Well, it's been awhile. My blog has pretty much kerplopped. Believe me, I've made many an attempt to post but we had to leave, the baby was crying, the pictures wouldn't upload... so that's my excuse.

Anyway. We're still here! 

 In April, we flew to California to pick up an '09 Jetta we bought in LA, then drove up to my parents and stayed with them for a little over a week. I can't wait for them to come in a few weeks and see our boy again! Above... we had just given CJ a bath in my mom's enormous sink. Quite the family event (like...literally...my Mom was getting poetic about the bath towel being mine when I was a baby...).

 On the way home, we stopped in Solvang for the night. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision... Clint spoils me, I tell ya. We stayed in a pretty little hotel and ate some German sausage and had a lovely time together, of course.

 It was cold. Here's my Clint's touring the town with me. I couldn't resist a photo. Notice the leg warmers. Oh yeah!

 Adorableness.

 We discovered that CJ is a great trip baby. Thank goodness...

 "Whassup Mom?"

 He loves to chill in the sink. I passed on a strong shower-until-your'e-numb gene to him.

 He doesn't love to chill in his bed. Here he is with his Amish beads after just waking up. (please ignore that they are pink. We are working on his Grandma with this one. She's the culprit.)

 I went on a run after a storm, and Clint took the baby and did a little tour of the countryside and took some beautiful photos. Here is my favorite.

Driving up Hwy 1...there was road construction and a thirty minute stop. Us and the rest of the foreigners took advantage of the scenery and got out for a few photos. I miss my ocean!

Anyway... that was a pretty boring post. I'm not in the writing mood. But I will be. Hold your breath. : All these photos are a couple of months old, so my little boy has developed quite a bit more, which I will be showcasing very soon. Till next time. 

Our Baby Bear

Long has it been since I have bequeathed my thoughts onto the blog.

I like that word, bequeathed. I doubt I used it right, but it has a certain romantic ring to it that gives me a thrill. Just had to use it.

Anyway. It's been awhile. From being almost three weeks past my due date and having a newborn and not being around internet too terribly much, and plain old not feeling like posting... I've avoided the blog. But here I am.

I won't go into detail about the labor, so as to avoid terrifying the babyless gals and collecting sympathy from the mothers (actually, I welcome sympathy). But I'll say this: I DID NOT LIKE IT. End of story. It was worse than I am capable of imagining. I will say no more. Although I'm dying to freak you all out with the wicked details.

But, a baby came out in the end, and I'll tell you about that. Or I'll just let the pictures speak for you. I don't have any from the last two weeks, due to us taking pictures with our cell phones. He is four weeks today. So, once I get some more onto the actual camera, I'll post. These are only from his first day. He's developed into an even cuter, wide eyed, very fat little boy. I'm sure you've seen his wondrous glories on Facebook.

We named him Clinton Joseph Stoll, after his Daddy. We call him CJ. He was eight pounds and 21 1/2 inches long, and came out looking around, serious, and very mellow. We are in love. He was born at 7:09 am, not long after dawn. The relief and miracle of his birth was incredible. I don't know how to elaborate without getting extremely gushy, flowery, and over the top Shakesperean. So... it was amazing.

Here he is, freshly out, still with a cone head and looking like a little old man.

About eight minutes after his arrival. Still in total shock. I know I'm going to regret putting this photo up as soon as I hit the publish button.

First, Clint was born to be a husband. And then he was born to be a father. And in between he was born to be a host of other magnificent things. He was a perfect doula. I probably would have died if he wasn't there to comfort me. End of story.

He loved this little stork weighing device as soon as they put him in it. This is Mary, Clint's paternal grandmother, who was my midwife.

His first night with us.

The next morning. There's nothing like seeing the man I adore with our son. Having a baby is seriously romantic. Hopefully our children will end up having a thick, wavy mop of hair like my man, as you can see he's been blessed with. Unlike me.

Promises of a chubby future and maybe a little football...

Now you can all comment and tell me how beautiful my boy is. ;) I'll put some up of his more developed self soon.

Come oh Baby, come.

I have been officially banned from playing volleyball.

It was my Man who banned me. After weeks of off and on saying he wasn’t so sure about me diving all over the sand as pregnant as I am, he finally pulled the trigger. Dropped the guillotine. Ruined my life! (just kidding)

I tried the remember-not-to-dive method. Didn’t word. Every time I’d run and jump and land on my hip, I would think, “Oh yeah... I wasn’t supposed to do that...”, and do it again about four minutes later. We have a two-month long rec league going, and I got some hard stares and an older woman (on the other team) nicely reprimanding me with a worried look on her face that I have two people to think about now, after I slid across the floor for a ball or two (and saved them!!).

One game on the sand, I remembered not to dive/fall/jump/roll each time there came a reason to. Of course, this messed up my playing entirely, as I couldn’t save nearly anything from losing us a point. Not fun.

Although I’m sad that he banned me from the only sport I play, I am flattered that he’s worried. Makes me feel like his girl. He doesn’t worry about much.

At eight months, the time is near. I have constant contractions/Braxton Hicks 24/7 (and right now...), the baby is so strong it can kick and literally pick up the computer if it’s resting on my belly. My little mini athlete is trying to bust out of it’s confines. I am greatly looking forward to my baby. I am also greatly looking forward to running fast and light as a feather, and playing volleyball again. And if I work on my shooting, I’ll be joining my man on the basketball court.

Don’t be surprised if I post a picture of our baby here soon. My instincts tell me that it is coming... quickly.

You may be wondering if our lives evolve around volleyball and volleyball tournaments. Really, they don't.

I just happened to marry a guy who is extremely skilled in the area. And when that guy and I were falling in love, it was mainly on the local sand volleyball court. And that guy's parents took me under their wing and taught me how to play.

With that said... last Saturday Clint played in another tournament. It's always entertaining to watch and inspires me to try harder when I'm playing to do the things I know I can do, but just aren't getting done. Like setting well consistently. My nemesis.

Walking back onto the court...

I always get a thrill out of seeing Clint with his hat on backwards. It reminds me of all the times he'd come driving up on his four-wheeler in the summertime to the court with it on like that. He always looked so cute... and I still have a weakness for it. Even after my long time of being married. (*wink*)

About to serve... I saw that guy eating in the background and deciding to break the no-food-in-the-gym rule myself...

High-fiving after a game

This morning I left the house at 8:20. It was 33 degrees. I just thought I'd let you all know that.

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....

HAPPY.

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.

Immediately.

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.

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.