Just Call Me Frank

As many of you know, I dropped my oldest off at college a couple of weeks ago. I have to give a shoutout to UW Madison for their absolutely awesome system for getting the students moved in and the parents shipped on out. Smooth. Very, very smooth and painless. Who needs heartburn on top of heartache when you’re sending your younglings off to spread their wings? No one, that’s who and UW delivers.

SO–we were driving in to Verona where I stayed with family and it’s only fitting to note that we saw the Oscar Mayer Weiner Mobile. Why is this fitting, you ask? First off, we love the darn thing. Like, fell off the turnip truck kind of excited. So much so that we turned around to go “find it.” We were stuck in one lane traffic and had to drive around a bunch of buildings to get to it, but get to it we did. And second? Well, it’s only fitting that there’s a pregnancy story attached to hot dogs because the last post I wrote was about crawling through a doggy door while pregnant with Monkey. So there’s that. Nice segue that just fell into my lap, so to speak. 😉

In the blazing heat of the Phoenix summer, I was at the end of my second trimester of pregnancy helping Chief assemble temporary office furniture for the trailer his office had to work out of while the new buildings were being built. We had worked through lunch and had one more Costco run to make for supplies and office items. We had a partner dinner to go to that evening and we needed to get this project done so we could head home, clean up, and head back out. The problem was–I hadn’t eaten since we left the house that morning and was hungry as all get out; not to mention that Chief tends to push the boundaries of “getting things done.” While I don’t blame him, I was very clear (read: increasingly vocal) that I needed a snack. Badly.

His response?

It’s almost dinner time. Can’t you wait?

Yup. He went there.

I thought about it and decided, maybe you’re right. That is, until I saw the hotdog counter and all bets were off. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was now around 3:00 pm. We weren’t even meeting at the restaurant until 6:00 pm.

Needless to say, I won and got the hotdog.

I inhaled it like a professional hotdog eating champ.

Then I lost.

I developed a gut ache to beat the band and I felt like I wanted to curl up and die. I’m pretty sure I was a little bent in my posture, it hurt so bad. I wondered if I had food poisoning I felt so terrible. Then I wondered if someone could pass away from terrible gas (accidental pun intended–it just “typed itself” and I couldn’t resist, lol). I was given the look and a I told you so, but then I got some real concern because things were not getting better.

I suffered through a fancy dinner where I had to meet new people only to go home and feel miserable until bedtime. People! I couldn’t eat a hotdog for a long while after that.

🖐🏼 But wait–there’s more.

Before and after the Great Hotdog Incident, Chief wasn’t being helpful, at least in the beginning, with the baby names. We started with girls’ names and could not agree. I moved on to boys’ names and he wasn’t participating. Frustrated, I finally told him that I was calling this baby “Frank” until he showed some serious participation. I called Monkey “Frank” so many times that I confused a couple of people (oddly enough, now that I think back on it, the doggie door friends were amongst the confused). People started to think that “Frank” was a contender. It never was. Remember, I like nicknames–everyone has one. Term of endearment and all. It was also a reminder that Chief needed to help a little more with some baby-related things, aside from providing the sperm. 😉 He also needed to feed the pregnant lady more more regularly than that fateful day of furniture assembly.

So, there are some hotdog/Frank stories for you related to Monkey. Chia’s in utero nickname was Wally–you’ll have to wait for that story.