Friday, October 21, 2011

So long go the steamy days of summer... of the cool greenish blue waters of the creek, little puppies learning to swim, spear fishing, laying out on the hot rocks to drink in the sun on your skin, rushing to the creek as soon as your man gets home from work. In it's stead are crisp mornings listening to the dew fall onto the roof, the glorious colors of the changing leaves, freezing puppies who scratch the door at night, hot soup, cravings for pumpkin, and tromping around the tall grass totally unconcerned about snakes. (this is a big one for me)
I love fall. But as I look at the creek and remember what it was long not many weeks ago to feel the shock of the cool water after suffering the humidity of the day, I miss it. Very much.
I'm a summer girl. Sun and sand. Born and raised never too far away from the Pacific coastline. At times I miss my homeland, mainly just the ocean. And I am still in shock that I'm married.
I am so, so, so, so, so, so....

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Heat, Cold, and the Benefits of a Fast Metabolism

My baby brother used to try to weezle his way into not sleeping alone by telling his (much) older sisters that he could keep us warm.

“Hannie, I’m a hotbox. If you let me sleep with you I will keep you warm”.

Truth be told... he was a hotbox. Whenever we found the kindness in our hearts to let him spend the night in our beds (aka whenever he looked cute enough), it was time to crank up the fans, open the windows, and enjoy the night chill on our faces because of our three foot personal heater lodged up against us, keeping us plenty warm. He was also a sprawler.

That being said...

My husband is a Hotbox.

In more ways than one.

But I won’t bore you with my attraction levels for him. I’m sure you all have your own Hotbox to daydream about.

I have issues with staying warm once I get warm. My feet are generally in a constant icicle state and my finger tips are often tipped with a Narnian freeze. It seems that in the morning, after waving goodbye to my Beloved as he drives away to work, I am immediately cold.


I go up into the house, and everything I do is suddenly cold. I don hat, long sleeved shirt, puffy vest, sweats, so cks, bar all the windows... and I am still cold. I’ve even snuggled with my flea-bitten black puppy for warmth.

A hot drink does nothing but keep my lips warm. Moving around and cleaning does nothing but get the house clean. Taking a hot shower only emphasizes that I was once extremely cold, and that I will be extremely cold again once Iget out. I simply cannot get warm.

I stop. I pause. I wonder.

I look at the pattern. Husband home = warmth. Husband gone = cold. I think I’m onto something here.

We are never far from each other when he is home. The farthest we are away is when I am washing the dinner dishes and he is relaxing on the couch reading the paper. I finish the dishes and plop down next to him and try to find something interesting in the paper to read. I generally revert to talking his ear off and scratching his head. During this time, I am warm. Do you know why I am warm?

Because my husband is a Hotbox.

We both like to be surrounded by cold when we are sleeping. We leave the window open to let the Tennessee autumn air come through, turn on the ceiling fan, and crank up the plug-in fan all at the same time. I love the breeze. But... In the dead of the night... when I wake up four times because my baby is sitting on top of my bladder or practicing martial arts inside of my gut... part of me is cold.

Not the part facing my husband. That part is burning up with the 100 degree heat of his warm man-skin. But the other part, facing toward the edge of the bed, toward the wall... which is usually my butt. It gets cold. Frigidly cold.

My nightly ritual involves turning over about a dozen times during the sleeping hours to warm both sides of my body up against my Hotbox, who, while sleeping, defines the term “dead asleep”. My legs and my belly get cold... I simply turn and throw the leg over the human heater and put my face in his shoulder until I’m almost suffocating. My butt gets cold so I turn over and... well you get the point.

My Hotbox always feels sorry for me when he discovers how cold I am. He has ideas in his head about how to arrange the furniture in our bedroom so as to maximize warmth for whatever side of me isn’t magnetizing heat from his body. He clucks his tongue like a mother (or should I say daddy?...) hen and says to cuddle up to him as much as I like. It’s nice having sympathy... especially from a six footer with sleepy blue eyes and long, tan arms that can wrap far, far around you even when you’re almost seven months pregnant. I kinda have a weakness for him.

On his twenty-second birthday, which was the first of October, my Man got up at four something to go hunting for the first time this season. He said he’d be back by eight-thirty... which he was... but I got so cold, I had to revert to jumping around like a maniac to keep warm. It eventually turned into a workout, and I killed two birds with one stone. But boy oh boy... when I heard the obnoxiously loud rumble of his truck coming up the driveway, and saw his tall self all dolled up in camo climb out of the front seat... was I h-a-p-p-y to see him. My lips were no longer purple and my skin took on a normal hue.

Sigh... my Hotbox was home.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Colorado Memories

Jocelyn took it into her own hands to teach Leif how to ride.
There was a swift little stream behind the cabins we stayed at in Pitkin
The kids loved fishing... and actually caught quite a few
So... we four wheeled up miles and miles and climbed the last 800 ft of the highest peak around... it happened to be snowing and frigidly cold, and I was dumb enough to leave my warm coats at home. I had on about five shirts under that sweat jacket. It's nice having a husband that's hot... literally...
My view on the way down... whew!!
Can't forget the tradition now, can we!
Our little Marmot friend. Pure bucket of lard. Seriously, you touch the sides of this thing, and it's pure fat. There's one little back bone, and then all fat. I'm sure it was the queen of all the creatures up there or something... she must have sat around and done absolutely nothing. I have never come across such an obese animal besides my old cat Butter who was arthritic and about a foot wide and died from accidentally rolling into our neighbor's pool. PS. I carried this thing wrapped in a little tarp miles down the mountain on the back of a four wheeler, holding onto my hunter guy with one arm, with the rifle that was slung on his back jamming into my ribs. I was very proud of myself.
My man with his prize. He's actually smiling in a picture!!
Back at home... life becomes normal again. Here Clint is showing off his shooting skills...
Handsomeness in a redneck cutoff shirt. MMM.
The Stoll's play in a volleyball rec league every year. This time, as Renee has up and married and moved off to NC, Liz, Shanna, and myself are attempting to replace her. Here Tim, Rachel, Liz, and Clint are playing. I was off on the sidelines wishing I would have joined them. I probably will next week.