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.

The Creature

There is a creature living inside of me.

A real, live, squiggling, squirming creature.

The creature doesn't like to be poked and prodded by auntie-midwives... it responds by poking and prodding back.

The creature doesn't like it when it's tabernacle, me, lays on it's stomach... it then designs to kick it's protest in the middle of the night until it's tabernacle moves.

Supposedly the creature is the size of a ruttabega, however big that is... and it doesn't like grilled cheese. In fact when it comes in contact with grilled cheese it pushes it back to where it came from with all it's little might. And believe me, it's strong.

The creature has great control over it's environment. It tells my body when to change, how to change, and where to change. It also likes to shove it's little creature butt up against my right side, which is kinda cute.

The creature recognizes the other half of it's maker. When there's any casual pressure from the Man, the creature says, "Hey I know this dude!", and then proceeds to kick the Man... whether that be in the back, hand, arm, elbow...

The creature has a room of it's own, and many other things of it's own. It also consumes much of it's mother thoughts and dreams and ignites many discussions over what it will be called. The creature has a strong daddy to look forward to who will raise it with a firm hand (and a weakness for batting eyelashes), a strong spirit, and the deepest concern for it's little soul. It's mother will raise it with a weaker hand with every intention of being stronger, a weakness for it's Daddy, a feisty spirit that gets strengthened with it's daddy's help, and of course, deep concern for it's little soul. I am sure it will also be passed around and fought over by miniature aunts and uncles and two extremely doting grandmothers and two proud grandfathers who want it to be a boy.

The creature will also have a creature cousin who will be born a month after it, and yet another creature cousin who will be born five months after it.

The creature is coming. And behold, very soon.

I love my little creature.

I miss my man... he's been working 12 hour days and I've been lonely without him... and there's no replacement for him. We wake up in the early mornings when it's still dark to the sound of his extremely annoying phone alarm... I sleepily make breakfast while he gets dressed and ready to go. Then we go downstairs, he gets in the car or the truck, we kiss and hug for awhile... and then he leaves while I restrain the puppy. And it makes me sad.

He's been coming home consistently at six or seven in the evening... he's been working with Justin who likes long hours from some strange reason. And thus my man is stolen from me all day long.

But we make up for it.

Poor guy... he comes home all tired and dirty and never complains. Of course I coo and fuss over him and he doesn't resist...

Sigh... builder guys...

The Beginning of the K-I-S-S-I-N-G..... where it all started...... February 19th, 2011

The beginning will start at the end.

As posting 200 pictures with blogger is slightly tedious and tiring, I'll do it in sections. My sweet friend Beth Nell asked to see our wedding, and it dawned on me... I've never posted it. So here goes! Enjoy these!

Starting after the wedding...

Diversity of height.... weight...

"Ew they're kissing...."

All three families. Boys in pink shirts are Millers and everyone else standing behind Justin and Amber. The other side is Stoll's... and you know my family.

Lily's cheeks are beginning to sag from all the smiling muscles she's been flexing all day.

My Mom looked so beautiful that day!

.... le Stoll's, including Caleb, with his future Mrs. Caleb who was then a Stoll...

Larry, Mo and Curly.

Signing our own guest book for who's knows why.

Ruth wrote all the signs in her gorgeous hand writing.

Our beautiful cake... my Mom insisted on getting elaborate wedding cakes which I really couldn't care less about... but when it came down to it, it was the prettiest piece of food and too fun to design.

Ahhhh...... my head is spinning just looking at you......

I can just hear her... " Oh Jeff, you're so handsome.... you look like a business man GI Joe in that suit..."

And here is where I accidentally uploaded the photos to go to the right of the page. I'll never do this again. It throws off my pilarity.

I'm sure he slept well that night.

" And um... um... Hannah would like... boss me around all the time when we played puppies... and...I used to like to wake her at at five in the morning to look through puppy calenders..."

... To quote my sister-in-law directly:

"I didn't like Hannah at all, but now I think she's perfect for Clint".

You forgot to tell me whether you like me now or not...

An extremely typical shot... I have tons of these.

Here Timo proclaimed his undying love to Clint as the "best older brother in the world". Awwww....

FINALLY we get to leave!!! Doesn't Clint look great holding a big purse?

Alright... so when I muster up enough patience to upload more, then you will see the wedding part of the wedding...

It's My Birthday...

Today is my birthday.

I'm a whopping 19.

Don't laugh.

A certain tall and beastly humanoid who likes to tease anyone who falls into his trap taunted me endlessly that I was only 12 years older than his daughter and already married and pregnant. Haha, so funny! (not) I forgot to tell him that his wife was 12 years older than me. Hmmm...

Funny, I hear about someone getting married at 18 and I'll make a comment about how young that is... until I remember that I was 18 and Clint and I had to wait for me to turn that so we could get hitched. It doesn't seem like a year ago that he called me at 5:00 in the morning to tell me happy birthday, and we had a "romantic" five minute phone call while my whole family listened. Nice. But, I did get to hear his voice... and it was awfully cute that he called me as such a darn early hour. I love him.

This morning was (is) cold, dark and windy... leaves are falling off the trees and swirling around my yard. I love fall. I have been dreading it all summer long... the season brings a closing to hot days at the creek and sweaty nights of volleyball, all of which I love. But this new time of year is lovely.

I woke up and cooked up some chicken apple sausages... yummy... and toasted a cinnamon bagel with cream cheese and jelly for my hardworking man before he left for work. I usually go down and wave goodbye to him at the driveway while restraining our adorable black puppy who likes car tires. But this morning Clint dragged me back to bed and forced me to watch a movie and relax, 'because it's my birthday'. I feel so spoiled rotten and indulged. He's so sweet to me. After he left I made myself some hot chocolate with some lovely raw milk from church friends, cocoa powder and honey, and.... shhhhh don't tell.... I toasted myself a bagel with butter. It brought back memories of cold mornings in Morgan Hill at the corner bagel shop with my Mom and sister, ordering an onion bagel with butter all wrapped in white paper and slowly eating it in my red and blue plaid school uniform with a gigantic bow on my head (thanks Mom) and black shiny mary-jane's over my knee high socks. Mmm.

After watching The Patriot and getting watery eyes and feeling like a wimp for crying, I tried on one of my new long sleeved maternity shirts my mom bought me.... yesterday I got a package from her in the mail for my birthday. She basically supplied my entire pregnancy wardrobe. I have THE most generous parents EVER. I was so shocked! I opened each thing with my mouth dropped open.... it all kept on coming. But I didn't call to thank her because I didn't want her to know I opened it a day earlier... don't tell her...

I drove into Lobelville with the gas light on. I hate that gas light. Yesterday I drove through backroads for what seemed like hours to deliver my sister and miniature in-laws (the kids) back home from our expeditions with the fuel light on and the little arrow thingie below the empty mark. It made me nervous... I was having visions of running out of gas on the side of the road and begging for assistance from some tabacco chewing redneck. But, that didn't happen to me, and I made it home alive. Amber, my mother-in-law Rachel, and my sister-in-law Amy spent the day at a children's consignment fair... I bought my first set of baby items, for fabulous prices. In the baby room is now a pretty cherry changing table, an adorable swing with black and white toille fabric, a white bassinet, and jogging stroller/car seat combo, and cute fabric sling (the fabric is to die for), some clothes, etc. Although it was painful to hand over the cash, I'm thankful for the incredible deals I got. I'm definitely a fan of consignment now, let me tell ya.

While in Pitkin, Colorado, on our trip last week, Clint and I four-wheeled up to the highest peak as far as we could go, then climbed the rest of it (about 800 feet), ending up at 13,214 feet. It snowed a little while we were up there, and as we were picking our way down the rocky trail, a huge fat marmot appeared... and as Clint had the urge to shoot something (it comes upon him about once a month), he kneeled down, aimed his .22 magnum, and pulled the trigger. The fat thing went rolling down it's rocky perch, and he retrieved it. When I say fat, I mean fat. This thing had nothing inside of it's body but fat. I felt a spine and that's it. I envisioned pure yellow lard lining it's insides. It was kinda cute, and we both felt a little bad about being the cause of it's sudden death... but that eventually passed. I carried it wrapped up in a tarp sitting behind Clint on the very fast ride down the mountain(s) on the four wheeler, thinking I was keeping the blood at bay. But low and behold, when we got back to the camp site, my lap was covered in blood as well as part of the four wheeler. Yuck.

Next post will be a shot of our furry friend and his slaughterer: my hot husband with a gun slung on his back. Mmmmm... a nice view to have up the mountain and down it. As the camera is at home and I have not yet downloaded the photo.... ya'll will have to wait for the scrumptious picture. I'm sure you are terribly disappointed. (wink)

Tonight will be butternut or pumpkin soup... depending on whether this little country store carries pumpkin or butternut squash. Farewell, friends.