I'm above all that. sometimes anyway.

old ass tennis shoes

When Mr. Hall was putting on his tennis shoes yesterday, he complained. "I hate these shoes, they don't fit right. Where did I get these things?"

And I said.

"Those where the shoes from Kmart you bought 13 years ago. You agreed to come to aerobics with me. I was all excited. For a week I kept saying, "We've got aerobics next week!" Then, "We've got aerobics on Tuesday!" THEN, "We've got aerobics at 10 am today!

"And you had NO IDEA what I was saying. Like you hadn't heard me say it for a week straight. And it was 9.15 am. You made a mad dash to Kmart and we made it just in time."

"Huh" he says, "sounds about right."

pause.

"Sometimes I forget to turn off my filter when I'm listening to you. So, I'm still filtering what your saying from before and I don't catch the important things. And just like back then, all dates/appts need to go into the calender because I'll never remember."

Which is fair enough I guess. The man can't remember anything no matter how many times I remind him. Maybe I should just start using the dang calendar. And prevent any future ugly shoe purchases. :)

Thoughts of which I am not proud (Christmas edition)

There is a lot of angry and bitterness that people have over the holidays. They see the footage of Walmart brawls and salivating kids. They hear the whine of 'I have not enough.' All this black friday garabage can harden anyone. I'm certainly not immune.

I don't like Christmas shopping. But here I am, at walmart looking for the toy pictured above. It's from an Angel tree card. The card is from a Christmas tree at my church. The cards are like letters to Santa, only I'm Santa. They'll never know it though. In fact, I don't know them. The card says " C145/boy age 9/Air hog assault r/c helicopter".  Those are sold out. Other Air Hogs are available. The kid will have to make due.

I move on to the next angel card. My cackles go up. There are 15 things on this card. All specific and name brand. The next card is vague but demanding. I've got five cards total. It's going to be a long day shopping at walmart. Sigh.

My thinking goes sour. Rumination begins. My foster daughter's mom is like this. All about things and things being important. She spends a lot of money on name brand clothes for her daughter, my foster daughter. She doesn't like us, the mom. She doesn't like how we do her baby's hair or how we dress her. She's loud about it too.

Fundamentally, I disagree with buying stuff for stuff's sake. My kids get maybe one or two presents tops. Birthdays presents are sparse, we do things instead of getting things. And that's what I want to say to my foster daughter's mom. The kid doesn't need a mom who can buy her stuff, she needs her mom. I feel a massive build up of stink eye towards her mom.

Feelings are funny things. They're pretty useless though, at least in these cases.

I'm not buying presents for these angel card kids. I'm not being my foster daughter's second mom. I'm showing God's love. I'm letting them know about being saved and letting the love pour through me.

Because that's what Christmas is all about. And the more I focus on that, the less I succumb to bitter and hatred. I let His love fill me till I'm overflowing. That way, I spill all over those angel cards and foster kids.

:)

Giving Thanks this Thanksgiving week

Thanksgiving is coming. I've much to be thankful for.

Does anyone read this blog anymore? I realize it's been a few months since I've posted. I realize blogger reader isn't there anymore. So if you are reading this-- raise your hand in the comments and say "here".

For those that are new, this blog is about me, Mrs. Hall. I am a lot of things but first, I am a child of God. I'm a wife, mother, foster mother, nurse and enjoying telling my stories. I hope to be uplifting and funny.

Here's a story that sums up what is going on as of late.

I've been doing a lot of cross fit lately. It's a new passion of mine. Go ahead and google crossfit and be flooded with all sorts of badassery images. I'm starting to look like them, in those photos.

Crossfit involves doing crazy workouts of the day or WODs. They look like this:
















Crossfit is changing my life. I didn't go looking for crossfit, it found me.

It started at my usual weight watchers meeting a few months ago. Some dude walked in and started talking about his crossfit gym. I wasn't entirely awake yet, but he said words like burpees, pull ups and box jumps. Words I had only read before and never heard outloud. I got his card and went.

I don't believe in random happenings. I believe in God's plan. I believe God nudged me towards this and placed dude at my weight watchers meeting.

My first work out (or WOD) went like this:  ten burpees, ten squats, then nine burpees/nine squats on down to one of each. I was feeling pretty spry and excited.

At the seven burpee/squat mark, I started to believe I would be dead soon. I had worked hard enough and I was done. So,  I looked at dude and said, "Can I stop at five?"

He said . . . . . "No."

It was at this point I knew I had to get through this and NOT CRY. I din't want to girl up about it. I needed to represent what I was at that point. Strong enough not to panic.

And I did it. I got all the way through.  I don't know how, but I did it.

But that workout was a few months ago.

Last week I did 12 burpees. I did them after 50 situps, 75 squats and 100 push ups. I would have done more but I only had ten minutes. It's amazing what this body can do. God has given more power than I can imagine!

I have visions people, VISIONS. I have visions of hiking with the kids and not being winded. I have visions of rollerblading, bike riding and running I have visions of tucking my shirt in, of wearing a belt. OF SKINNY JEANS.  I have visions of working out with my husband and letting him experience the awesomeness.

These visions have become my reality.

I feel like I've won the lottery.

And this, in nine months, is what I'll be spending my winnings on . .



Amen!

the seven stages of being selfish

And I think to myself--what if I wasn't a mental health nurse practitioner? I could get a WHOLE NOTHER JOB. That didn't require listening, caring or caretaking. One that would make BUCKET LOADS of money that I throw around in a big monsoon of awesome! Then it would coat the floor and I'll roll around in it, all nakid.

But here's the thing about devoting the last 15 years to a profession--you aren't qualified for anything else. Nor can I tolerate starting over at the bottom of any other job.


(that's one btw)

Then, THEN I think . . . what if I wasn't a foster mom? Well, these kids will go back soon right? RIGHT? Everyone always says to me, I would love JUST LOVE to be a foster parent but I wouldn't want to give them back.

to which I say

Try raising a child that isn't yours, that doesn't want to be here and has no intention of listening. Especially to you, the foster mom. Because YOU ARE IN THE WAY. What the child really wants is her mommy. In fact, if her mommy could just be married to her foster dad WHEN THEN THAT would make her life complete. And then, have that child's mother shower her with gifts and spoil her so when she comes back she is full of attitude and lip because YOUR NOT MY MOMMY. And it breaks my heart because I love this child. And the child really loves her mom and her mom does, in fact, love her child. And I want them back together. Not just because I'm drained by her behaviors every single day, but because she is acting out because she's hurting.

then. THEN

the Mom called the cops on us because she feels we aren't treating her daughter right. I'm still reeling from that. I'm actually kind of traumatized by it. Having a police officer come to your house is never a good way to end the night. He was nice though.

It remains to be seen if I can take in another foster kid. I'm so drained it's not even funny.

(that's two btw)


So.

In a complete leap of faith I got my passport renewed today.

Because if the girl goes back to her mom. and the other boy goes back to his mom. And all of that seems likely. Mr. Hall and I will be taking a trip!

AND were not taking our three kids either!!!!

(that rounds out the list right there!!)

mmwhawwhaahhhaa!!

Bush Pee-ers and Getting high in Amsterdam

I have a large amount of unused mental energy. Left unused it grows agitated and circular.

I like to think about things and talk it over with Mr. Hall. Sadly, the grind of having 5 kids yields no intricate fodder. After all, how many times can you discuss "WHEN WILL MAC WIPE HIMSELF WITHOUT MISSING HALF THE STUFF? HE'S SIX FOR CRYING OUT LOUD?" Seriously. We got called to the school about this. We had to bring new undies and pants. And wet wipes. LAWD LAWD LAWD.

That being said, at least he doesn't pee in the bushes like my friend's 10 year old son did. In front of my 10 year old daughter. She was running around with a gang of boys (the bush pee-er being one of them). They were cutting across a neighbor's yard. So ya know, no need for a bathroom when a bush is right there. My daughter thought it was the funniest thing ON.THE.PLANET. Thankfully, she didn't see anything. Not that it matters, she has two brothers. See "it" would be nothing new for her.

My life people. It's like a giant game of whack a mole.

So. When I talk to my beloved, I'm reduced to random thoughts that get all circular and repeaty.

Like.

(on the way the church, with a full head of steam) "Lottery tickets are complete scams. You have a dollar and some hope but nothing powerball ever works out!! It's SUCH A SCAM!!! They should all be put in jail, I mean, they're selling false hope! Just like those books at the las vegas airport, on how to win at slot machines. Stupid lottery system!!! YOU JUST CAN'T WIN!!!"

(in an email exchange). "Looks like the birth mothers (of our two foster kids) are getting their act together. So, they might be transitioning back to their real home. Which, in all honestly, I have mixed feelings about. I think the mothers are ok, just stupid in the life choices brain department. But, we've spent a lot of time/energy/tears/sweat/praying to make these kids better. It's like we're the potty training camp you send your dogs too. Only we're the camp and I would like a thank you.

It'll probably never happen that so I'll just let it go. :)"

(after he gave me some wine in a to go cup) BECAUSE I NEED MY BOOZE IN A TO GO CUP BECAUSE I'M STILL CHASING THE KIDS AROUND AND I'M A SPILLER. AND DON'T JUDGE ME. FOUR OF THEM WERE IN BED AND THE BABY WAS 3/4th OF THE WAY TO SLEEP. "I'll need to rinse this out before work, like really well... I don't want to have any wine in my coffee. Like that time someone gave me a pot pipe and said there might be some meth on it. So I opened it up and scrubbed it really well. Got all the black goop out. I didn't want any meth getting in me!!

I think I used the pot pipe like twice and nothing ever happened. I got high in Amsterdam though. It was in the common room at a hostel. Across the room was a batman pinball machine and I remember the joker's voice floating above the machine. Like disembodied.

When I retire we'll have to smoke hash. It was less coughy if I remember. I wonder how you make that. I'll have to wikipedia it."

Then, in my inner thought voice I thought, I have about 25 more years until retirement. WHICH IS WHY I DREAM OF WINNING THE LOTTERY WHICH BRINGS US BACK TO RANDOM THOUGHT NUMBER ONE.

OK PEOPLE. THAT'S ALL I GOT.