Just eat

As my taste buds are on a cosmic trip midway from Jupiter to Mercury, I mutter to myself, "why?" Why have you forsaken me? Somewhere along the way I lost my fever for the flavor of food. My organic kick is down for the count. My carb intake is astonishing paramount. Besides, it's the only items that I can keep down, next to bread, crackers, soup, and cardboard. Certainly, I'm being a big baby about the situation, but I love food! I appreciate food. I adore the art of food. Oh the pain of a pedestrian palette.

I spent $8 on lunch which included two large slabs of beef and gravy, a heap of mac and cheese, utterly disgusting, and spinach sopped in butter, furthermore disgusting. Two bites later and I was mortified! What was I doing? Thus far, I've had half a peanut butter chocolate cookie that my fabulous husband baked, a piece of whole wheat bread, a trifle of Godiva chocolate. My brain screams a beautiful organic baby lettuce tossed with fresh tarragon, mint, basil and topped with perfectly blanched French green beans, thinly sliced watermelon radish, three poached quail eggs and a few sliced fingerling potatoes, but my stomach dictates, “must eat slop!” Honestly, I am thankful for the gift of life, yet Pregnancy is somewhat of a Greek tragedy such as Tantalus .

Shellie’s Proverb: Never sow your seeds where chickens feed.
On the bright side, it is not whether or not I enjoy what I eat. Despite that I no longer cook in restaurants, doesn’t mean that I don’t practice the divine art of flavor. I get just as much pleasure out of cooking for loved ones. I am hosting two dinner parties this weekend. I will bet my lucky rabbit’s foot that I peck my way through the six dishes that I will orchestrate so grandly. In this situation, it’s the best that I can do. If you can’t beat it, cook for the ones you hold dear to your Corazon.

Lesson: A resourceful Grasshopper must make fried rice from left over rice.

First Timester

How am I? I'm holding up. Gulp. It could be loads worse. I'm in the threshold of my first trimester. As I enter the jaws of a new and exciting chapter of my life, I enter willingly.

Exhaustion has consumed my reality. I've succumbed to the powers of napping and drooling on the couch. As I sit at my desk at work, the vile sandman doses my afternoons with a longing for a peaceful snooze. Napster that's me. Mrs. Narcoleptic Kitchen. I am as active as a sloth on parade. I bid my workout regiment sweet adieu. Gone are my days of vim. I bid boxing final farewell sweet friend. Sniffle. The only action my body is getting is wiping the drool from my chin or the usual cookie lift of right arm to mouth. I have surrendered to what my body wants, but gosh darn it when will it cease? Mothers say there's light at the end of the first trimester tunnel. Eck! I'll believe it when I feel it.

My appetite has taken a downward spiral as I have a new found disgust for food that I once degusted. For instance, as I tried to enjoy my slow roasted chicken the texture of the crispy skin and the smell of the poultry just about sent me to porcelain paradise. My gusto for Swiss chard and kale is all in the past. The rich scent of Laudemio olive oil is no longer heavenly. I'm afraid what a drizzle of truffle oil will do to my gag reflexes. I still enjoy my time preparing a fine meal in the kitchen, I no longer have the appetite to taste it. On the polar opposite, my waistline and my belly is blooming like the foil lid of a jiffy pop. Water gain, bloating, boob sensitivity, all in the game of pregnancy. Lord have mercy someone prick me with a pin, because this here whale needs a break. Despite my ill appetite, I have found solace in a piece of godiva dark chocolate or oatmeal chocolate chip cookie. Great! What I once tolerated, I no longer can say 'no' to.

Shellie's Proverb: Pregnancy is temporary, parenthood is forever.

As for the cursed nausea, I am on my toes anticipating the day it's wretched claws digs into my placid being. Per my Chinese acupuncturist and my homeopathy homicidal tendencies, I have been warding off my nausea like a hoodoo voodoo santeria by drinking loads of fresh ginger root in hot water. It works for the most part, but I can still feel the sea sickness gradually seeping it's way into the dark side. It's mostly dormant, but not often as I would like. Perhaps my reasoning behind my naps of luxury is to avoid being ill with vomiting.

Essentially, I am very excited to have a growing 'it' in my belly. It's a wonderful and exhilarating feeling, to know that one day this tiny raisin of a human will be telling me to piss off nineteen years from now. Welcome to pregnancy.

Lesson: A wise grasshopper must understand that one's future can not be controlled, but one can curb his weight.

Ruff Love

Just when I thought I couldn't be any more delighted with life, enters another morsel of sweetness. We’re proud parents of a Pooch de` Pooch. A Bichon to be precise. How did she land in our laps? To be brief, I thought I could be a decent human by saving a woman from losing custody of her child to her crummy ex-husband at the same time save this canine from a kennel. We’ve weeded through names like snowball, eight ball, frisée (curly in french). Shane finally clawed his talon down on my absurdity, “Chloe’s her name.” It's just as well as I didn't want to dent Shane's manhood, regardless of how comfortable any heterosexual man is, walking a cotton ball of a dog with a name that reeks fairy dust would be hostile.

She's 3 months old and as sweet as Christmas morning. We were instructed to crate train her. Shane begged to differ, "What's the use in having a dog, if you have to keep her in a cage. It's preposterous!” Chloe has spent her first night in that crate, since her arrival in our home. She now slumbers silently in the billow of our Donna Karan down comforter. Gulp.

I've taken her long walks and not one peep of urine or one plop of poop. Yesterday her bathroom activity at the park was as apparent as carbon monoxide. What gives?

Shellie’s Proverb: Patience does not grow on trees.
I felt quite juxed as she wasn’t house broken. She’s as accidental as Hiroshima. Her accidents come with punishment, but with my punishment comes Shane’s leniency, “You can’t keep her in the backyard that long, it’s too cold for her out there.” It was in that very precise moment, that very minute second that I knew what kind of father he would be. Shane was sweet and loving; a definite push over. He had a soft spot. A sucker. I, on the other hand, would be perceived as the wicked wart of a mother. Ugh.

I hope that Chloe will come around and understand that the outdoors is her toilet. We have come to adore her. As my belly grows, I'm thrilled that I have a pint sized treasure that will be also growing alongside me. Here's to the future.

Lesson: Young Grasshopper must remember that without bread one cannot have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

First Appointment

What’s the best thing about a birthday? It’s getting what you wish for? My wish was pregnancy. Today was my first official appointment with my midwife and everything is looking tip top!

Sue McDonald, the fabulous midwife, previous to the ultrasound warned me that we would just see a glob and to refrain from any cartwheels. Incidentally - according to her excitement- I was 1 in 2 cases of an early pregnancy that evidently indicated an actual text book image of a heart beat and the egg yolk. Heck, Sue was more excited than I was, because she was wigging out! The sight of the microscopic heart beating rapidly was a definite tripper! “What do you think?” Sue inquired. Completely in awe, I answered, “Whoa what a trip? I'm freaked out!”

Sue provided the due date and the measurements of the growing ‘peanut’. As I drove home ecstatic, I was thrilled to share the ultrasound picture with Shane. It’s going to be an exciting time. It’s Supernova! The pregnancy is so freaky fresh! It’s alive! This is a natural phenomenon. It'S so cool and it’s all goodness. Happy Birthday to me. Glee!

Lesson: Grasshopper must always take risks to learn new lessons.

Cougar Collective

Today I’m a proud thirty five! Yes, I am now part of the cougar nation. Rowr!

COUGAR 101
In order to catch and tame it, we must first understand the beast. To understand the beast is to know it. So let's start off with a simple definition.

Cougar: KOO-grrrrr/ (noun); attractive mammal from the female species; middle-aged (35-45); some have been domesticated, but all are considered highly dangerous; quite experienced in fornication; prey on young, single, attractive men, sometimes even prey on women. Now that we've defined the 'cougar,' let's examine some cougar tendencies.

• They roam in packs, 2-4 at a time. They try to disguise themselves by dressing like the young hip kids, hip huggers, mid riff shirts. But, they can be distinguished by stretch marks, diamonds and wrinkles around their eyes. They are a very cunning beast. They cut through the small talk and prefer to discuss mounting techniques.
  
  
• They tend to circle their prey before they pounce. Their domiciles are usually littered with toys. This alerts the prey to the fact that they have cubs lurking in the home.
  
  
• Cougars are very aggressive, yet slightly intimidated. They prefer to pounce on unsuspecting prey that does not show signs of fighting back. So position yourself in the middle of the room, away from your friends. The cougar will sniff you out and begin to approach.
  
  
• Once you've made friends with the cougar you will need to engage in conversation with her. Don't be alarmed; this is only to discern how aggressive the cougar is. Some may go in for the kill right away; others may need you to 'listen.'
  
  
• Conversation is not a necessity, though. All you need to do is stand there, act interested and react to any of their aggressive moves.
  
  
• To accelerate the process, feed the cougar alcohol. ...

To my surprise, I thought I would look physically exerted at thirty five, but I must gloat that I look pretty decent for a cougar. My skin is flab free, my boobs, or the lack thereof, remain at chest level, my butt is more shapely than ever (thanks to boxing and squats), my bitterness level is at an all time low. My self confidence is paramount. My mental retardation, however, is questionable. What can I say except that I am blessed! Smile.

Shellie’s Proverb: Botox can not escape Mother Nature.
Being older does provide the asset of wisdom and simplicity. The woes of formerly being a twenty something seem so quasi elementary. In fact, I would venture to say ‘preschool’. My twenties was a decade of premenstrual epilepsy. Upon the arrival of my thirties, I had succumbed to the shell of my skin. I had nothing to prove anymore. I need not state an opinion. I was happy with myself. Now that I am thirty five, I am exactly where and who I want to be.

Lesson: Grasshopper must accept all flaws in order to possess perfection.

Kitchens are PotentWe did it!

The eagle has landed. The rooster has crowed. We have reached Shangri-La! That's right folks a future Kitchen is conceived. Cross my fingers. The cute little bun has taken shelter in my belly and is growing at a rate faster than germs on wheels! I can hear the sadness from men all around the world as they prepare a burial of once was a free man.

Phew! A sigh of relief. As I was advised that it would take at least 6 months to a year to achieve. We were sternly reminded to not expect instant fertilization. Nonetheless, Shane and I didn't think it would happen so soon. The first month was for kicks and giggles. Well, we were in Hawaii so you know what paradise and vacation equals?

Shellie’s Proverb: It takes a drunk couple to delude the responsibilities of making a child.

Ahem, the second month was all about the science of the art. Body temperature to be exact. As I decipher my ovulation period which is similar to recalibrating the world’s axis, Shane is another story, "Not today, I'm tired," he replied as his eyes displayed dark circles hanging heavy like bags. A woman should never have to plead nor whine? Shouldn’t it be a given? Besides, the one day we decide not to play could be the one shining moment! As soon as my temperature shot up, wham! It was down to the biznitch. At least I can clear the mildew and say, "that it was not an accident." Tee hee.

Shane and I are extremely delighted with the news. My excitement has increased beyond the height and depth of my being. Shane's initial response from the EPT test was that it was indefinite aka in denial, I tried to walk him through the technicalities such as hCG (a hormone that is produced by the placenta of a pregnant woman) that is detectable in the blood and urine 10 days of fertilization. As my official confirmation is on September 18, 2006, he awaits the response from my OBGYN to give him the go ahead to really start celebrating for instance, puking and wigging out. Until then, he is attempting to get as much golf in the next nine months as possible. In the meantime, I'll strap myself in tight and try not use Shane as a filthy doormat, because this prego maniac is on the ride of her life!

Lesson: Young Grasshopper remembers along with new life is the end to an old one.

Getting Wiser

My birthday is in a few weeks, and time certainly whizzes by. It really does! I love birthdays as much as the next five year old. Except I have to watch my cake intake and forget about the candles, because at my age accidents happen. Just yesterday I ward off turning thirty like a bad curse. Yet, I can feel the hot breath of forty tight on my tail! Despite age, I am happy where I am in life and who I am. Thus, I love my family, I love my husband, and I love my friends. I love life.

As Madonna, practically a mid centurion, trollops around in a skintight lavender leotard, I feel at ease with my age. A celebrity with two children, a woman nonetheless, gives me something to look forward to. Getting older doesn't mean retiring into a field of depend underwear. If I'm careful and moisturize, attempt to practice organic, and exercise, aging should be embraceable. I feel comfortable and content in my years like the blooming magnolia in springtime. Thirties are the new twenties! Thirties is the medium between fresh and rusty. Well, that is until reality set in like a tick burrowing it's head into my skin.

Flashback: Alyssa, five year old niece, toiled with her shoe laces, "Make two bunny ears. The bunny runs around the tree. The bunny jumps in a hole. Close it up tight!" Her laces loosely unscrambled and so does her patience. I reminded her that I had a difficult time learning how to tie my shoe laces too when I was her age. My nephew Robert interrupted, "Duh velcro?" He shrugged his shoulders as if it was the answer to the meaning of life. I tried to explain to my fellow human that velcro was not invented when I was a child. His eyes popped out of his socket and his mouth dropped open. I proceeded to tell him that our household was furnished with only one television equipped with no remote control along with no cable, hence no video game. The children's eyes were wild as they were disturbed. I guess my childhood to them is what my parents walking endless miles to school and back is.

Shellie's Proverb: A sheep is nothing without his wool.


In line with the normal female, clothes is one big part of my life. Although lately, it's become a regurgitation of a bad memory. I don't mind the sixties or the seventies. However, the eighties have slinked it's outlandish paw into today's trend. Nonetheless, the trendy -yet not so trendsetting- flaunts the Pat Benatar or Rod Stewart look makes my blood clot, I'd rather squeeze the anal glands off a canine than look at one more slim fit tapered jeans. Hail Mary full of grace please do not allow the stir up pants to be reintroduced. Maybe I just don't feel like reliving my Cindy Lauper days. As this girl just want to have fun, I would rather do it in a sublime well seamed outfit.

Suppose I am getting older be it shoe laces or fashion, it is all a tell tale mélange of yore. Why all the fuss? I don't mind it not one bit. I am just a fly amongst a world of insects that's stuck in this here web called time.

Lesson: A strong Grasshopper must never throw the first blow to enemy.