Annual conundrum solved

My new favorite store of the week is Penzeys Spices. Yes, quite the change from my usual clothing or shoe retailer. You see, I received a gift card for their establishment and decided to pop in to a local store this past weekend to see what I could score. Low and behold, I fell in love. With everything. The spices, the helpful workers, the feel of the store – I want it all. Who ever knew so many variations of freaking Cinnamon existed?!? I think the gal that helped me pick out my spices went home that night to tell her husband about the country bumpkin she helped at work that had the audacity to ask, “Which one is most like the kind I’d usually get at Pick N Save?” I might as well have asked a wine connoisseur where to find a good box of wine.

Ah yes, it is I, shameless Anne.

After sniffing a little of this and a little of that, I finally selected the spices I wanted to purchase. And let me just say that I’m not even sure what one of them is really used for, but I sure as hell needed it and I’ll be finding something to use it for.

So why does this solve my annual conundrum? Well, here’s the dilemma. Every year I’m paralyzed by an all-important decision. Do I go pumpkin or pecan pie for Thanksgiving dessert? These are life or death decisions, people. Usually I’ll go the route of one of each…washed down with hefty side of self-loathing.

Well, 2011 is looking up. My new love addiction of Penzey’s had me eyeing up their website for other items I might get my sticky little fingers on when I stumbled upon their recipes. It’s really cool, you guys. You use their search page, type in the spice you have (or want to purchase), and a list will display of all the matching items available for purchase AS WELL AS a list of recipes that contain that spice. It is here where I found the love of all loves. Pecan Pumpkin Pie. Problem solved. Anne = 1, Thanksgiving = 0.

If anyone’s interested, check it out here! I my hips can’t wait to give it a test run very soon.

~as

Cannon ball!!!

This past weekend Eric, S, and I went up to “the Yoop” (aka the U.P…aka the Upper Peninsula of Michigan). We finally had our very last Christmas 2010 celebration with my Mom’s side of the family up there. And yes, I realize it’s the 3rd week of January and we’re STILL finishing up our holiday gatherings. Trust me, I know. It’s been an exhausting few months of holiday events since Thanksgiving hit.  My polished off bottle of gin will attest to that.

Okay, back to our trip…

While we were traversing the inches upon inches of falling snow (which, I swear NEVER stopped falling during any point while we were there), we thought it might be fun to head indoors to go swimming. Sebastian loves his bath time so it seemed like a natural fit.

And never one to disappoint….Mikey likes it! Mikey likes it! Sebastian definitely takes after his momma in the pool. They didn’t call me “Anne the fish” for nothin’. And by ‘they’ I mean my Dad and some random carnie that drew my caricature portrait at a county fair when I was 8 years old. Hey - ’they’ only technically needs to be two people. Just saying.

At first I think S was probably thinking, “What the hell…this is the largest freakin’ bath tub I’ve ever seen in my WHOLE LIFE!!” (All 5 and a half months of it.) But once we started playing around with him and splashing, he warmed right up to it. Move over Michael Pelphs…Sebastian Stefl is hot on your trail. Minus the pot smoking allegations and revocation of sponsorships.

Here’s a pic of my two favorite guys drying off and having fun in the process:

Happy Hump Day, internet!

~as



Well, well, well…what do we have here?

Dear Blog,

It’s me, Anne. You know, the one that used to post semi-regularly on this site. Yes, I know…long time no talk. I’ve been a bit busy. You know…creating human life, birthing him for TWENTY NINE hours, and now raising him into an upstanding member of society. No big deal.

Per elementary school style punishment, I will write 5 times on the chalkboard how I intend to rectify my actions:

I promise to resume regular posts again.
I promise to resume regular posts again.
I promise to resume regular posts again.
I promise to resume regular posts again.
I promise to resume regular posts again.

And let’s be honest…mostly I’ve been too busy dodging puke and pee. I swear this child ‘o mine just waits until I open his diaper to unleash the beast. Where’s a pee-pee-tee-pee when you need one?!

Just 9 days old here

My hand is bigger than his entire torso.  :)

Mastering the art of sitting up in his Bumbo.

Tummy time!

There's the gummy smile that melts my heart.  :)

Please accept these pictures of my work from the last 4 months as a token of my sincere apologies. Cheers!

~as

Hodge Podge

This post is a compilation of an assortment of random topics. Just think of it like that mixed cassette tape you made back in 5th grade. You just NEVER know what might be coming next.

That leads me to my first thought: Is there a limit of cookies to which one can consume in a day? Not if you’re eight and a half months pregnant and your name is Anne Stefl. If I didn’t know better, I’d think my middle name was High Fructose Corn Syrup.

Here's the skinny: I always get all Boyz to Men-style weak in the knees around sweets on an average day, but I swear – I’ve lost all sense of willpower these days. That brings me to today.  I brought in some cookies for my last day of work before I start my maternity leave tomorrow (yippee!!). Bad part? I think I took down more than the rest of my co-workers combined.

Okay, that might be a small exaggeration, but if my child comes out hairy and blue and is frantically searching for a cookie, I guess I know I had one too many and only have myself to blame.

Speaking of the cookie monster, I think the goodies are making their way to him right now…his activity level has really kicked up a notch or twelve. Hey, I don’t blame him. He’s probably all like, “DAMN WOMAN! Chill out with all the sweets. Shoooot.” And I picture him saying all that like the eTrade babies that talk on those commercials. Milk-a-what?!?!?!

Oh and while we’re talking about work and colleagues (well, we were talking about work and colleagues until I got on a tangent about the baby – crap, here I go again!)…they got me again, you guys!! Make the madness stop. Just kidding because I really loved it, but they threw a SECOND surprise baby shower for Eric and I at work last week! This time thankfully I didn’t have quite the same awesomely embarrassing deer in headlights look, but I’m sure I was sporting something equally as scary. We seriously have some of the best co-workers EVER. I just dare you to say your co-workers are better. I double dog dare you.

Next thought…ahhh, the good old bee’s nest that was getting cozy on our front porch. Remember the malicious war that was waged against us that resulted in me getting stung?! (AKA the time Anne swatted at the bee and got too close to their hive so she got stung)

We retaliated. And it was awesome.

One can of wasp spray later: Anne & Eric: 1, Bees: 0

Oh, and last but not least, let me know if anyone has any good book suggestions to keep me occupied for the next two weeks.  I'm in the market for something light and easy to keep my mind and eyes off the clock.  Ahh, the lovely waiting game. 

~as

(Re)Learned life lesson

Oh, it’s never a dull day with me lately. My recently (re)learned life lesson? Don’t swat at bees.

Over this past 4th of July holiday weekend, I was minding my own beeswax - pun TOTALLY intended – drinking a cup of coffee while sitting on our front porch.
Enter Mr. Bee.

This little bugger kept buzzing all around me and got much too close for comfort, so against my better judgment, I swatted at him when I realized he had no intention of leaving my area. This is MY porch, Mr. Bee!

As you can imagine, he was having none of it. My swatting had no effect. Go figure. I had to evacuate the premises.

Upon leaving my comfy Adirondack chair (that Eric built for us…what a little handy woodworker he is!), I noticed Mr. Bee went directly to a specific spot on the chair in between two slats of wood and didn’t emerge from that spot for longer than I would’ve expected. You know, because I’m such an expert on knowing the habits of bees and all.

Well, given my innate nosiness…err, I mean curiosity, I went to peep the scene.
I couldn’t believe it. Directly below where my left leg had just been relaxing to the max was a small beehive bee-ing (haha) built! Eric, who was also sitting on the porch next to me in his own chair, just HAD to know about this.

As I’m telling him what I just discovered, I thought it would be cool to also SHOW him by flipping over the chair.

Uh oh. Bad Anne. NOT A GOOD IDEA.

As I’m flipping over the chair for show-and-tell hour at the Stefl Household, I spot at least two bees, and they are not pleased I’m literally turning their world upside down. One of them makes a beeline (haha, this never gets old) for my left foot and stings my big toe. Lovely.

For Pete’s sake. I haven’t had a bee sting since my very first one when I was 7 years old!

Now, who knows if my earlier swatting at the bee is what caused him to retaliate with such ruthless maliciousness or if he would’ve came after me anyway, but I’m guessing it probably didn’t help. Oops. (And for the record, Eric did make a comment while I was doing the aforementioned swatting and noted it might not be the best idea, but that clearly didn’t stop me. Dang it.)

Needless to say, getting stung at 8 and ½ months pregnant didn’t make me happy. Poor Eric. I think it’s fair to say I’ve held it together emotionally for just about all of my pregnancy, but that little bee sting really did not sit well with me. I’m not gonna lie…a few tears were shed. And then I also poured one for my homies that have passed. Okay, so maybe that last part didn’t happen.

On this week’s to-do list? Stop at the hardware store for some beehive killer spray. And no, I will NOT be the one spraying the hive. Good luck with that, Eric. :)

~as

Blue Steel is sooo 2001

Derek Zoolander’s trademark “blue steel” look has got nothing on my “deer in headlights” look.

So yesterday at work I was just minding my P’s and Q’s. I had barely sucked down my mini pot of coffee (decaf…ugh!) before having to jet off to a regularly scheduled Monday morning meeting. No big deal. Business as usual.

That is…until I was asked after the meeting to accompany one of our senior level managers as he swung by another colleague’s office to discuss a project.

In hindsight, the details were very vague as to why I was needed for this discussion. But like I mentioned above, I can’t have caffeinated coffee these days, so the finer details of my mornings before I fully wake up aren’t always questioned thoroughly.  Sad, but true.

Anyway, we strolled past the colleague’s office and instead, headed towards a large conference room around the corner and proceeded to BARGE right in.

I was floored.

Who just barges into a closed conference room without so much as knocking?!? Certainly not a senior level manager that would know better! This is a professional place of work, people!

Heavens to Betsy. Picture my embarrassment as I see a room full of people staring back me. There WAS in fact a meeting going on that we just barged in on! 

Except that wasn’t the case...

It was a surprise.

Surprise baby shower, that is.

They got my good. Real good. Those sons of guns.

And the worst part is that it took the duration of all the above mental thinking and internal dialogue with myself before I actually figured out what the hell was going on.

And when the light bulb finally clicked on, I got the “holy-crap-deer-in-headlights-look” instantly. And like a little kid that still wasn’t 100% positive, I proceeded to point to myself, as if to physically ask “this is for me??”

Oh boy. And I’M going to be raising a child. Yikes. :)

When the crowd started to good-naturedly laugh at my complete naivety, I knew I had FINALLY hit the nail on the head and it was indeed a surprise baby shower. I was in shock. Being the control freak that I am, I haven’t had a surprise party in years!!

After putting 2 and 2 together, I quickly scanned the crowd looking for Eric (for those of you that don’t know - we work for the same company), but I didn’t see him.

Perfect.

That meant the little sneakers at work lured me to the conference room first and he must still be on his way. I was about to witness his deer in headlights moment. SCORE!

Except, you see, my husband is much more on the ball that I. Damn him. He figured it out the moment he walked into the room. Oh well, glad I could give the crowd a bit of a chuckle for all the hard work they did planning and preparing for the surprise. They successfully pulled off surprising both of us and held an amazing shower for us. We are extremely lucky to have such wonderful coworkers!

And a special thank you goes out to Jana and Natalie for heading up the planning. You guys are the best!!! :)

~as

So adorable I could eat these

Remember how a few months ago I started to teach myself to crochet? Feast your eyes on what I made!

*Thanks to Eric for the sweet, sweet pic!

PSYCH. (Yeah, I’m bringing it back.)

I wish I made these. My crochet venture went a little something like this:

I figured out a stitch technique that probably would’ve been enough to squeak out a blanket, but my interest level fizzled out faster than a sparkler on the 4th of July. End of story.

And really…it’s not my fault. I inherited this start-a-baby-blanket-yet-never-finish-it character flaw. My aunt started a baby blanket for my cousin while he was in the womb. He’s 29 years old now…and still waiting for his blanket. It's clearly her fault I am the way I am.

Thank goodness someone gifted us this adorable mint green hat and booties for me to claim as my own. Phew. I’m envisioning the photographic hay day we’re going to have with the homemade hat and booties I MADE once the baby gets here. Shut your mouth, Internet. Mind your own beeswax.

And here’s the other thing…we had our childbirth class not long ago. First off, talk about a real snoozer. Literally. I dozed off at one point. Oops. Eric will attest to this. But in my defense, it was a part of the class where even the nurse instructor said something about it being okay if she caught a sleeper during this part. After all, the lights were off, drapes were closed, we were on the ground with our pillows and blankets, and we were supposed to be practicing calming breathing techniques.

Ummm, DOES SHE KNOW ME AT ALL?!?!

I could fall asleep with a railroad train blaring next to me, let alone this cozy environment she spoon fed me. Totally her own fault. Good thing Eric nudged me and I jostled awake before she flicked the lights back on.

Oh, and what got me on this tangent (sorry ‘bout that!) was the thought that I’m not sure making a baby blanket is such a great idea anymore anyway. See? There’s always a reason why nothing is my fault. DUH.

This instructor - and all the other books and such I’ve been reading - have planted the fear of SIDS so firmly in my head that I’m going to be afraid to ever bring a blanket near the kid. He’ll likely live a life of chilliness, but he’ll be free and clear of SIDS, gosh darn it! And when he’s old enough to dial the phone with his numb and slightly blue-ish little fingers, he can call the instructor and ask what this thing called a “blanket” is that people talk about.

43 days to go! :)


~as