Southern Fried Mother

Holy Poley!

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Thu, 15 Mar 2012 14:53:00 +0000

Although I have moved to Cornland, Indiana, one may think gosh you will hideout in your home and figure out the best uses of corn. On the contrary, I have decided to glass half full approach and decided to make the best of my time here in the Midwest.

It was suggested by golf husband to look into personal training. (I don't think he was indicating that I had gone flabby, but knows it would be a good use of my time. That's what I tell myself anyway.) We are very fortunate that his employer promotes fitness and provides a membership to a gym. I do enjoy going to the gym and why not learn a few moves that would get me bikini ready?

One day I walked into the gym and the staff has set out a display of workout drink samples. I choose one that I thought would be safe, but it tastes a little like what I imagine is children's orange flavored cough syrup. There happened to be a lady who was a personal trainer sampling as well. We struck up a conversation and I asked her how the whole training thing worked.

We sat down and she went over the numbers and looked at her schedule. Turns out she would be gone for a few weeks because she was going to the Bahamas and then to Vegas. She said something to the tune of "live like a Kardashian" for the time that she would be away. I immediately knew she and I would get along and this is the person who I want to not only train me, but maybe go on vacation with.

Turns out my trainer is pretty good at what she does and she is no slouch in the area of sarcasm, which endears me to her more than the fact that I'm going to be able to bounce a quarter off my tush by doing all these lunges.

Last week I get a late phone call from a friend who invites me to go see Madonna in concert. YES! I don't think I even let her ask me. So, I get to mark that off the old bucket list. I just felt like I got asked to the prom, but better. I don't think I was ever this excited about being asked to the prom as I am about going to see Madonna in concert. We're getting cone bras and everything!!! (That was a joke... maybe.)

A few days later at my training session, I get asked if I would be interested in going to this pole dancing class on Sunday. WTF! I should go out and by a frickin' Lotto ticket, because I'm on fire! YES! Not only do I get asked to the Madonna Prom, but now I get to pole dance. Two things off my bucket list (even though Madonna isn't until November.) This is one of the best weeks of my life!

I texted golf husband to make sure he was okay with me being gone for a few hours on Sunday and him being left alone with the kids. It was approximately 4 seconds before he called back with questions:

Is this a joke?
Who are you going with?
Where is it being held?
What do you wear to a thing like that?
Can I watch?
Why is it on Sunday? Isn't that wrong or something?

And these were my responses:

No.
My trainer. We've decided it would be part of my "cross-training" program. There will be a big group of girls.
Some place called Exotica or Erotica or something like that. (Giggling)
Something slutty. I don't know. Workout clothes.
I don't think the other women would want you there, so no. I'll report back what I learn.
I'm not sure why it is on Sunday. Maybe the instructor allows time in the morning to go to church first. It's not like we're stripping or pole dancing for money. I'm sure God would be okay with it.

The plan was to meet my trainer at the gym and then we would meet the other girls at Hacienda's for lunch and margaritas. We needed a little liquid alcohol to loosen our muscles... and our pride.

We get to the restaurant and the other women are there. I thought I was doing pretty good wearing some biker shorts and my lucky shirt, which is a St. Patrick's day shirt that is green and has "My Lucky Shirt" written in sparkly white block print. I needed some luck on that pole, right? Then another lady who works at the gym trumps me. She is not only wearing her old roller derby shirt that has "Anita Margarita" written on the back in sequins, but also is sporting these undies over her stretch pants that say TEQUILLA. It was then that I decided if I go on vacation, I'm bringing my trainer and Anita Margarita. Fun would definitely find us.

There was eight in our group and we arrived at Exotica. Turns out Exotica isn't a gym at all. It is a sex shop that also carries smoking paraphernalia. When we walked in a sales lady complimented my shirt and pointed out they had St. Patrick's Day shirts, but their's said, "FUCK ME I'M IRISH." Classy.

We paid for the class and signed our waivers. Yes, waivers. We won't sue in case we injure ourselves dancing on a pole.

We worked our way to the back of the store past the Re-entry Lube, Vibrators, and stripper wear and on into this tiny room that only had two poles. We had 10 girls in there including the instructor and two poles. This means that we would be watching while we waited our turn, in a tiny room, hot as balls, and with thumping booty-shaking music.

The instructor wasn't so great at instructing. She could do some tricks on the pole, but I'm not sure if she took formal classes if you know what I mean. This had me thinking that with some internet surfing and studying there was a business opportunity here.

We were told at the end of class that we could get 20% any item in the store. So, we browsed around giggling. There were a few shoppers in there that had probably not gone to church that morning.

My trainer bought a pole-dancing book. Her wheels were definitely turning on the $180 for one hour of teaching pole dancing. We discussed how we could definitely make it work at the gym on the way back to my car.

I learned a few things about myself in this class. The dance training from my youth came in handy for gracefulness. Pole dancing is hard and it hurts. It takes a lot of upper body strength and flinging yourself around a pole. I'm pretty sure the bruising will go away. The final thing that I learned is that I may not have played competitive sports, I did compete in dancing (the innocent kind like tap, ballet, and jazz) and I kind of felt the pressure to really get this stuff down. My goal was to get upside-down and I did. I may have looked like a frog and slid down the pole in slow torturing skin-burning motion, but I did it. AND, Anita Margarita who is a full-figured type of girl did the worm, so I got my twenty-dollars worth of entertainment.

If you can't laugh at yourself, then who can you really laugh at. Just so you know, I have the upmost respect for someone who can pole dance. Have you seen these world competitors. They are awesome. It's nothing sexual at all. Here is a little video of Felix Cane who is a world champion pole dancer.

Hi I'm Rachel and weird shit happens to me

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 16:24:00 +0000

Golf husband requested that I get with the marketing director at the club yesterday to help put together a video presentation. The task was to first take photos of the cottage that was being built on the golf course.

I have talked to Laureen on the phone and we are friends on facebook. The night before she offered to go out for drinks sometime. So I texted her back, so she would have my number and told her I was her Georgia peach and I'm ready for drinks when she was. She texted me back and said that I could drink sweet tea if that would make me feel more at home. Awe, she's sarcastic and I really think I'm going to like her.

I went to Laureen's office and we talked about the objective and the fact that the rain and mid-construction were going to cause issues with this event that they were planning. So, we decided to investigate the job site.

We load into my car and she directs me to the cart path. I've been on cart paths before so this wasn't new territory. The path wound and undulated along the golf course. The path then changed in nature there was a gully where the pavement separated and then the path turned into gravel and mush stopping in front of the construction of the two cottages.

We had to pull close to the cottage along side of another pick up, so we wouldn't block anyone trying to leave the worksite.

I had flutters in my stomach, because new construction is one of my loves in this world. That and now red velvet cake pops.

Us two girls hop along daintily not to get too dirty up amongst the Carhartt sausage party in matching cream color coats. Laureen was even more prepared for mudding in her super cute flowery peep toe shoes. At least I had on boots and jeans, but I'm not working in an office all day either.

After deciding that photos of a messy work site wasn't a good marketing piece we got back into my car. I begin to back out and crunch. Uh oh. I ran over these metal posts and I'm pretty sure they caused some damage.

I looked at Laureen who had big eyes and then turned the other way to see a guy waving his arms and running over to direct me safely out of the sight.

DAMN!

"Do you want me to get out and look at it?" Laureen asked.

"No. I don't want to think about it right now. I'm going to save that for later." Like when I can freak out without her thinking I was crazy. We've only known each other for about 20 minutes and she works with my husband. A bad impression was not a priority, but it looks like it was heading that way unintentionally.

All I wanted to do was hurry back, so I can see the damage. In that hurry, I drove over the gully perhaps a little too hard, because all of a sudden there was this metal on metal grinding fingernails on chalkboard sound. Holy crap! What did I do!?

I put the car in park and run to the back of the car. Wow, for running over something that looked damaging there wasn't anything wrong with my car. Laureen got out of the car and we both were on our hands in knees in our matching coats trying to figure if the muffler fell off. Nothing appeared to be hanging out of the bottom.

We get back in and head down the cart path and the noise which is the equivalent of fingernails scraping a chalkboard is still VERY prevalent. Up ahead of us there was a guy on a golf cart coming our way. Laureen knew him and asked me to roll down my window.

"Hey, do you hear that? Do you know what that noise could be?" Laureen asked.

Great a man. Men know cars right? So, now there were three of us on our hands and knees looking at my car's undercarriage.

Just then it was a caravan of golf cars with workers on them (more Carhartts) heading towards us.

Since I was from the South and I thought I can put the whole damsel in distress thing on I said sweetly, "I've got six guys here can ya'll figure out what the heck is going on with my car." Okay, maybe it came out more redneck than sweet.

How dorky is this? Great, now everyone will know Brian as the guy with the wife who can't drive. I couldn't think of anything else to do, so I got out my phone to take a picture. Laureen felt more useful as a photographer than sitting in the car.

Here they are:

They messed around and then we had to let them get back to work. I told them golf husband would repay them with a case of beer or something.

On the way back to drop Laureen off with the grinding still going she says, "Gosh! That sounds terrible! I mean I guess I need to be more positive. Its not that bad. See here is what you do to make it go away." She then turns up the radio louder.

Gosh, I am really not that upset. This girl is funny.

I grinded up to the front door and Laureen opened the door.

"This was fun." I said.

"Yeah, I wonder what we'll screw up the next time we get together."

"Maybe we can burn something down." I do like a good fire and it's cold here.

I drove straight to the auto repair shop and I got a text from Laureen asking me to eat Mexican with her in honor of the nice hispanic man that wedged himself under my car.

Mexican food makes everything better. I really like this girl and not only did we have matching coats and take me to eat Mexican food, but we also had the same nail polish color. She doesn't know Ken. I asked.

Oh, the guy at the car place said it was no longer making noise and it was probably a rock. WHEW!

First week in the corn

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 20:03:00 +0000

So if you haven't heard, we moved from Evans, Georgia to EvansVILLE, Indiana. Golf husband took a job with a new company that just bought the 35th best private golf club in the United States... and they decided his skills would be useful here in Indiana.

I know I never followed up on the BHI part 2 post. For the most part the rest of the trip was fine. I got a little tipsy one day, lost my earrings and sunglasses in the ocean while I was flopping around in the waves like a mermaid, then went out to see a live band of 2 people and I got everyone dancing and couldn't understand why the girlie singer and the guitar playing-dude wouldn't let me sing back-up. I never had a hangover, but my brother-in-law and golf husband went to play golf (imagine that). They had to stop short because BIL wasn't feeling well. Turns out he forgot his medication and was severely dehydrated and that was the cause of this violent vomiting episode that freaked us out so badly we had the paramedics come to house. I know what you're thinking... this is just your normal family beach trip.

Okay, so here are a few photos:

We all got dressed "beachy" and found a random person to take our picture in front of Old Baldy. It was like herding a group of retarded spider monkeys.

This is the house I stalked. I'm obsessed with this house. It honestly makes my hair tingle and my palms clammy. The four chocolate labs that were snoozing on the front porch only made my fantasy that much better. There was beach on the other side of the house too with a gigantic cantilevered covered porch. *sigh*

This is me whipping up a fury of booty shaking. So, I could only get the little ones to dance.

Okay. So back to Indiana...

We are living in a loaner house that is already furnished. The furnishings are really not my style: Tommy Bahama has a seizure and throws up modern bile. I dunno, but we didn't have to move our furniture and we have a garage. I was really stoked about parking in a garage only to learn that an entire gym is being stored in there. There are aerobic machines, weights, and all kids of crap. My best guess is the owner who used to own the development moved the gym equipment out of the pool house and put it in the garage. Gym equipment is heavy lifting, for now I'm parking in the driveway... and also nobody knows whereabouts of the garage door openers.

The first week was hard on the account that my children were up my asshole the entire time I was getting things settled. They are now enrolled at a preschool that seems okay. They are happy to get out of my asshole and I get to hear myself breath and do things like laundry, grocery shopping, and getting my nails done.

I had my nails done yesterday at Princess Nail. It was quite the experience. My nail tech was a hoot. He was like a Vietnamese Chang from the Hangover. I asked him his name and he said it was Ken then said something that sounded like Kit without the tee. We had become pretty good friends at that point, so I asked him if he made up that name just now. To which he replied, "No, honey. Most people cannot pronounce my real name, so I just tell them Ken." I then pronounced his name correctly and his eyes got big. "Oh, well you got it." (He doesn't know yet that I can mimic things pretty good and he will be on the list of people that I impersonate.)

We talked about food and how he went to Georgia over Labor Day to a Vietnamese celebration in Atlanta on Jimmy Carter Blvd. I discovered he was married and his wife was driving him crazy. WIFE!? Good Lord, I truly thought this man was gay. Then I chuckled inside thinking about Chang and how the rest of the wolf-pack were shocked to find out he had a wife.

I suppose he felt extremely comfortable with me when it was time to apply the polish, because he said, "don't you want like a red or pink or something?" I had chosen a taupe color that I thought was pretty nice.

I looked at him and quietly whispered to not offend any other patrons, "You think this is too old lady-ish?"

He grimaced, so I trounced over to the nail polish and choose Lincoln Park at Dark, which is the color of blackened blood. I held it up for him and asked him if that was a better. He agreed it was a better color choice.

Lookie at Chang's work...

And just because Ken reminds me of him... "Just a little bump."

I did have a girls night out last evening. Not too bad, huh? One week and invited to the Monday night Bachelor viewing with the other gals from the block. I'm not one for watching a bunch of hoes getting sloppy seconds from the same douche bag, but there was wine, food, and girl time without husbands or kids. It could have been a Natzi Mother's Meth lab social and I would have gone. Okay, so maybe not really. That would be illegal. It was a good group of girls and I had fun.

I still miss my Georgia peeps though!

p.s. photos for your viewing enjoyment

Boden and Olivia on the carousel at the mall. Yes, we had to look at coats, because someone implied their jackets weren't sufficient.

This is a house I pass by a lot that confuses me in so many ways. I think I hear Dueling Banjos. Check out the yellow Trans Am. Hell yeah!

Lots of rolling pastures and farms.

Weird not to have pine trees everywhere.

Here is the garage/workout storage that I mentioned earlier.

Bald Head Island: Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 12:51:00 +0000

Even though I have been a little busy and this happened about two months ago, the memories are still fresh in my mind. For your amusement, I will narrate my story...

Let me preface this by saying that I love my husband dearly and I married him for all the right reasons with the exception of travel planning. He is more of a fly by the seat of his pants type of guy, which is fine and I can keep up with that if we didn't have small children.

We have planned to spend the week on beautiful Bald Head Island, North Carolina with Golf Husband's family. Our family would be sharing a 3 bedroom home on the island with his parents, my brother-in-law, sister-in-law, and their two children (ages 5 & 3). (We shall call them the T-Stocks.) Yep, that would be parents in one room and a room per family unit of 4. Tight quarters should make it more interesting.

After packing myself, Why Child, and the Vanilla Gorilla with a weeks worth of clothes, toiletries, diapers, wipes, toys, beach gear, etc., etc., Brian gets himself packed in about 5 minutes and is ready to drive 5 five hours to Bald Head Island. He told me we were going to wait until Monday to leave, however changed his mind Sunday morning and decided to load up and make the trek. At this point, he's looking at me in impatiently, like I'm taking too long to pack up the car.

I advised Golf Husband to stop for gas in North Augusta, which as ya'll know is much cheaper than Georgia gas. It was a Shell Station too, which means we'll save even more with our Kroger card. I had to explain the Kroger savings to him on this day even though he has had a Kroger card for at least 3 years. Perhaps the signs in the store and at the pump never clicked. (For those who don't know, you can save $.10/gallon on gas with your Kroger card.)

So, it is lunch time and Golf Husband goes inside the gas station to get some lunch. I didn't realize that there was a sub shop inside, however getting lunch from a gas station didn't sound too good. The grey hotdogs scare me. I told him I didn't want gas station food. He went inside and got a few sub sandwiches and we all shared the food in the car.

The tension is high, but we're making it happen.

By the time we passed Florence, South Carolina, somewhere in BFE we noticed the car's air conditioning was no longer blowing cold air. Huh? This would be a big problem, since we have a car full and two small children, loads of anxiety and tension, and yes let's throw in high temperatures to make things more interesting. (No, I was not praying for patience.)

We pulled over to a gas station and Golf Husband notes that the car is over heating. WHAT!? Seriously, this is how we are going to start this thing? We are halfway to the beach and the car is going to crap out on a Sunday? This is what I was thinking, but thankfully I remained really quiet while Golf Husband popped the hood and inspected the engine. He decided it would be best to keep traveling with the air off and he would take the car to the dealership in Wilmington on Monday.

As I stated earlier, I love my husband, but he is not a travel planner. We had never been to Bald Head Island, so he was using GPS on his iPhone to get us there. This is sort of like doing a mapquest and then realizing they give you the shortest, but most time consuming route. So, iPhone and Golf Husband took us straight through Myrtle Beach's main drag. If I had died and gone to hell, this was it... or so I thought.

Here we are driving down the strip in the armpit of Myrtle Beach (my opinion) in stop and go traffic, windows down, humid 90 degree weather, car fumes, and it begins to rain. Fabulous. And when I say fabulous, I mean this sucks donkey balls big time.

I look back at my kids and their hair is matted to their sweet little heads and Why Child says he's thirsty. I give them both Capri Sun juice pouches and they sit quietly in their booster chairs watching Despicable Me for the 468th time. Then I hear this coughing and gurgling and sputtering coming from Why Child. Uh huh, he threw up all over his lap and below is little feet on the floor board of my car, which has no a/c, windows down, 90 degree humid heat, and raining.

Golf Husband doesn't want to get the Vanilla Gorilla wet, so his window is actually up and my window is down. Unfortunately for Why Child, that means he's got a little over spray action from the rain whipping back from my window. At least, the rain may help clean him.

At this point, I was imagining what would it be like to actually jump out of a traveling car or what people would think I was a different breed of labrador sticking my head out of the window or perhaps one of the dealerships were open on Sunday and we could just trade the car in on a Pinto or anything that would carry all of our crap and have air conditioning. My head was swimming with thoughts of how to remedy the situation and if the vacation is beginning like this, how would the rest of the week pan out for us.

I was keeping hope alive and just praying that God would not allow my car to overheat and leave us stranded on the side of the road. God got us to the ferry thank you very much.

Finally, after lapping the Ferry station twice, because we didn't see the drop off sign (I love you so much Golf Husband), we unload our vehicle, clean up Why Child, and corral the wild and loving Vanilla Gorilla to wait on our ferry ride to the island. The T-Stocks were already there, so the kids were getting excited and Golf Husband got all excited. He began to walk off and look around. He likes to explore his new surroundings even though there is vomit to clean and loads of crap to unpack.

Here's me trying to contain the Vanilla Gorilla on the ferry ride. I look so excited.

The Vanilla Gorilla waiting on the boat.

Here is Why Child and T-Stock nephew waiting for the passengers to get off the Ferry, so they can get on the boat.

Part II coming soon...

Sometime you just have to hold your head up high, blink away the tears and say good-bye.

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Wed, 19 Jan 2011 00:49:00 +0000

Human's are creatures of habit. We carve out our daily routines, the friends we see, and the places we patron. It is with great sorrow that I have to inform all of you (all two followers) that the Bean Baskette Coffee Shop is closing.

Sigh.

If any of you know me, the Bean was my place to go to just take a break. It was essentially my Cheers. They'll serve you coffee, fix you a reasonably priced breakfast, name a sandwich after you, and pick on you like your family. I consider David and Mary Lin, the owners, very much like family. Hearing that they have to shut their doors is like working through the grieving process and only getting to the disbelief phase.

It wasn't unusual to steal someone's phone and change their facebook status to read something like: "I enjoy dressing up in women's clothes and riding horses bareback." It was especially funny when it was a guy's status. They would always put the phone back as if it had never been touched. Fortunately, I always held on to my phone. Partly because I have a lot of friends on facebook and I don't want to confuse them with a status like that.

The Bean would go through phases of moving furniture, changing the menu, adding wine, taking wine away and then adding it back again, opening for dinner, not opening for dinner, and so on. All of us regulars didn't mind. We all grew to know the eccentricity of having been a part of the Bean family for a while. Our Bean Baskette wasn't just David and Mary Lin, it was all of us who made it what it is.

My steady beacon of coffee and wine all started as a part of my daily routine after I returned from maternity leave from having my first child (the wine came later). It was a few month after the Bean opened. I wasn't even a coffee drinker at the time. The Bean was a place of convenience for breakfast after the gym and before work and sometimes for lunch. During this time, the same nods to the familiar faces became light conversation. Light conversation became friendship. We all became close: celebrating birthdays, planning parties together, training for 1/2 marathons that I never ran (I caught a cold okay. Don't judge).

The Bean is not just a coffee shop it is one of the neo-Evans landmarks. It is a safe haven from a shitty work environment or a break from boring Saturday breakfast. It is a place where you hate to write a letter of recommendation for Ben, because it means he won't work there any more.

Melodramatic? Yes, but it feels as though we are all being broken up with by circumstances that are out of the Bean's control. It sucks.

In all reality, it pains me to think of the heartbreak that David and Mary Lin are feeling. Then add all of our whining to increase the guilt. If I could fix this I would. Until then I'll enjoy the next few weeks getting my free wi-fi, cup of joe with a side of sarcasm and nostalgia, and speak fondly of the memories and friends that have been made at the Bean. I attribute it all it's greatness to the the hard work of David and Mary Lin. Thank you both.

Angelic Monsters

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Tue, 04 Jan 2011 01:54:00 +0000

My kids are beautiful and I love them, but I swear they are devils in sheep er uhh kids' clothing.

My daughter has the same habits as a monkey. She enjoys being attached to her mother, she can climb and get into everything, and doesn't understand no. She is head strong and with throw out and show out if she is mad about something. (I have no idea where she gets that behavior.) She is definitely turning out to be a force to be reckoned with and I will have to suit up for battle for the teenage years. (I love you, mom.)

My son, well if you ever need to sharpen your sales skills come on over. I should send him to DC to work for the government negotiating international deals for the US. Think Stewie from Family Guy. He doesn't take no for an answer either, but twists the answer around until it works in his favor. He also has a memory like an elephant and this may only apply to food items. He just told me today that when we go on vacation we need granola bars with chocolate chips in them for a snack like what we took to the beach 7 months ago.

Aren't kids fun?

Were you thinking fresh start?

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Mon, 03 Jan 2011 00:49:00 +0000

So many things can happen during a year and even in an instant. Reflecting on where life has taken me and where I would like to go it seems appropriate to set some goals for the new year.

1. Be more patient with the little things. I have a problem with making mountains out of molehills with respect to how things get done in my house hold and it is unfair to the people I love. Medication seems to be helping with not allowing my panties to get into a bunch, so doing good on this one so far.

2. Sell a ton of houses. I have started a new role in the real estate profession - realtor. Whoop! Whoop! Check out my listings selling JR Homes in Canterbury Farms. So excited about this. Also, if you need a professional photo contact Smashing Photography by Ashley Thomas she is fabulous, talented, and is one of the funniest women I know.

3. Plan and go on a family vacation and one alone with my husband. It has been too long and this may require some persistence, duck tape, quaaludes, warm chocolate chip cookies, and some careful scheduling. I'm thinking someplace warm and beachy...

4. At least do one Bible study and preferably with my husband. This really should be number 1, but these are in no particular order. I owe some really great girls Bible study time that I never got around to doing and I will work on that also.

5. Work out again. Thinning down does not mean a person is in shape. My pants have gotten loose, but then again so has the flab. Time to tighten up. P90X here I come!

This new year holds so many possibilities. Here is to the new year and I wish the best for all my friends and family. May this year be everything you want it to be and more.

XOXO

Rachel

Write this down

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 01:00:00 +0000

It is no secret to my friends that it would totally freakin' rock if we could all join comedic forces and write a novel that would be turned into a major motion picture. We would base a fictitious story with real life and sometimes embarrassing experiences.

This week has been full of interesting quotes. Here's just a few ditties to chew on:

"I need sex so bad I can't stand it, but not enough to have sex with my ex husband."

After a lengthy conversation on how and when Edward turned Bella into a vampire, "I can't believe we are talking about this. Can we go back to talking about sex or something."

"Mary Kay ladies are the Jehovah witnesses of make-up."

"He's a nice guy, but I think he smokes the pot."

"Her email address on her resume is 'dashowstoppa'. What show is she stoppin' anyway? Good God, and yahoo is free."

"I saw a woman in hot pink hot pants and a toddler tee shirt that had hot momma bedazzled on the front. I felt like a construction worker staring at her. I almost ran into the person in front of me."

"That is a biggest mullet I have ever seen on a woman."

"Don't you cross your eyes at me. If I smack you on the back of your head your eyes can stick that way. Didn't your momma ever tell you that."

"Do you see that over there? (referring to a gentleman with a white man's afro) It looks like a topiary. I want to decorate it and put it on my front porch. Maybe a magnolia bloom or something seasonal for Christmas."

"You are going to hell. Well, you are going to be right there with me."

Dominican Blues

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 22:16:00 +0000

Golf husband and I planned a vacation. A real vacation with white sand, clear waters, a pool that was more like a lazy river, drinks with tropical fruit and little umbrellas. The passport was obtained, tickets bought, and childcare arranged only to have the trip cancelled five days before we were to fly off into paradise.

Sigh...

Choco-nom nom Oprah...

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Sat, 10 Jul 2010 00:49:00 +0000

The other night I happened to come across an episode of Oprah where her whole set was made of Godiva Chocolate. It was an interesting 5 minutes of my time to watch how they made the walls, chandelier, and everything down to the logs in the chocolate fireplace to the chairs.

Don't get me wrong it was interesting and all, but I couldn't help noticing Oprah's demeanor. It was like bringing an alcoholic into a liquor store. Her eyes were glossy, pupils dilated, and she was gitty about how after they were done taping she and her audience were going to eat it. She was interviewing the "designers" and had to interrupt them speaking with comments like "it smells so good."

I wish that they would flash back to all the past footage to like the skinny Oprah wheeling out the little red wagon of fat. Really Oprah? You want to do that to yourself? Gorge yourself on all the rich chocolate?

She knows she not going to share and perhaps that's wherein lies my problem.

I'm also not a fan of whoever dressed Oprah that show. I mean, do you have make her match the chocolate?

TWSS

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Fri, 09 Jul 2010 01:01:00 +0000

It is say to say that I and those around me like stupid humor. It makes life richer like adding Hershey's chocolate syrup to your ice cream or simply squeezing a shot into your mouth when you were looking for ingredients for dinner. Lately, our (or maybe just mine) humor is taking on a 9th grade level of maturity or immaturity.

So, I dedicate this post to Steve Carell from The Office for allowing us to laugh at normal everyday innocent comments and spin them into perversion by responding with "THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID."

These are a few that were told or occurred today.

1. I was meeting with some men about getting spray foam put into the attic of my house and they were explaining that their competitors were cheating on the foam. "They are only spraying in 3 inches. We do 5 inches." TWSS! (I said it on the inside. My cheeks hurt as I fought the initial spasm of a smile trying to escape onto my face.)

2. A friend was helping her very aggravated boyfriend with docking the boat and he yelled to her to grab the pole and pull. TWSS! She then asked him what it was like to date a women with the mind of a man.

3. I was getting a cup of coffee at my favorite local coffee shop. The owner loves stupid humor too. His coffee selections are foreign selections such as Kenyan and Sumatra. The vanilla syrup I like to use I typically call "sweet." Today I asked for a medium, sweet Asian. He started giggling, so to make things more interesting I added, "leave room for cream." TWSS! He had to compose himself before pouring anything into the cup.

And then there was silence and me breaking the silence

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 01:50:00 +0000

I am alive. I promise I have not fallen off a cliff, but have been waiting for a moment to scratch my ass. Another road block was the failure for my airport to work, which is Mac for wireless internet. Yes, the laziness won and the lack of being able to lay in bed, watch television, and blog among my mothering my three year old motor mouth and my giant-sized 6 month old prevented me for writing about any old thing.

For instance I could have told you about the time my son decided that he was afraid of the potty and had soiled his last pair of clean underwear and there were no more Pull Ups to be found in the house. I gathered his clothes into the washing machine after putting him in one of Olivia's diapers. (Yes she is THAT big.) As I went to close the washer door my frustration put a little too much umph into my effort thus damaging my washing machine. That'll teach me to clean angry.

That's really all I can muster for now. I must be up in a few hours to tend to my giant baby girl, but for now scrrr-ATCH!

Olivia Finley Stock: The birth story

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 14:06:00 +0000

The day I went into labor, I arrived at work and snatched nail polish off Ashley's desk, some instinctively told me to paint my toe nails. For the past week, I just wasn't feeling well. It probably didn't help that I cut up about 100 onions and peppers in 100 degree heat for a neighborhood event with work the week before or going to the car wash and vacuuming out my car with my gigantic belly. You could say that this burst of energy was me forcing my body to move around and get the baby out. Needless to say, I was also mentally preparing reluctantly telling my due date "September 14th, but I'm aiming for the end of August." Ha! If you want it badly enough and focus your energy hard enough, then what you want can happen.

So back to the labor story, I noticed the tightening of my belly was pretty regular, but my water broke during my first pregnancy, so I was unsure as to whether or not these were practice contractions or the real deal. Just to be sure, I made out a list of my job responsibilities and told my boss, "I may not be here tomorrow." His reply was a deer in headlights stair and then an "okay."

Later that evening, I decided to write down the times of the contractions. They were consistently 7 to 10 minutes apart. I really didn't want to be the girl that goes to the hospital and gets sent home. I also did not want to have the baby in the middle of the night and have no babysitter. We ate dinner, pizza, my dad came over, and then we were off to the hospital. Good thing I pre registered last Friday.

At the hospital, the nurse hooked me up to the monitor and observed me for about an hour. They decided to keep me over night and the next day they started pitocin and Olivia entered into the world just before 2 o'clock.

My doctor is great. Just as Olivia's head was out I heard, "this baby is a moose." This from the same woman who diagnosed my swelling as "cankles." I suppose she was a bit of a moose. She was almost three weeks early and weighed 8lbs and 1oz. Funny, the guy cleaning her up said she was already rooting. Just like her mother, this girl likes to eat.

As I gazed at my daughter, the bonding falling in love moment was interrupted by, "there is a bit of a tear." AUGH! For the love of God, this was the fear that I had most going into this thing. I had a 4 degree tear with Boden, which took a long time to heal and had some further effects that I care not to describe.

My head snapped off the team of the guy who was cleaning her up and my mom and Ashley who gathered around the baby. "What degree!?"

"It is another four degree." She said solemnly knowing that the news would be crushing to me.

"When can we set up some time to fix it? Do I get all of it done after six weeks?"

"I'm going to try to fix it now."

The bonding moment that I had really didn't come until we were able to spend our first night together. In the quiet darkness, we bonded. How could you not bond with a baby who comes out smiling?

Matt 3/28/75 - 8/18/05

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 00:33:00 +0000

This is a picture of my brother Matt and I his very last Christmas with us. He is smiling. For Matt, that was a smile.

There are things in life that we just can never fully understand. My brother took his life four years ago. He suffered from depression. It would be easier to take I suppose if he were to have died from cancer or by a car accident, but to know that it was his decision to leave was selfish, sad, and confusing. I am writing about him not to justify his decision, but to provide some understand about what happened and to truly celebrate all that he was as a person.

I remember almost every detail of the day I found out that I lost my brother from what I was wearing to the rush of emotions. I remember the details of the next few days following his death up until his burial. These are emotions that still pop up randomly. It is not easy to pick up the scattered pieces of thoughts of how to understand, how to comfort my family, or how to heal.

Never once have I thought that anyone who takes their own life goes to hell. I think that sometimes there are people who are not strong enough for this world and God sometimes is better at taking care of them. This thought came to me before the first viewing. I had spent that morning at my mother's house and had to go home to get ready to go to the funeral home.

I was emotionally drained. Having cried until exhaustion, I road in the truck emotionless like a zombie. I did not want to see Matt. I did not want to be an only child. How was I supposed to be the only one now to comfort our parents that he decided to leave? I sat there with these thoughts rolling through my head and just felt empty. Then I felt a warmth within me that I can only describe as God. It was the only thing that filled me and then the thought that came to me was the most comforting of all. It was this little thought that made so much sense. "I've got him and he is happy." Hokey, I know. The whole they are better off with God thing... extremely cliche. However, I cannot explain the physical filling before the thought ever popped into my consciousness.

This gave me the energy to go to the viewing. Yes, Matt did not mess up his face and I think it was so his mother could see him. I remember being the first person to see my brother. Him in a casket and me broken by the sight. This body that laid there was not Matt. It was an empty shell who once housed my brother. My brother was a big boy. He was six feet tall and just this stocky broad shouldered guy. He sometimes seemed awkward with his body and laying there his shoulders almost touching each side of the casket he still looked uncomfortable.

Shortly after some time had passed an old friend walked through the door. A girl that had been my best friend in 5th grade. Another friend, a guy who experienced much tragedy in high school losing his sister and girlfriend in auto accidents showed up shortly after. As time went by, the room filled with friends of Matt's and mine most of which I had not seen since high school. It was hard to remain in my sorrow with so many people touching my heart with their love and support for Matt and my family. It was then that I realized how important it was to show up to these viewings. It was so comforting in a way that I could not describe. It made me so happy for Matt and sad all at one time. Happy that he was so loved and sad that it couldn't keep him here. I felt guilty about smiling his friends and I felt more so like I needed to comfort them than the other way around. Just the presence of all those people meant more to me than anything. I don't know how I found joy in such a heartbreaking moment, but again I think think this was God doing his work.

Matt always had the best sense of humor. We found a little bit of humor with all his friends and the ladies. Wow, my brother had more ex girlfriends than I cared to remember while he was living. It reminded my mother and I how much Matt could love... not just sexually. We found out all kinds of sweet things that he did for girls: singing to them, love letters, etc. A romanic, who knew he had it in him.

Matt suffered from depression since he was about 15 years old and lived with severe suicidal thoughts for 15 years. From the onset of depression, he withdrew socially from his family. He was not the type of person you would assume would be consumed by these thoughts if you knew him as a friend, but he did not socialize with his family. It was painful to have a brother and not have a normal sibling type of relationship that I saw going to friend's houses. It was even more painful to watch my parents struggle. I believe he hid his feelings extremely well from his friends. In high school, he was on the rowing team and won many regattas. He surprisingly had a leading role in a school play. He even lip-synced a la Ferris Bueller's Danke Schoen during a pep rally. All of which shocked us, because we were used to him being extremely introverted.

I grew to understand his silence. He loved me, but always kept me at arms reach. Matter of fact, I think he allowed me to be the closest to him toward the end. It is my belief that if we grew close, he would tell me too much or it would make him too attached to do to himself what he wished to do.

We would find out more and more stuff about Matt that really made us proud of him and sad that he never realized how much of a great guy he was and how much he had to offer life in general. Weeks after Matt's death I went and visited some work colleagues. One lady had a really serious look on her face, "I need to tell you something about your brother." Huh? How would she know Matt and how do I prevent myself from crying before she says what she needs to tell me. "I want to let you know that your brother saved my fathers life. My father was having dinner, he choked, and your brother was the only one who performed the Heimlich Maneuver on my father." Usually, someone would be excited to save a life or talk later about the dramatic event. Matt hid any act that could possibly be a positive, but he was also extremely humble about what he did for other people. He had once taken the time to pick up this blind guy and take him across the highway to where he was going.

Goodbyes have always been hard for me. I still find it extremely difficult to visit his grave. One, because I know he is not there and two, because I knew his final wishes before we found a note with his final burial wishes and he would be so pissed that he was in a graveyard. All I can think of is bringing a bottle of Crown, with the bag, and pouring some for my homey... I'm sure he would laugh. I know I will see my brother again. I see him in the good humor of my son as well as random thoughts and memories, but I will see him when I go. So, Matt this is not the end for us, but I will see you later. I celebrate your mean brotherly ways and forgive you for beating me up, your kindheartedness that you tried to hide, your great sense of humor which I miss dearly, and I'm sure I get some more stories from your friends who are now not scared to talk to me, because you can't kick their asses. I love you and I'll see your stupid ass later.

Comments can kill

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 00:54:00 +0000

By nature I sometimes say things at the wrong time. I laugh at uncomfortable moments and sometimes this behavior ensures that I will laugh even harder. Life is too short to be so serious sometimes...

I feel I have had a good friendship with my boss. He appreciates a good sense of humor and has a good work ethic which involves working hard, but not being too serious. This is not because he isn't serious about his job, but tries to minimize his stress level. I can totally relate to this work philosophy.

It was several months ago during my neurotic state of pregnancy that my boss and I had to go to a meeting. On the way he stopped at a convenient store and asked if I needed anything using his good manners, which I didn't. He gets back into the truck with a Mellow Yellow and a pack of Goody's Powders. Okay, he has a headache, which I didn't pick up on before.

Goody's, I'm sure works quickly, but I would rather swallow a whole pill than to have the taste of what I would assume battery acid and baking soda to be like.

Someone obviously decided that crushed up Aspirin would absorb into your system at a faster rate given that you have to get past the bitter chalk taste. Heaven forbid you put the powder in the wrong place on your tongue. There is a process to taking the Goody's. After you open the package of wax paper, one must place the powder at the back of the tongue and quickly drink something that will prevent tasting the rancid flavor.

He gets in the truck, rips open the package, places the powder in said appropriate section of the back of the mouth. I looked away and I say with a tone of disappointment, "I can't believe I have to watch you do drugs."

He throws his fist up to his mouth in a universal choking motion and jerks forward. Because I was adverting my eyes, I saw the first part in my periphery and then stared at the rest of the coughing and gasping in horror.

Oh crap. This is not a good. My jackass comment is causing the person who hired me to aspirate on a Goody's powder.

After a couple of swigs of Mellow Yellow and several choking coughs, his color was almost back to normal.

Once I knew he was okay, I could finally laugh. I had no idea that he was going to begin to laugh and inhale the Goody's powder. I truly felt bad, but still couldn't help laughing during the latter of the choking.

Constipation is God's way of preparing a woman for labor

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 00:42:00 +0000

There are lots of ways God prepares women for being a mother: sleep deprivation, shortness of temper, fatigue, loss of sanity. I rationalize getting up to pee several times a night is to condition the mother for getting up to change and feed the baby. I rationalize the total bodily discomfort and the inability to sleep in a comfortable position is also preparing the mother for exhaustion. After another side-effect of pregnancy that I experienced, I had a pre-labor lesson.

It is funny how much one forgets of the previous pregnancy. All the symptoms that I had last time, with the exception of food aversions, are back. Most recently I have been uh stopped up. This too happen in the last months of my previous pregnancy. Everyone experiences a bit of constipation at one time or another, however throw in a large baby in your innards and it intensifies.

For those who know me and think that a poop blog is inappropriate, well everyone poops. If you think that women do not poop or fart or burp you are disillusioned. So here goes my modesty...

The other day I had to go. Miserably stopped up and desperate to go. I was sitting there on the pot and nothing. I think a few rabbit pellets came out. I gave up and went into my bedroom, but the feeling of having to go lingered. I go back to the bathroom and sit. I try to relax. I have been trying for at least a half hour at this point. The thought of pushing only makes me think if I push too hard my water would break and I would begin dangerous premature labor or worse... a hemi (hemorrhoid). I hear that sometimes they never go away even after birth, so I'm petrified.

Okay, so I recalled going through constipation the last time. Fortunately, I had a process that I had forgotten. A trick to help you through the process. If you are lucky enough to have the water closet that is the small potty room or a confined toilet area, then you are in a good position... quite literally. I'm talkin' throw the feet up on the wall like you got 'em in stirrups. This birthing position for some reason helps. It helped me and now I bestow onto you to use when in need. Oh, definitely breath like they do on tv. If anything, you will think of how ridiculous the whole situation is and the laughter will help with the whole birthing process.

Now... where is that dignity.

Strawberry Shortcake is her name-O

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 00:32:00 +0000

I have decided with Brian the name of our baby. I have also decided and told Brian that I would like to keep the name to ourselves until after the baby is born. This is why...

Dinner with Brian, Boden, my mother-in-law, and me. We have just finished dinner and Boden was sitting in my lap facing me. Boden and I sometimes belly-bump and this particular evening we were enjoying some flesh to flesh boo yeah BELLY BUMP. I promise I don't hurt him with my massive gut. This was the conversation that followed. The name of the baby has been changed to her nick name, Strawberry Shortcake, which was suggested as a name by Eva, a three-year-old.

MIL: Boden be gentile you don't want to hurt sister.

Brian: Yeah, you don't want to hurt Strawberry Shortcake.

MIL snaps her head to Brian with wide eyes: WHAT?! Is that her name? Her first name?

Brian assuredly: Yup, that's her name.

Meanwhile the belly bumping has stopped and I sat watching in disbelief as he has broken the promise to keep the name to our inner family circle and my mother-in-law in questioning our decision. I had to excuse myself to get Boden in the tub and to check if there really was steam coming out of my ears.

I decided that I would calm myself and then speak to my mother-in-law to at the very least remind her not to divulge the baby's name to other people.

Me: We decided that we weren't really going to tell anyone the baby's name until after she got here.

MIL: Well, is that what you are going to name her? What will you call her? Straw? Berry? Cake?

Me not getting a word in but thinking: (What do you mean what will be call her? Like we would name her something and call her something different? Why is it hard to pronounce all the syllables in her name?)

MIL still pitching the questions: Is that her first name? middle name? Do you have a middle name?

Me still in shock, because it was extremely obvious at this point that she HATED the name Strawberry Shortcake. Stay Bruce stay Bruce. Don't let the Hulk out. Searching for something diplomatic, so the name would not be definitive in her mind.: Well, we have some time. (smile)

MIL: Well, you really want to think about it and make sure. A name is for life. You may want to pick something that she'll like.

Me... turning to walk away. I'm sure she mispoke and meant to say "pick something that I like": That's why I didn't want to tell anyone.

Strawberry Shortcake was not brought up again, however she did mention that there was a little girl at the lake named Zoe and she thought that was cute.

This is not to complain about Brian's slip up or the overt dislike of Strawberry Shortcake by my mother-in-law. I have learned that whatever a family decides to name their child even if it is something crazy like Pilot Inspektor, it is best to not voice an opinion. Everyone has an opinion, but I promise the pregnant lady does not want hear the opinions.

Even if you knew a Strawberry Shortcake growing up who was a crack whore, you do not have to tell me about it. All it will do is make my chest tighten. I seriously don't care about whether or not other people like the name, however I just don't want to hear the comments in the intensely uncomfortable and high hormonal months leading up to the birth.

I also owe Ashley an apology. I'm sorry for saying Eva sounds like Evil when you told me your girl name when you were pregnant. I understand that it wasn't nice, but I do like her name very much.

Nesting, venomous temper, and other neurotic behavior

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 22:44:00 +0000

Things I want to have done before the baby gets here:

1. repaint crib and changing table

2. recover chair for nursery

3. repaint dining room table and chairs

4. repaint Boden's old chest, distress it, and move to foyer

5. call electrician to put in a switch for garbage disposal

6. call plumber to install disposal

7. install different closet rod in Boden's closet

8. switch closets from Boden's old room to new room

9. move Grandma Eva's highboy from Ashley's garage to baby's room paint it if I don't like the color

10. hang up all presorted sized baby clothes in closet

11. change out all of the faucets in the house

12. clean everything four or five times

13. clean out fridge

14. reorganize bookcase and pack up old books that I have already read, but for some reason won't get rid of because they are coveted like treasures.

15. Get septic tank pumped regardless of being full or not... just in case.

Ambitious for a woman who curses when she has to bend slightly to put on underwear. Really, this is just half the stuff that I want done and want it done now. There is no possible way for me to do half this crap by myself, because of me being extremely large and pregnant.

I did not nest in my previous pregnancy and I believe it was because I moved in my seventh month and did not know the sex of the baby. There is this motivation to do everything and clean until I drop to my knees and sob. It has happened several times in the past week. I just want everything done and done now and if it doesn't happen I go ape shit.

I am so rattled with anxiety that I have asked my doctor to medicate me. I have become a beast. My husband, I'm pretty sure, is scared of me. He really tries to be kind to me and I have no idea where he is getting his patience... Oh wait it comes from a bottle of wine. Wine that I cannot drink. He has resorted to sleeping in another room and frankly I do not blame him. The other night he tried to turn on a small fan in order to create white noise. It immediately made my blood boil, because we have not had white noise in a year and why should I have to hear and see this ugly little fan in my bedroom collecting dust. No, I do not want THAT in here and we HAVE a ceiling fan. He dismissed himself after trying to sleep next to me who constantly flopping all over the bed attempting to find a comfortable position that would also allow me to breathe. I can't imagine why he would not be able to fall asleep.

My best friend said it best when she half heartedly told my mother, "punching her in the face wouldn't hurt that baby none." Yes, half heartedly she meant it and I laughed, because it is funny. What isn't funny is not being able to control the hormones that make me beastly. God save all of you who may endure my wrath and I am sorry I cannot control myself better.

Only 9 more weeks.

Female Grooming

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 00:18:00 +0000

Do any of ya'll have this attitude or know someone who does? The part of the person I know will be named Jennifer in order to protect her identity.

Jennifer: A rolling of the eyes and a big sigh, "tomorrow I have to paint my toe nails, shave my legs, AND my girlie parts."

Me with a look of shock and probably disgust: "What the hell is going on tomorrow? You got a date or something?"

Jennifer: "I have to go to my female doctor."

Me knowing that Jennifer goes to a male OBGYN: "Do you think that painting your toe nails will keep his focus off your other parts or are you trying to impress him? Maybe you should wear a toe ring and an anklet or something."

I am aware that most woman trim up for their girlie appointments and they should clean up. It just kind of like you should be doing this all along, so as to not have to make it a job to go to the dreaded appointment.

Eat and Drive with Care

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 22:33:00 +0000

My co-worker and BFF, Ashley, and I were on our way back from the trough. The trough would be the Chinese buffet. Ashley was looking for a quick meal and trying to be nice to the pregnant girl. It is a nice gesture, but seriously, I can't pig out nearly enough as I would like without feeling like Violet Beauregarde sans the turning purple.

We were stopped at the light when a gasp of terror expelled from next to me. I think Ashley even had her hands bunched at her face and was closing her eyes. "Do you see THAT next to us! I can't look."

I leaned forward, which is difficult at seven months pregnant to take a look at the Gawd awful sight next to us that had her so frightened.

There she was. She was a big girl kind of like Fat Bastard's sister or first cousin. She was driving a big truck, which did not help her. There is nothing wrong with a woman driving a big 4x4 truck, but it tends to make a woman slightly less feminine in way that I cannot describe.

Clearly, old girl was just leaving the Sonic drive through. I came to this logical conclusion based on the shiny foil burger wrapper that was splayed out around her head. The burger inside was no single. It had to have been one of those double or perhaps a triple burger based on how her jaw had to unlock like an anaconda swallowing a goat. The unhinging of her jaw clearly caused some pain, because the rest of her face was squinched up. I also believe she had the shark eye protection reflex, because her eyes were closed. It seemed like she shook her head a little on the down bite like how lions gnaw and tear the flesh off of their prey.

This was only a few seconds of recollection, but I was really worried that she was eating the wrapper in the attack and quite possibly fingers.

Note to self, small bites when eating while driving, because you never know who may glance over and laugh at you.

Skippin' Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 01:27:00 +0000

So, my last doctor's appointment went a bit like this...

... 45 minute wait in the waiting area, which was as full as the Social Security office. I swear there were like two empty seats in the whole waiting area. That's a shit ton... er... maybe that is an exaggeration an ass load of patients.

The wait was no fun, because my baby lives right under my diaphragm. The only comfortable way is to sit with my back arched which causes the top of the chair to cut into the top of my back. Meanwhile, my lower back is unsupported. My legs are swollen, so sitting lady-like in a comfortable position is also a challenge.

I thought I would strike up a conversation with the more pregnant girl next to me. I happened to be thumbing through Harpers Bazaar and there was a photo of a woman lying on her back sunning herself. "Wouldn't you love to be able to lay like that again?" This could have scared the young woman who apparently laughed politely when my point was the inability to lay on ones back when pregnant. I asked her the typical questions that you ask a pregnant woman: "How far along are you? Is this your first? What are you having?" Only to not have any of the questions reciprocated. Fine, have fun sitting in silence.

Finally, I got weighed in and my blood pressure taken. Ha! only a three pound gain in a month! No, I'm not dieting. I gained the same amount the last time around only to gain 25 pounds in the last two months and no I did not eat more. As I've explained before, I'm a sweller. I retain large amounts of water much like a camel except my hump is not on my back. The tendons in my feet no longer show and the swelling is only in the beginning stages.

Then the nursing assistant guided me back to the patient room. I immediately pulled out the foot rest on the table and laid down waiting another several minutes. My doctor walks in and the first thing she says is, "No cankles, yet. But there is still time." Cankles is how she diagnosed me the last time I was pregnant. Our conversation went from Cankles to Banana Hammocks. Yeah, that's what we girls talk about to our doctors at our girlie appointments.

The more concerning thing was I couldn't recall how many weeks pregnant I was, but she measured and dopplered me and said something about being almost 33 weeks. "Really? Where has the time gone?" On my calendar at home, I have my weeks written down. It seems that either she is wrong, which I'm not doubting her. OR, I was wrong. OR, I'm measuring three weeks larger than my original due date, because my child is going to be LARGE.

I like large babies, but the birthing the large baby part makes me a bit nervous. Being cut is not an option... only if it is necessary. I'm not saying I'm a naturalist. God made the people who founded the epidural procedure too. If someone offered me an epidural now, I would get one. I will walk into the hospital and immediately ask for my drugs this time. But I digress, I'm not keen on the C-section for two reasons: first off is our insurance does not cover what is called "routine OB care". Whomever came up with this term should be beaten by a pack of pregnant women. There is nothing routine about being pregnant. WTF do you cover under this type of insurance, really? I will not go on, because I get upset. Our family cannot change the fact that our insurance changed to this sorry ass carrier "Golden Rule"... the rule is they have the gold by sucking out your gold. So, not only does our insurance NOT cover any of my OB visits, it does not cover the hospital fees and anesthesia. The price for a C-section is DOUBLE that of the vaginal delivery. Now, if something is wrong and it is necessary I'll get cut. My other reason for not wanting the C-section is not wanting to have my abdominal wall cut. It just seems like a painful recovery. I have many friends who have had C-sections and recovered just fine and probably better than what I went through with my first birth. I will not get into specifics, but I will say that I still had stitches.

Now, I've got to visit my doctor every two weeks.

24 & 25 Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Thu, 28 May 2009 22:19:00 +0000

So, she is the size of an ear of corn at 24 weeks and a rutabaga at 25 weeks.

My only question is how come this time around last time I could pack in food like a competitive eater and this time I can't? It isn't any fun. I will say that by lunch time I'm so hungry that I gorge myself to the point of discomfort, which is about an average sized helping for a girl like me. At dinnertime, I'm not hungry. The thought of eating gives me indigestion.

The other preggie issue is dum dum dum... swelling. It has begun. I squatted at the refrigerator and my legs felt slightly tight behind the knees. This may be a grotesquely exaggerated observation on my behalf. Swelling is my pregnancy fear and nemesis. Bill Clinton would not be able to rip his eyes away from the beautiful cankles I was sporting the last time I was pregnant. It wasn't pleasant having the skin my lower extremities stretch and fill with fluid similar to what is inside of those stress ball things. I have no idea what would prevent this ailment and if I do find a cure I am positive that I will write a book, sell it on QVC, and sell it on infomercials at 4am.

I am pretty sure that my child is as hairy as an Ewok. The heartburn/acid reflux/lava eruptions at night is horrible. I heard once from a friend who had bad acid reflux issues... coincidentally not during her pregnancy as she showed no symptoms whatsoever and could make a fortune as a surrogate... that milk helps. For a person who is desperate, but lactose intolerant, this did indeed squelch the burn. I did hypothesize that this was a possible swelling culprit. I went through a couple gallons a week and would chug it in the middle of the night. Maybe this time it won't be so severe. Fingers will be crossed.

Another pregnancy anomaly is my ability to do the Volcun hand salute with my toes. No, not on purpose and I was never a Star Trek fan. For some reason, this is a normal symptom of pregnancy - foot cramps. I could be on the fuzzy almost asleep state right before you drift off into sleepy town and BOOM - WTF ARE MY TOES DOING AND WHY WON'T THEY STOP - and I jump out of the bed to apply pressure or bend my toes back into normal shape. It really isn't just the toes it is the muscle on top of my foot and when I stretch in the morning a nice charley horse is the bodily response.

Really, this is a blessed time and I'm so happy to be a part of this process. I remember thinking the whole time last time that it was such a cool experience - and there is no sarcasm involved in me saying that. There are some woman who would love to be in my shoes, so I should stop my belly aching, but it does provide good humor at my expense. It amazes me how much I forgot all these pregnancy side effects... or possibly after giving birth the lack of sleep helps to erase it from memory.

Only 15 more weeks!

Memorial Day Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Wed, 27 May 2009 00:24:00 +0000

How was our Memorial Day you may ask? Hmm... Memorable, because I took pictures and then I vowed to blog about it since I've been slack with my blog duties.

Brian was working, so we didn't go to the lake. It also rained most of the weekend. What is a little boy to do? Strip down naked and play in the puddle. I tried to stop the nakedness, but there was a meltdown that was about to happen if I didn't let him rip off his pull ups. So, how do I get the upper hand? Take pictures that could potentially end up in his high school year book. I love you son!

This photo was taken after I decided to go at Shelby with her shedding saw blade thingee and Boden decided to pull a tomato off the plant on my porch and take a big ol' bite. I came back to find him with a tomato in hand, unwashed, and smile on his face.

"What is in your mouth?"

"A tomato. See! I got it all by myself."

"Son, you have to wash the tomato first. Spit that out and let me wash it for you." Ugh, turn your head and you little boy eats a tomato that was dusted with 7 Dust. Thank God it had been raining.

Did you notice that he is also scratching his butt?

Spider leads to vacuuming and furniture moving

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Sat, 16 May 2009 13:01:00 +0000

Brian has been out of town since Tuesday, so my being the barefoot and pregnant atypical housewife skills have dwindled to coming home from work, putting on my pj's and a wife beater, and dinner that involves the least amount of cooking and cleaning.

This morning I had a little more fire in the belly... no acid reflux joke here. It all started when I decided to finally fold and put away Boden's laundry that I started last week. I was sitting in the middle of the floor folding while Boden was sticking body parts in his newly discovered Mr. Potato Head, which he named Moody. I had just finished putting the socks away and completed my task when I saw something drop from my thigh. It was only a glimpse, but I thought it was black and then it crawled out from under the shadows and presented itself to me. To which I replied with a scream.

Boden cries out, "It's an ant!"

"NO! IT'S A SPIDER AND IT CAN BITE YOU!"

I grabbed a wipes box and smushed it and ran for the vacuum while Boden climbed up into his chair out of the crime scene. The vacuum is slowly not becoming my friend, because I hate that it is like pushing around an elephant and my uterus responds with Braxton Hicks contractions. I had to get the vacuuming done anyway, because Shelby is loosing her hair like she is undergoing chemotherapy.

I vacuumed the spider carcass up and proceeded to vacuum the rest of the house. I got the the living room and stopped. It is so dark in there. We have these french door window and that's it. There is a big leather chair and a half that is blocking the bottom half of two of the windows. Hmm...

Against all pregnancy rules and vacuum momentum, I started to move the chair to my bedroom. Sliding it down the hallway was easy. It was the getting it through the bedroom door where I got the chair stuck, which resulted in me taking the door of the hinges. Damn narrow doorways!

The chair is in the room, there is more light in the living room, the vacuuming is almost done (I had to stop to eat), and the door is propped up against the wall next to the chair. I'm sure Brian will get home and hate it there.

I'm not sure if this is just my personality or nesting, because now there is so much more furniture that just seems to be crowding in this house that I'm debating putting on Craig's List. It is either that or we will just have to move.

Number 2

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Stock) — Fri, 01 May 2009 01:23:00 +0000

My child Boden has bowel issues. I can honestly say this is one thing that he has in common with his late uncle Matt. My brother used to take massive dumps. The kind that would not flush. The kind in which our whole family would marvel at together while Matt stood with pride... and probably a soar ass.

During our family trip across the country, not by choice, my father was transfered from California to Georgia. My father thought it would be better (cheaper) for us to load up the Mercury Lynx, which he bought new with NO AIR CONDITIONING. Is was my father, mother, Matt (10-years-old), me (8-years-old), and our parakeet, Bird. It was mid August and we were about on day two of the five day track.

Matt had gone number two and had issues with getting the newly birthed fecal matter to flush. We requested a plunger from the motel, but to no avail. The poop child wouldn't go down. Finally, my mother, who is in no way similar to Joan Crawford, had to take a WIRE HANGER and cut the turd in flushable pieces.

Boden has been taking adult-sized poops since he was five months old. The ladies at daycare delivered more than their fare share of bowel births. The poor child has a phobia of pooping, because of his association with these labors. I've tried everything in the past: straight juice, live culture acidophilus, molasses, karo syrup, Miralax.

The other day he told me in the morning that he had to go "poo poo." I scooped him up and plopped him on the potty. Nothing happened. Later that day, I notice he is sitting on the floor with his knees up with the concentration look that he gets when he is trying to go. Again, I scoop him up and run him to the potty. This time he relaxed enough to get things going, which made him cry. I too want him to get over his fear and with pride said, "OH, look at this big poo poo." It was huge.

He leaned over the toilet looking at the fruit of his labors and said, "that sure is a big poop, mommy. It's a... it's a troll bridge, mommy."

Did I mention he is creative too? The lincoln log he just birthed was stuck in the hole and was leaning against the side making what looked like to him a troll bridge.