How do you do the Holidays?

What makes the holiday season so special for you?  Is it the crazy holiday traffic that consumes most major cities where shopping can be done?  The self entitled attitudes of today's youth presenting their parents with lists ranging from new cell phones, gaming systems, new cars, and trips to other parts of the country?  Or the pouty faces they give when they are told something may be too expensive?  Is it the split families trying to make it work and see everyone?  Spacing their time just so… "only 13 minutes left at grandma's house before we must go to the ex-step-boyfriend's-brother's-uncle's house for a 3rd dinner."

I'll be honest with you, the holidays have been difficult for me since my family was split when I was 20.  Up until that point, my family had been unscathed by divorce.  My parents were some of the only that were still together and had stayed together through my childhood.  And truth be told… I was the only reason.  To create a home and solid family life for me, my parents sacrificed their true happiness to raise me.  I'll always be grateful.  For I have some perfect memories.  It was always just the three of us and our dog, Duke.  

As an adult, now that I've been through my own divorce… it's been difficult to get into a real great holiday routine, just when I thought I had a good one… it got flipped upside down too.  It's been difficult with the people that have been in and out of my life to solidify traditions with my family.  

My life has completely changed, for the better this year.  2017, my son was born.  He is the focus now. Nothing else really seems to matter much.  And I hope this year's holiday season brings more joy than years past, and far less anxiety than recent.  

With all of that being said, I find myself looking back to the years I adore and the memories I cherish.  Family has always been first priority.  But since my parent's divorce, I can't help but admitting that I've felt out of place and lost in the world at times.  Wondering what my true purpose is or what I am supposed to be doing with this life.  Up until just recently I didn't realize that my reason for living was to be mama to this sweet little boy of mine.  So you can imagine the confusion I sometimes went through.  

When I was little, we lived close to 2 sets of my grandparents.  And because of that, we didn't get together often for the holidays because we saw them all of the time.  My grandma and grandpa Hall had so many kids, it was almost impossible to get the entire family together simply because there wasn't room.  Yes, I can remember some Christmas gathering with the Halls where we'd draw names and do a gift for 1 family member.  Where the littles would gather in an upstairs bedroom and jump on the bed, while the older kids played games in another bedroom, and the adults did Lord knows what downstairs.    There were times we'd go to my grandma Bernice's house and have a holiday meal.  But my most favorite memories are the ones that we'd head out of town for.  Maybe that's just because I've always liked to be on the go?  My grandparents were still married and living in Bend when I was very small, but the memories of that time are pretty minimal… I was very young.  Really it's just pictures that bring back the memory, I don't remember much else.  When they divorced, my grandpa stayed in Bend and my grandma moved to Portland.  I'm not entirely sure if we'd split the time each year, and go both places.  But I remember leaving our home in Harrisburg and traveling over the mountain or up I5 into Portland. At my grandpa's house, we'd stay the night… which was always fun to have a sleepover!  I had my own room with two twin beds… my biggest decision being which one I was going to sleep in.  I'd try and be brave and stay up in the loft, but never could make it.  We'd go play in the snow, we'd exchange presents and have yummy food.  It was grandpa's house, it smelled different than any other place I'd ever been to (it still does) and I love it.  I remember gifts at grandpas almost always being snow boots.  For it was at his house that I needed them the most.  Heck it never really snows in the valley.  Nothing in particular really stands out as far as activities that we'd do.  Really all I remember is just being with Grandpa.  Spending the time with family.  And that is exactly what I'm glad I remember from those times.  Regardless of things or meals or whatever… it was just being at Grandpa's that I really remember enjoying the most.

It's similar with my grandma's house in Portland, except this is where those traditions start coming to mind.  I really don't know if I should call them traditions as they weren't always the same… and I can't claim they were every year either.  Everybody knows I'm not real good at being an Oregonian… despite having lived here my entire life.  It's only getting worse as I age also.  I might end up being one of those little old ladies who buys her own tanning bed and then lives in it.  But that's a topic for a different post.  I have to admit, despite hating Oregon's grey winters with it's never changing wet status… I love Portland in the Winter.  Something about the neighborhoods, and the streetlights glistening on the wet pavement.  The fun places to eat, the bustling streets, Rose City, Trailblazer games, OMSI, the bridges over the river leading to the famous view of the Portland sign with the cityscape in the background.  There's just something very nostalgic about it to me.  Grandma lived in a couple of different places in Portland but the one I remember the most is where she still currently resides, the condo on the river.  We always had something very fun planned with Granny Bonnie.  Always a yummy traditional meal.  But we'd also go look at Christmas lights, or watch the lighted boat parade on the river, even once going to her office building downtown Portland and watching from high above.  We went to the Singing Christmas Tree musical production numerous years, or the Zoo to see the lights.

When we got back to Harrisburg, Santa had always already been there.  Regardless of what day it was, it was clear that Santa used multiple days to do his work, and would hit the places where people traveled out of town first for convenience purposes.  I would leave snacks out for him when we were at home.  Knowing what I know now, I'll be sure to leave a nice holiday treat cocktail for him when Kannon is old enough to leave goodies.  Making sure my little man knows that Santa could probably use a nice hot toddy to stay warm in the sleigh. 

How do you decide what holiday traditions to instill into your child's life?  Do you pick your favorites from when you were little or do you steal from other people and try and create new ones?  Do you do an advent calendar?  Do you give presents to less fortunate than your family to help teach the little ones what giving is really about?  Do you set budgets?  Do your kids makes lists?  Do you drive them around to look at Christmas lights?  Do you have traditional meals or do you change it up and have different menus?  How many different places do you spend time during the holidays?  Do you read the same books or watch the same movies every year?  What makes your holiday season special?  

Thankful for the Hall Clan.

The branches in my family tree span far and wide.  I love my family.  Every single one of them.  The older I get the more I appreciate them.  We are a big mass.  When we gather, it's entertaining.  It's a group that I feel 100% comfortable being myself in front of.  I know that none of them will judge me.  They have a way of touching your heart just by being them.

We are extended.  There are branches covering the big cities, and leaves that fall around the hills in some of the most rural parts of the state.  My soul is full and happy when they are around.

Cousins are some of the first friends that you make.  And unlike other friends that come and go from your life as people grow and change, cousins will always be connected to you because you share the same roots.  You'll always have that in common. When we get together, like most normal family functions… we eat.  When we gather, we talk and joke.  There may have potentially been an entire year that separated us, but it never feels that way.  When the cousins hang out… we usually end up giggling about our crazy parents (the siblings), sons and daughters of Bob and Pat Hall.  The late, great grand-dad left behind quite a legacy of tough individuals.  And our saint of a grandmother has love that flows out of her pores effortlessly.

My mom is number 6.  My grandma had 8 children over the course of 10 years. That's approximately 2,300 days of pregnancy.  Yet, I swear she has less wrinkles on her face than I do.  Out of those 8 children, my mother is 1 of 2 that only birthed 1 child (yours truly).  Like the rest of her siblings, she remarried someone who had children as well, therefore inheriting step-children and in her case grand-children.  Regardless of whether you are a 1st cousin, a 2nd cousin, a cousin's step-child, a half cousin, or boyfriend or girlfriend of a cousin… you're still considered part of the Hall Clan.

There are Hall traits that we are proud to have, or frustrated we got stuck with.  We joke that craziness runs in the family.  There are the "Hall green eyes" and the infamous Hall feet.  If you've been riddled with the Hall feet, all that really means is that you've inherited some sort of foot problem.  You have foot trouble, pain, soreness, bunions, bone spurs, the middle toe that slightly curls away from the big toe.  And let me tell you it's a strong trait in our family… even the one who was adopted and has no blood relation to our family has "Hall feet".  And if you're one of those lucky ones, chances are you're one of us who frequently wears Birkenstocks.  Not just for "hippies" anymore.  The original Birk wearing hippie Aunt is Aunt Becky.  She's the first person that I can recall to religiously wear Birkenstocks.  I believe after 25 years of wear, she had her original pair finally re-soled.  :) I'm guilty of it, along with a number of my cousins.  They make cuter shoes now that are equally great for your feet.

My mom is the sweet one.  Sweet Aunt Julie.  Her sisters would disagree.  Aunt Terri is the bossy one. Her sisters would definitely agree.  Aunt Becky is the "naturalist".  They each have their label that we (the cousins) give them and then giggle about.  All the same, we are all Halls and that's all that matters.  Ties that bind.  Thankful for this clan of mine.

Mama Bear has something to say.

I try and stick with things that are going to keep me out of trouble when I write.  But sometimes I just can't help myself.  Self control isn't my strong suit.  If you don't like controversial matters, hit the back button now.  :)

I've been involved with a few different conversations over the last weeks that continue to strike me as odd.  I guess they are being presented to me in lesser obvious ways to serve as a learning experience for when I begin teaching my child the rights and wrongs of the world.

First and foremost… the right way to raise a child is YOUR way.  No one else's will do.  Take what you've learned from others and make it your own.  If someone looks upon you and disagrees, I would expect nothing from them.  They are entitled to their own opinion… but I usually don't feel the need to know other people's view.  I do not want to see a disapproving look or a disgusted comment from them.  With that being said, why would one feel the need to point out how they think you SHOULD be doing things?  Are people really this brave and interested in confrontation?  I already know the answer to that.  So I'll say this to anyone who reads it… it is inadvisable to confront me in regards to how I choose to raise my son.  You will not like the outcome.  Mama bear gets growly.  I promise to be a good citizen and do everything that is humanly possible to make sure he doesn't grow up to be an axe murderer or a drug dealer.
Small children have a tendency to say things that may or may not be entirely politically correct.  The whole PC topic is one for another day.  It's been taken a little too far, I think.  I'm of the opinion that if you don't like what I say… don't listen.  Teaching a young child the differences in right and wrong is nothing short of difficult.  Training them the appropriate way to talk is going to be tricky, I have no doubt.  Telling my 3 month old that it's rude to yell at me in public when he's hungry… yeah he doesn't listen.  It takes a persistent and loving parent to help them figure this crazy world out.  And again, I promise to do my best and teach, train, and tell him what is appropriate and what is not so as not to sound like a total lunatic when he speaks.  But as he's learning while he's young, he may offend a few along the way.  He's a child.  Give him a break.  And I'm his parent, doing the best I can… give me a break too.  We are not intending to offend you… most likely.
I won't dig too deep on the breast-feeding in public topic either.  If you're comfortable, do it.  If your not, don't.  If you are offended by a breast in public, don't look.  If you're not, appreciate the natural act of providing for the infant.
I sometimes see parents give their child unnecessary items or money with the intent to make their life better than what they were raised with.  Spending outrageous amounts of money that they don't have to spend.  Or giving things that are privileges not rights for the child to have.  It's a topic I definitely have an opinion about but I don't preach to other parents that I disagree with the way they do things.  I believe that the only person they will learn a work ethic from is us as parents and if I am not willing to teach them the meaning of the dollar or the meaning of earning one, they will forever be of the opinion that everything is owed to them.  If you are a parent who believes in giving little Suzie everything her heart desires and all she has to say is "Mama, I want…" and that works and she ends up growing into a wonderful productive member of society, I will commend you for your efforts.  Until then, I'll raise my son slightly differently.
Kannon is also not allowed to date until he's well into his twenties.  I know I know, I'm just kidding.  I'm not that out of touch with reality.  I know that is a little too over protective.  My mother used to tell me, "you can do whatever you want when you are 18."  I took her incredibly seriously.  On my 18th birthday in April during my senior year of high school, I skipped school with a forged note from my parents and went to a tattoo parlor and inked my body for the first time.  When my mother found out… "I meant you could do whatever you want when you are 30."
What's my point?  Do I even have one?  Who the hell knows?  This may be the most random thing I've ever written without a point or a good flow even.  A friend recently asked "Isn't that what a blog is supposed to be, random writings?"  Again… who the hell knows?  Don't judge kiddos while their parents are trying their best to teach them.  And if you're that percentage of parents who want to give little Suzie everything her little spoiled heart desires… shame on you… and that is MY opinion, might wanna hit that back button, forget you ever read what I wrote.

I wish I had a better point… maybe I just wanted to vent.  I've given no advice, I've really done nothing.  Until next time friends...

Baby Kannon's entrance

I've always known that I'm a little on the crazy side.  I'm not that out of touch with reality that I'm not able to recognize it.  Others (friends and family alike) have reaffirmed.  But never have I felt more like a lunatic that I have during this last year.  I touched briefly on my struggles in my last post, but I was also due to have a baby and so very ready to be done carrying my little one in my womb.  It was hard for me, painful and so very tiring.  Everyone warns you about these things, but none of them really make sense to you until you've done it.

For fear of forgetting details… here is my birth story.

When I had my son, I was 40 weeks and 5 days.  Overdue, but not by much others will say.  I say… OVERDUE.  I had gained approximately 45 pounds to my very lean and slender frame.  Because of my height, according to others who saw me say I carried it well and looked as if I was smuggling a basketball.  Not many believed I had gained the amount that I did.  When I looked in the mirror, I saw a giant woman with a chubby face, fat ankles, and crazy hair.  A lot of things change during pregnancy.  My shoe obsession, and the need to complete my outfit with a cute pair of shoes came to a screeching halt since I couldn't squeeze my feet into most of my shoes since they were so swollen.  I refused to buy many maternity outfits because I knew it was a waste of money.  I lived in leggings and long tank tops, and scoured my closet daily looking for that shirt I bought 10 years ago that I didn't wear much because it was too baggy.  Everything makes you tired.  You hair and nails get all crazy.  Not to mention all the new feelings you're having in your belly.  There's pain, tightness, swelling, and then you start feeling the little one move around.  It's not that people didn't warn me about all of the things that you'll go through during this special time.  I've just always been more of a hands-on type… I had to experience it to fully understand.  Enough about the pregnancy… here's how it went down.

At my 38 week appointment they ask me, "would you like us to check your cervix?"  I was confused, I thought this was something that my OB decided when to check me.  We all decided together to see where I was at since I'd had plenty of contractions.   My blood pressure had already been running high, but not at an alarming level for a couple of weeks prior.  Still borderline… but manageable.  I was 4 cm dilated.  I was pretty happy.  That seemed like a good starting place.  My OB was pleasantly surprised as well, telling me that considering this was my first pregnancy, to already be that far along in the process was a good sign.  I continued to go for my weekly checks and at the last one, I was 1 day overdue and doing fine.  Still dilated the same amount, they told me to stay close to the hospital that they believed I wouldn't go much beyond my due date.

On Saturday, May 27th at 1030 in the evening, I was lying on my moms couch unable to drift off to sleep yet.  Mom and Brad has already retired for the evening.  When I rolled to change position, I felt something odd.  I knew I wasn't peeing.  For heaven's sake I wasn't even laughing or anything.  It was not a huge gush that made it terribly obvious, but after I evaluated a bit… I realized that my water had broken.  I sat in my room at the other end of my mom's house, called the triage nurse.  She told me what I knew she would.  She wanted me to come in to be checked, regardless of whether I was in active labor or not.  The reason being my blood pressure and the fact that I was already 4 cm dilated.  I changed my clothes, contacted Kannon's dad who was in Reno, Nevada at the time and told him to head home, woke my mom up and we headed into the hospital.  We arrived about an hour after my water had broken.  1130pm on Saturday night… that night had proven to be a slow one at GSRMC emergency room.  After turning down their silly offer of a wheelchair (couldn't they see that I wasn't bleeding from the skull or dying) they led me upstairs via the "special elevator" and when they showed me into a labor room, there were 2 nurses waiting in there for me.  They gave me my "outfit" to change into.  Gave instructions and when I came out from my dressing room… they laid me down on the bed and began the process.  They asked me 167 questions that all had answers in my chart that they could see…I'm positive… because I know how those charts work.  I used to work in the software department teaching folks how to use it.  I'm very familiar with where my family history is located.  And considering my parents haven't changed since my OB history and physical… everything should be the same!  They began checking my blood pressure… which was again too high and that was what required me to stay and be admitted.  I had yet to dilate further and my labor progression hadn't really started.  So I had to just be there… and wait.  Attempting to sleep was difficult considering my blood pressure cuff tried cutting off my arm every 5 minutes.  5…. seriously.  Bart was on the road and staying in contact with my mom, who was taking cat naps on the couch in my room.  I offered for her to go home, I did not make her stay… she refused to leave me.  Queue the Awwwws.  Fast forward a few uneventful hours to 430am when I woke up with some abdominal cramping.  I was starting to feel my contractions.  They continued to come every 15 minutes for a couple of hours.  By the time Bart arrived around 630am on Sunday, I was having intense, very painful contractions every 90 seconds.  They checked me again around 7am, I had dilated to 7cm.  They brought in an anesthesiologist to consult with me and ultimately I decided to have one.  After that was done, I felt immediate relief.  I felt a rush of exhaustion and was able to close my eyes.  I proceeded to sleep for the next 3 or 4 hours.  Sometime mid day (times are fuzzy to me) they woke me up, checked me and I was fully dilated and ready to deliver my son whenever I was actually READY and feeling an urge to push.  A wave of disbelief came over me… I couldn't hardly believe I was about to meet my baby.  When it was time for me to push, my mom and Bart stayed in the room.  Everyone else vacated to wait in the hall.  My nurse and my midwife coached me while Bart and  my mom encouraged me.  I felt as if I was doing nothing. I pushed so hard I questioned whether I'd pass out.  There was a significant amount of pain.  They had to turn my epidural down so that I could focus my pushing… with too much med, it was difficult to feel ANYTHING… Unable to really deal with the pain well, I was nauseated.  After pushing for about an hour, in the end my midwife got a bit more urgent with me.  She instructed me to get him out soon, as they were unable to monitor him because he was behind my pelvic bone and they could not pick up his heartbeat anymore.  Just about the time that I felt as if I could do no more, I needed to throw up.  My mom says it was a blessing in disguise.  The push my muscles did from throwing up is what helped me push Kannon out completely.  I had no idea at the time.  I refused to reach down and touch him as he crowned.  I refused to take the mirror that they continued to offer.  If I really need to know what all that looked like, I'm sure I could ask my mom or Bart as they likely saw the whole show.

Kannon was born at 220pm on Sunday May 28th.  He had very few issues besides poor color.  It took him a bit to perk up and warm up to his healthy color.  We spent 2 days in the hospital given it was a holiday weekend and he's been the little pineapple of my eye every since.  We've spent a significant amount of time at home with ourselves as his dad was out of town working.  We've camped, vacationed, attended weddings, been in some VERY hot weather, went on boat rides, taken walks, road tripped, you name it and I've tried to expose him to it.  He can fall asleep anywhere… he can also stay awake and fight sleep in spite of his mama.  I think he thinks it's funny to stay awake and become fussy because he's so tired.  He eats like a champ… often… but has gained good healthy weight and weighs a whopping 12 lbs at 2 months old.  He was born at 6 lb 13 oz.  When we left the hospital he had only lost a a few ounces and at 2 days old he had already begun his climb upwards.  He's got cute baby rolls on his arms and legs now and makes the funniest faces.  Just this morning he managed to actually get his thumb into his mouth and sucked on it.  Some days he likes a pacifier and other days he has nothing to do with it.

Those are the important parts, I didn't want to forget the time line.

Almost past due…

I've struggled for a number of months to really find the right words to describe how I feel.  I'm happy, I feel blessed, and I've been scared every day for exactly 40 weeks.  I have been through extreme highs and some of the lowest lows of my life in a fairly short amount of time.  The words still don't seem to be coming to me with ease.  I'm exhausted, but hate lying around resting.  I'm scared, but can't wait for this phase to be done.  I'm upset that I don't have more pictures, but kind of feel like I don't necessarily want to remember what I look like.  I feel huge and whale-like and dislike how heavy I feel but am glad I fed my body to enable him to grow and enjoyed guilty pleasures in the food category.  I made new friends during this time, ones who've been incredibly supportive.  I've stayed in touch with old friends, the ones that mean the most, it seems as if most everyone had lost hope in the fact that I'd ever be where I am right now.   I left a job I love for a different opportunity and have started a new job which will keep me busy yet give me the schedule I will need as my son grows. 

Today my phone sent me an alert that today is my due date.  I've created and carried a tiny human for 40 weeks to the date.  My son is due to enter the world at any time.  This is the hardest thing I've ever done.  Physically, mentally, and emotionally tough.  My body was taken over by hormones.  I've been in an almost constant state of some sort of emotional distress.  My OCD went into overdrive at times… others it died all-together and I didn't give two hoots about things.  I've developed a new respect for mamas everywhere.  I've never changed my mind so many different times about the things that I thought I wanted.  Things that used to be very important to me, seem so minute.  Other things have popped up to the surface as #1's.  

This is my first and only.  My first experience on so many different levels and I'm left to wonder if all first time mamas have felt the same way?  I assume some of it was probably similar for others.  I mostly figure that I've overreacted and overanalyzed and overkilled a lot of things.  I didn't share with a lot of people on social media for a long time.  For some, this may be the first they've heard about it.  

I'm hoping my son Kannon is the muse and inspiration for numerous future posts on here as I learn all about being a mama.  I love the creative nature of writing and the outlet it gives me.  Lord help me in this new adventure.  

2017… could it be true?

I suppose writer's block is a good excuse.  Although, I don't necessarily consider myself a writer, I've been lazy.  I have thought about it, I've procrastinated, I've made excuses, I've been "too busy", and now I'm disappointed in myself.  Am I required to post?  No, not even a little bit.  But I miss it.  Blogging was a way I had started to express creativity in different ways.  

So here we are in a new year and everybody's making all kinds of crazy resolutions for the new year and I'm over here like, "I just want to get back to my blogging."  So here goes my best effort.  

2016 was filled with too much to recap (since I've been out of touch on here since June).  We've lived in a couple of different locations (and climates) during the course of the year, we've ventured out on numerous camping trips, changed jobs, met new people, and made some great memories.  Life is centered around basketball for a good portion of the year, and that's just the way we like it.  We travel when we can, we take trips together, we help one another, we get mad at each other, and we LIVE.  That's the one I'm most proud of.  Our family loves the "on-the-go lifestyle".  No matter how tired we get or how out of money we feel, we stay on the move.  We find activities to do, we see different parts of the state, we repeat the trips we love, and we make time for each other.  

 

My favorite weekends are spent just like this:  We typically cram ourselves and our bags for 3 days in the small gas saver vehicle that is less than luxurious or super comfortable.  We take off to wherever there is a basketball tournament happening for the weekend.  Sometimes in a town that we've frequented too many times to count.  The two growing boys in the backseat with their blankets and basketball bags with headphones on or a squabbling match quickly escalating love to play basketball.  And they are so fun to watch.  They understand the game that their dad taught them better than most high school players.  Their coach in the driver seat and me, well I like to sleep during car rides.  :)  We usually arrive at a 3.5 star hotel, nothing fancy… typically a Best Western or Holiday Inn.  Wherever has a hot tub and free breakfast included in the price of the room.  Saturdays are filled with basketball, bleacher butts, and good times with great friends.  Tradition usually says we have dinner with the team and their parents somewhere fun like Buffalo Wild Wings (because boys love that place) and they are everywhere.  Our backup plan is the good ole standby Pizza Hut with wings ordered to our hotel room.  We snuggle down in our beds in a non-fancy hotel room after we've visited the hot tub for a good soak.  Everybody tired, happy and content.  Sunday will be filled with the same thing basketball games, quick energy attaining snacks, the constant search for a store to get a gatorade and stock up on water for the next game (typically the championship on Sunday).  At the end of the afternoon after they win their 4th game of the weekend, the team goes their separate ways and we all head home.  The point of this little story is that it doesn't take much to make us all happy.  When we are together, we do best.  

So here's to another year of making memories and we'll start by watching SING in the theater this beautiful sunny afternoon.