oh the joys.

I know... I know... Where the hell have I been?  I always have good intentions every time I sit down to write that I'll be better and do this more often.  It's a fun and creative outlet and I love doing it.  But how on earth does one make time to sit down when there is a toddler running around getting into everything?  Oh yah, did I mention we added a puppy to our crew.  Yes... a brand new puppy.  And he is very much ALL puppy.  Chews on things, doesn't mind very well yet, knocks Kannon over because he's young and clumsy, always wants to play... you know the kind.  He's a labrador, so he will be decent size, and yes I'm happy Kannon will grow up with a dog.  It will be good for everyone.  Dogs have a way of teaching us all a number of things.  I had a dog when I was younger and have incredibly fond memories of him.  Not my purpose for today's blog entry... but at least you have an idea of why I'm so bad at making the time.

No, no... today's blog post is a little more of a rant.  No, not a rant... a way of helping people stay informed.  Yes, that's it.  I'm helping bring awareness.  I've got a little story for you, those who haven't already heard it.  It's a doozy, and be forewarned that there may be quotes that could be considered offensive to some.

A couple of weeks ago I was staying at my mom's house watching her animals while she and her husband were on vacation in Australia.  While I was there I was asked to run up to Portland to pick something up for Bart.  Since I was already in the valley with not a ton to do while staying at Mom's, it made more sense for me to run up there one evening instead of him coming over from the coast and having to rush back over for work the next day.  On Thursday evening Kannon and I loaded up Cash (the pup) in his kennel in the back of the pickup and we took off to Portland.  We maneuvered rush hour traffic with little effort and got what we set out for and began our small trek back down to Albany.  A quick trip, straight up and straight back.  Once we were out of major traffic, I looked down to see I should probably get some fuel.  We exited the freeway just outside of the city at a large truck stop.  When I'm traveling alone or with my young child, I make sure to stop at high populated, well lit areas that feel safer.  It was about 730pm and I wanted to keep moving so that we could get home at a decent hour and my boy wouldn't be too much past his bedtime when we arrived back at Mom's.  I also had left 2 small dogs at Mom's that would need out to potty before bedtime.  When I get fuel, I'm notorious for asking for a flat dollar amount.  I very rarely just tell an attendant to "fill it up".  When pumping diesel into my large pickup, they usually have to slow down the flow for whatever reason and it takes a solid 15/20 minutes to fill it up completely.  While it isn't the most efficient method, I typically ask for $40, $50, or $60 of fuel depending on how empty I am, how far I have to go, and how much time I feel like I have.  Because I wanted to just get back on the road, I asked for $40 of diesel to the young man who came to my window and took my credit card.  It was a busy gas station and almost every pump had someone pulled up to it.  $40 was a quick 13 gallons into my pickup and because it was busy there and I didn't feel like waiting for the young man to come back to hang up the nozzle and send us on our way, I jumped out of the pickup to hang up the nozzle myself.  When I got out and reached for it, I quickly saw that the green diesel nozzle was still hung up and there was a black handled gasoline nozzle hanging out of my fuel tank spout.  My initial reaction was panic.  I was instantly furious and quickly found eye contact of the young attendant who had made the massive mistake.  I screamed across the gas station for numerous people to hear "Did you seriously just put gas in my diesel pickup?" His hands came to his face and he almost fell to the ground in pure horror.  He began apologizing and going on and on about how he had gotten almost no sleep the night before because of a roommate situation and the fact that the roommate apparently watches TV all night long and makes it impossible to sleep.  In not so many words I told him to just figure out how to fix the problem.  Asking for the manager (whom he had already radio'd to come out) I asked him what the protocol was to get this taken care of.  When the manager came out she too, apologized and told me she would get the mechanic on the phone.  A few moments later she came back towards me after a phone call made and told me that the mechanic had just sat down to dinner and wouldn't be able to come out to take care of the problem for 2 hours.  I exploded with angry words towards her and the attendant explaining in a not so calm way that 2 hours was completely and totally unacceptable.  This was a truck stop at 730 at night for crap sakes... they don't have a mechanic anywhere on site.  I found it hard to believe.  I could not and would not sit there stranded with a 1 year old in my pickup and a puppy in the back.  This was a mistake that wasn't my fault, why on earth would any employee think that this was acceptable to make me wait for that amount of time?  They offered for us to hang out in the truckers lounge, yah no thanks.  I told them we travel alot and would be far more comfortable in my pickup.  So I took a few moments to child proof the cab so that Kannon could crawl around at his leisure.

 I had plenty of clothing, diapers, and milk for Kannon to be comfortable.  But I was in shorts and a tank top and hadn't even packed a sweatshirt for myself given the evening had been hot and I had planned on being back home in a comfortable environment before ever needing to put a sweatshirt on.  Serves me right I guess for not being prepared for anything.  They offered to feed us on the house and would credit my card back for the $40 I purchased plus fill up my pickup once the gas had been siphoned out.  So we waited in the pickup for the mechanic who couldn't be bothered to leave his dinner date early.  I was so mad and had an entire ruthless speech prepared for him when he got there.  They came out to check on us regularly... the other attendants often asked if we needed anything and knew me by name within 20 minutes.  We got a bunch of funny looks for being parked there at the pump for an extended period of time.  At the 2 hour mark, I was mad.  At the 3 hour mark, I was irate.  I went back into the store where the manager was to demand the status of the mechanic that I was relying on but clearly hated.  "He should be here anytime..." was the answer I got for the next 25 minutes.  He finally rolled in around 11pm.  Just as I was getting ready to unleash on him, he hopped out of his big truck and asked if I was the person he was looking for?  I snippily replied that "I better be."  He began getting all his supplies out.  "Nice of you to grace us with your presence." I said to him.  The look that he gave me was less than amused.  It took me a few minutes to realize this was a guy... just a guy, who was a local farmer who had been subcontracted to come in and fix these minor things.  Just a guy, with a family, who did this on the side to make a few extra bucks.  Some farmers really struggle and don't make a ton of money.  All the money they make goes directly back into their farm.  And from the look of his torn flannel shirt and his well worn boots, I realized my rude comments weren't going to do anything.  They wouldn't make me feel better, they weren't going to give me back the last 3.5 hours that I'd spent trying to keep a 1 year old wrangled in the cab of my pickup.

 Just before he had arrived, Kannon began to drink his last bottle and was almost asleep.  I rattled him awake and he was really beginning to get fussy.  I put him in his carseat in hopes it wouldn't take too long to get back on the road.  Brian began siphoning out the gas and we chatted about farming, leisure activities, and life in general.  The more I talked to him, to worse I felt about being so judgmental of his work ethic prior to meeting him.  Truly it's the gas stations fault and they should probably think about having a mechanic on hire full time.  Or at least one that is truly an emergency on call.  The reason I say that is because they admitted to me that this kind of thing happens numerous time a week.  Yes... a week.  This happens more than once a week.  The last time it happened earlier that week was a guy who happened to be by himself and it was late at night, they paid for a hotel room for him because Brian wasn't going to come out in the middle of the night and was going to wait until morning.  Again, not Brian's fault... definitely the gas stations issue for not having a proper protocol for making sure things get taken care of.  Brian gets finished and fills up my tank with diesel.  32 gallons and more than $125 dollars later and my pickup is ready to be fired up and get back on the road.  I had already apologized to him for my quippy comments and he was quite understanding.  I also apologized to attendant for being such a bitch.  And to the manager for all of my frustrations.  Truly it was just a human error... which are normal... because none of us are perfect.  I assume I probably scared the young man into never making that mistake again.  He genuinely felt terrible and was fearful of losing his job.  I told the manager once I was in my calm state that I wished for no such thing.  He clearly was a young man with less than ideal home situations, working hard and just lost track of his focus and made a terrible mistake.

On the upside of it all... because I had decided to try and be helpful by hanging up the nozzle myself, I realized the error before I started my pickup.  Which definitely saved us all, in a lot of ways.  Had I started it and pulled in that fuel that didn't belong in my pickup could have caused a lot of damage.  On the upside... it was early enough in the day that Brian was willing to come out at all and we were able to make it home that night and not have to stay the night somewhere.

More often than not, I watch the attendant when I ask for diesel to make sure they pull the diesel nozzle if there is more than one.  Sometimes diesel is by itself in it's own pump.  The one time that I was distracted for just a moment and didn't watch and trusted when I handed my card over... and this happened.  Why on earth are we not allowed to pump our own fuel?  When we travel and get into the states that allow self-serve... at least it puts the responsibility on us.

It was a frustrating evening to say the least.  It had gotten cold... I learned my lesson and always put in a jacket or sweatshirt.  And I was reminded how awesome my kid is for waiting until 20 minutes before we left to really get very grumpy.  I'm a lucky gal to have such a tolerant kiddo!  And there were no messes when I got back to my Mom's house to let her doggies out.

Oh how things change...

Life has a funny way of changing how you think, how you do things, or where you go.
Before I had K, I was a blubbering mess of questions, blog- reading constantly only to become more confused, confiding in friends that I just had no clue what I was doing.
It sounded like a good idea to have a strict schedule that kept my baby fed and napping at regular times.  It sounded like a great idea to keep germy people away from my beloved and those who did come near would need to bathe in bleach and Purel prior to entering my home.   It seemed like a good plan to "have it all figured out" by the time baby actually came into my life.  I read countless blog posts from other moms recommending a certain way of doing things.  Some friends telling me not to worry... I'd surely "figure it out when he got here".  Of course it seemed standard to register for cute diaper bags and children's clothes forgetting how functional something may or may not be.
Well then life slaps you in the side of the head, and laughs at you for thinking you had your shit figured out.
My germaphob attitude quickly went from wanting people to be completely sanitized prior to contact to just making sure they didn't have snot hanging from their nose or visible nastiness on their hands.  Don't get me wrong, if I know people have been sick... I take precaution.  I wash hands, and wipe things down.  But more often than not, when I see something in his mouth that more than likely has a good collection of the worlds germs on it, I stick it in the category of "building immunity".  I do believe we live in an over-sanitized world now more than ever and understand how our environment builds the immune system we all have.
His perfectly matched outfits and needing to change him after every time he spit up on his shirt quickly went out the window.  Now it goes something like this: showing up in public, taking a quick scan to make sure his outfit isn't too terribly mismatched, and that there isn't spit up visible on the neck of his shirt or down his arm.  Give him a quick sniff to make sure all is in order, and we are GOLDEN!
In the beginning I was so petrified that I wouldn't be able to breastfeed and that is what's best for my baby, blah blah... I also had intentions on following expert's guidelines for introducing foods.  As it turns out... I was lucky enough to be able to nurse my son, I still am thankfully.  There's just so much good stuff in that junk, I felt pretty passionately about it.  But about a month ago, I got this feeling I just couldn't get him filled up.  I'd tried a couple of things, but finally broke down and gave him a bottle of formula... my anxiety about that quickly disappeared when he guzzled it down and kept it all down without spitting up and seemed full and happy and content for awhile.  So now, we nurse when we are home all day, and when we are out and about and need a bottle to keep the boy happy, he gets formula and is perfectly fine with either.  Breastfeeding didn't suffer when I gave him formula.  Who the heck says you can't combo feed kids?!  With the exception of dairy, nuts, and honey... he pretty much eats whatever I may have on my plate, or at least a taste.  He has shown no signs that he's allergic to anything as of yet.  And he is a happy boy when he is eating.  It's so fun to see him react to different tastes.  And yes, sometimes I feed him with a metal fork at the restaurant!!!  For Shame!
I remember the early days when I had to put down a clean blanket where I was going to lay him down and let him have his floor time.  Fast forward to the more efficient mom days, and my now very mobile child crawls around the gym floor during basketball games and sticks his shoes in his mouth when he sits down.  **hand to head, head to lap, SIGH.
And the one that I get the biggest chuckle out of is the cute diaper bag!  I registered for 2 cute Eddie Bauer diaper bags.  They are both great bags, well made, and functional.  But my favorite, the one I can't live without, the one I recommend to all new mom friends, the one I always go back to, the one that is the most functional is the Diaper Dude.  The hand-me-down from Bart's brother.  We discuss it's effectiveness in design every time he sees me carrying it.  I'm thankful to him that I got it for free!  It's heavy duty zippers and buckles are straight and simple.  It has D rings and clips on the outside that you can attach keys to with one hand (since they are all usually full) and then don't have to search through pockets to find later!  The cross body messenger style strap fits over the handle of the stroller and even grocery carts (which is something I have found in NO other diaper bag).  Everything is accessible with one hand, when worn over your shoulder it sits on the back side of your hip and is easily to open and grab just what you need with plenty of pockets to organize your little one's things.

Those are just my top ones that I seem to encounter daily.  Each day, I learn a few new things about my kid and find an easier way of doing things.  My tiny human is still alive, happy, and healthy... so I call that a #momwin.
Moms, dads, new or experienced... What are your go-to items?  Your "I can't live without". Your advice that matters the most and the least?  Hit Me!!

Do what makes your soul shine...

It's taken me quite a few years to figure out what makes my soul shine, i.e... what makes me happy, what drives me to be a good human, what motivates me, my life's purpose, my mission... you know what I mean.  Each and every human on the planet has a different soul.  Each and every one of those humans has different passions, goals, motivators, and purpose.  I've gone through spells where I felt lost and without purpose.  There have also been times where I felt I just needed to be good at 1 thing and make money to pay bills and the rest would just fall into place.  For me, nothing has greater meaning than being mom to my little.
I never really thought much about being a mom.  I didn't have that "mommish" instinct... I wasn't drawn to touch and hold and coo at other people's babies.  And then one day it hit me... I was 30 years old, had taken a small step backwards in my career, and just got that feeling wash over me that my time to become a mom was dwindling.  As it turns out, that is exactly what makes my soul shine.  That is exactly what makes me happy.  That one thing makes me want to be a good human each and every day to set an example for him.  He motivates me daily to do things that he needs, things that teach him how to be his own kind of human.  He was the reason I was put on this earth, he is my purpose.  I was supposed to be his mom.  With that being said, being a mom doesn't pay worth a shit. (excuse the language).
So what do you do?  My first step was to take other people's children into my home to take care of them.  I am only willing to do this on a very small scale... ya know I don't want to go crazy,  I want to continue being a good human.   I've struggle to really figure out how to "mom" effectively plus do all the normal everyday chores that keeps a house functioning.  It always seems the second I start something, there's a fussy child that is bored in his walker, jumper, play mat, toys... whatever.
So what to do next?  Because watching other people's children doesn't pay worth a shit either.  Like I can pay bills on $3.75/ hour.  A quick search on the web will show endless lists of side hustle gigs you can do to make money from home.  Selling stuff... turns out I suck at selling stuff.  Some of them involve being on the phone... well that's out.  You should hear this place sometimes.  That also kind of throws out transcription or data entry because.... well I doubt I could be real good at any of that with that noise factor I mentioned.  The number one listed stay at home money makers for moms was blogging.  So they say you can pick a niche or not...  which is something I have failed to do.  I don't have specialties... I'm kinda all over the place.  So the fancy term for these are "lifestyle" blogs.  So I guess that's what I've got.  But I think the idea is that you post more than once every few months.  Ugh.  Here goes nothing, I'm going to get serious about this.  Any other blogging stay at home moms out there have any advice?  Ready, GO!!

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.