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