25 weeks pregnant.

Feels like this: On one hand I can't believe it. On the other I can't wait for these next 13 weeks to fly by. Wait. That reminds me the baby could show up at 36 weeks or sooner. Then I remember I'm not ready at all which makes me feel the need to nest more. 


Does that make sense? 


I still can't believe I'm six months pregnant. Then I look down and there's my belly there's no hiding it. 

Yes - I really am showing you large naked my belly, rawr  :o)

My inner sarcasm loves the fact that I not longer just look plump instead I've visibly knocked up :o) And soon as I can remember to have Mr. Arkansas snap a photo I'll reveal the bump progress in proper manner. 


In the meantime it's been a while since I shared a crafty project. I've been tweaking things around the house using things we already have on hand. You know: To feed the beast that is my need for change. 

When I first purchased them at a thrift store in Texas I loved how old they looked. 

As a matter of fact I posted about it here when they had ugly green seats. But after a year or so I've decided I was over the old. So in typical Rach fashion I gave them a bit of a face lift using a couple cans of spray paint and fabric I picked up for a dollar at goodwill. 

Seriously - a whole roll of it - I love thrifting. 

Have you thrifted lately? 

Orange Oatmeal Berry Muffins.

Hi. It's been a while. Sorry about that. It's just that in the past week or so all I've seemed to do is clean, cook, do laundry, repeat. 


One good thing about all the cooking I've been doing is I've been able to try lots of recipes. Of course with any recipe we first try it as is then we start 'messing' with it. This one started out as my oatmeal banana muffin recipe. Then one day we were out of milk so I substituted orange juice - they were awesome but a little moist. 


Finally, after our fourth batch of muffins I've tweaked the recipe to near perfection. I hope you'll try them and love them as much as we do. They seem to be a daily staple for Mr. A each morning. 

You’ll need:

2/3 C uncooked oatmeal

1/2 C orange juice

1-1/2 cups all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup vegetable oil

2 eggs - beaten

1 C fresh or frozen blueberries or strawberries

Combine the oatmeal and orange juice. Set aside.

In a large mixing bowl, combine flour, baking powder, salt, soda and sugar. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and add oatmeal mixture, oil and eggs. Stir only until ingredients are moistened.

Lastly, fold in berries. Spoon batter into greased muffin tins, filling about 3/4 full. Bake at 400 degrees F for 17 minutes or until muffins test done.  

* I usually make 10 larger muffins but you can stretch it to 12 small. 

Enjoy! 

And then I lost my shoe in a porta potty…

Memories. We all have them and sometimes they pop up in the oddest places. This is one that happened to pop up a week or so ago. 

It was 2001. 

I was a know-it-all junior in High School. It was the during the black eyeliner and bleached out bangs phase. Needless to say I it was a weird time for everyone involved. I had been dating a guy named John for about a year or so. Summer came he graduated and started working a few towns over. Of course with a new town, comes new friends. 


Racing friends. 


Friends that were older had fast cars and could buy beer.

On one of these said outings with his new friends we were driving back from a long evening watching homemade drag car races. Being a girl, I had to pee. So bad in fact I knew I couldn’t hold it. So I started pleading on him to stop some where any where. 

We were in the middle of no-where so a gas station wasn’t an option. John knowing the area pulled into a local construction site. I stared at him waiting on instructions on how I was supposed to get to the blue porter shit-er since it had a FENCE AROUND IT.

John: “Rach, I’ll lift up the fence and wait here”.

Me: Seriously?

John: “yes it’s fine I know the dude that owns this place - go”.

He points at the blue building. Then lifted the side of the fencing enough for me to squeeze under. I quickly dash inside the potty house.

Me: “Gross, I think someone peed on the floor”….


....“Can you hear me?”….

By now I have my hands on the wall holding my butt about three foot over the toilet trying not to touch anything. Afraid of what could craw out of the black hole or what's touched the seat. 

“This is so freaking nasty”…………….“John?”….

I lean forward to crack open the door hoping to let some fresh air in, but instead I was greeted with A SNARLING ROTTWEILER, Foam around his scary large teeth and all.

“HOLY SHIT!!!!!!! JOHN!!!!!!!!!”

I grab the latch and slam the door closed, which in turn caused me to loose my grasp on the wall, I fall back into the wall and my foot to slips strait into the disgusting abyss that is the poo hole. I scream again jerking my foot out of the hole. 


(I close my eyes: Oh thank Jesus I nothing touched my foot, oh my god my flop is missing.) 

John: “Hey, I’m over here, look I have a gun, I’m going to distract it you just run.

I stand back up on the seat this time trying to peek out of the little vent hole near the top. I can see the Rottweiler’s is still standing outside the door. 

Me: “holy hell it smells so bad”…. (silence, I start to cry).“Umm… dude (sniffle, sniffle) there’s a problem with your hold running senario…. I lost a flop”.

“John?”

Then I hear a shot.

(Oh my lord did he shoot the dog?)

I peek. Nope its still right there waiting me - waiting to eat my face.

Me: “JOHN! What in the HELL are you doing? Dude get me OUT OF HERE it smell so bad.

A second shot. 

Then I hear the sound of feet running. I peek back out of the vent hole again, this time I can see all 6 foot 5 inches of long lanky John running around the side of the fence holding his shot gun above his head like an indian with the Rotty chasing him along the fence, trying to eat him. 

John: “RUN, RACH!”

Being the girl that I am, I crawl down off the toilet seat trying not to touch anything, tip toe across the floor that surely has urine on it trying to only use my big toe on the exposed foot, I peek out the door enough to see exactly where in the hell I’m supposed to run to. 

Then I see it. The chain link fence has been propped up by a stick of some sort. 

I make a dash for it tears streaming down my sunburned face. 

The gravel felt like it periced my feet a thousand times. It felt as if I were running across hot burning coals since the 100 degree Texas heat has that effect on black gravel. Then I tried to do a baseball slide under the fence because on TV it always saves time but because I’m me - and not Nolan Ryan I slammed into the side of it, knocking the stick out tangling myself in its metal web.

I screamed again. 


Then I felt Johns hand around my arm lifing me up into the air like a rag doll and over his shoulder. I scream again, because I'm anything if not dramatic. 

Before I could realize what happened, I had been flipped right side up and I was sitting on the edge of his tailgate looking at the mangled fence trying to figure out where the dog was. And if my feet were actually bleeding. 

Me: is it dead?

John: “no.”

Me: but… I thought I heard….

John: You heard me shoot to keep his attention, the suckers locked on the other side now.

Me: I hate you right now.

John: Fair enough but I think right now we just need to leave. 

Me: I miss my flip-flop. It's floating in poo right now in case you're interested. Someone elses poo. 

And to this day friends I will never cross a fence at a construction site ever again. No matter how bad I have to pee.