Smart Wheels

Diddle, daddle, dawdle, that’s me in a fiddle! Well, not so much so as my former life as a singleton, but I remain true to my craft. For a year I’ve been meaning to sale my X5 to the next sucker. I take that back, I have traipsed into the craigslist world, but that has proven to be the most unreliable source known to the galaxy. Twelve months and $4.95 a gallon later, and my monster automobile remains parked in the driveway. Sigh. The hike in gas prices has put a little spin on my perspective. I’m that obnoxious three headed snake driving in the suv as hybrid owners zoom by with looks of displeasure and disgust. I’m not proud to be contributing to the global warming effect. Alright you temperamental NPR subscriber and earth crisis activists gently put the rotten tomatoes down. Besides, I keep my driving to a minimum. In the meantime, I make up for my excessive carbon footprint by composting and recycling, but that’s for another entry. Why did I purchase it in the first place you ask? One word “Tahoe.” Second word, “Snowboarding!” Since my purchase, I have been to Tahoe a total of three times. Thus, I am an idiot.

As I fall in the pit of fads, I’m humiliated by my yuppie gas extravaganza. I’ve got a fever for a Smartcar. They whiz by and I’m so apt to jump on the bandwagon. Sure, it’s a hyped up goal cart, but who cares. It’s urban! It’s hip. Speaking of hip, the Vespa is congesting the San Francisco streets! I heart Vespa. Its gas usage is heaven on wheels. If I sell my car, I can get both! In addition, I could get a Honda Element! Parking would be a breeze! The ideas clash, turning wheels in my noggin like rubber cement on the verge of drying. “Three vehicles? Why do you need three vehicles in the city? Where would Hunter’s car seat go? Where would I sit!” Shane bursting my day dream bubble, “oh yeh.” I chuckled as Hunter crawled like an arachnid across the wooden floor, “oops.” I smiled with my light disregard for my family.

If I ever have the energy to breath, I will exert some strength into ridding my fuel inefficient vehicle. Until than, hybrids, Vespas, and Smartcars continue to taunt me at every four way stop. I am a mother and as a mother, I should see to it that I make a better world for my sweet Hunter Styles and others to come. That’s where daydreams come in handy.

This is Shellie reassessing my lifestyle for a better quality of life back to you Bob at the studio!

smitten

Mom always told me that marriage always came first. Otherwise, a family would give into a weak foundation. In honor of mom’s advice and their fifty one years of blissful marriage, Shane and I left Hunter with Auntie Vanessa and painted the town romantic. We intend to do this at least once a month, but babysitters in this town come at a lofty price. Thank god for friends and relatives.

We drove along King Street as we embarked on the romantic view of the Bay Bridge. We silently took in the scene of the lit cityscape as the full moon kissed the bay. We were headed to destination unknown, “Where do you wanna go? We could do dinner or we could do a movie?” Shane was always open for anything. My hunger made an abrupt decision for dinner. As we are creatures of the (easily mistaken) pretentious food phenomena, we thought we’d through caution to the wind and head for North Beach.

The Parking Fairy obliged us with a rock star parking spot. We walked hand in hand past Saint Peters and Paul church with the full moon lighting our path. The cold wind whipped my hair in different directions as my outfit was best suited for summer. We perused the menus on Stockton Street, but twenty four dollars for spaghetti and meatballs only victimized the European visitors who could afford such leisure and lack of quality in food.

We turned the corner of Stockton and Columbus and there it sat Café DeLucchi. As I recall, the home made pasta here reminded me of my time spent in Florence. Shane flitted for the wine list as my thirst yearned for mineral water. The menu, just as I imagined, was traditionally simple, good, and cheap. Shane reminded me that he wasn’t famished, but ordered skirt steak and gnocchi, one of the lighter fares on the menu. As my mind lectured my body that a salad and soup would benefit from my vigorous workout at the gym, I went face first for the Caesar salad with white anchovies and the lasagna. Our dishes were light and delicious just as expected. Shane’s gnocchi were pillows of clouds; delectably fluffy. We headed next door for dessert gelato.

I thanked him for dinner as he, in trade, thanked me for the gelato. We walked arm in arm to the car with the menacing wind cursing our movement. The Madagascar vanilla gelato only contributed to the frigid factor of my outfit best suited for summer time. Shane, usual knack for impulsive urinating, headed for Washington Park and before I could caution him of homeless or ongoing gay activity, he disappeared behind six foot bushes. I sat in the passenger seat as harmful thoughts wildly intruded my head. My heart raced as it would be our luck that he is raped by a big hairy gay man dressed in cheap leather costume or stabbed by a homeless person. My heart faded to normal when his silhouette emerged from the bushes. His mischievous smile struck from ear to ear.
“Were you accosted by a gay man or did you pee on a homeless dude?”
“Before I knew it," He interrupted with a laugh as words seem to choke him, "I was peeing on some homeless dude’s leg!" He paused to laugh again, "All I saw was a pair of Adidas.” His childhood laugh was contagious.
“Did you aim elsewhere?”
“No," He choked and paused and choked, "I couldn’t.” He continued with his infectious chuckle.
“So you just continued to pee on his leg?”
“Pretty much.”
“Geeze.”
We both laughed for a whole five minutes before putting the key in the ignition. Mind you we were still parked three feet away from the suspicious bushes.

Shellie's Mantra: "Young grasshopper must achieve the pinnacle of nirvana with laughter and urination."

The full moon witness to our recent occurrence parallel our drive home bound. The delightful thought of Shane, urinating on a poor homeless person in the bushes of Washington Square Park, was the highlight of our night. For most females they equate flowers or poetry to romance, a good laugh always makes my heart grow fonder.

This is Shellie urinating behind closed doors back to you Bob at the studio!

Sleep Matter

The past six months have been a wet dream when it comes to getting shut eye. There's nothing more fortunate than a good nights rest. It is only a matter of time before the lull breaks.

In the realms of one o'clock in the morning, a wild shriek from the bottom floor disturbs my dream state. Shane and I pretend the sound is just a figment of our imagination. We both are awake, but we refuse to acknowledge reality. The parent stand off begins. I close my eyes tighter in hopes he would retreat back to sleep. Hunter's wails continue on a downward spiral. A few minutes later, "Can you please check on him," I gently knudge my sweet husband. He rolls out of bed and slumps his way downstairs. I wrap myself deeper into my down comforter hoping Shane will manage to silence our son. Instead, Hunter howls increase by the minute. I immediately find a problem in my husband's easing tactic. I come downstairs to find Shane sitting in Hunter's crib. "Dude what in the hell are you doing? Your going to break that thing?" My husband's logic was outrageously ridiculous, when all else fails get in the crib with my son. We get into a mild tiff and I send his useless existence on his way upstairs.

At this point, Hunter is yelling from the top of his lungs like his toes were being plucked with pliars. His nose running, cheeks flushed red, face freshly washed with tears. I realize that his diaper is secreting mustard colored squish. I pick him up to make way to the changing table and his skin is cloaked with a fever that is hot to the touch. How could my dear husband be so blind? Beside the flagrant poop factor, my son was teething on an excruciating level. I dart for the orajel and the homeopathic teething pills that Shane likes labels "baby crack." I follow it up with a hit of tylenol. In a few minutes, Hunter's shrill attack is done.

I give him a fresh bottle of milk and made my way to the couch. In good time, he is snoring and he snores just like his dad. He sleeps with both arms behind his head, he sleeps just like his dad. As my husband is sweet as nectar, I wished on the morning starlight that my son did not inherit his dad's unsound late night practices.

This is Shellie bidding you a good night back to you Bob at the studio!

Centered

I plopped Hunter down on the carpet as Bach chimed in surround sound. The twins stared up at me than returned to their building blocks. I’ve been accustomed to Hunter clinging for the life of abandonment, but today he joined the others in play. He crawled through the pile of building blocks and continued to build. I looked at the teacher and shrugged, “I guess he’s over it.” Naturally, I was sullen as I was quickly put on a mantle. At least, he wasn’t wailing for his mom. I kissed him good bye.

I returned from work and witnessed his long stand off. He stood there hands free next to Taylor. They both stood there amongst a sea of wooden alphabet blocks. He was upright with no apparent knee buckling. He looked over at and gave me one of his smiles, “Oh my god he’s standing!” “I wanted you to see for yourself,” Bernadette smiled under her glasses. “Wow!” I replied to Bernadette. I’ve seen him stand, but not for so long without any thing to catch his fall. It was an adventure with his new tricks. It took a few minutes for him to warm up to me. That was fine, I’m sure the pressure was on with his little daycare cronies. He didn’t want to seem like a mamas boy. Good boy! It’s the end of the second week of Hunter’s new found daycare. Hunter’s adapting pretty nicely.

The coddle one-to-one childcare is faded. I'm over it. It's funny...how reality trumps my expectations! In the back of my mind, I always thought I'd raise my family on the rural outskirts of Oahu where the sugarcane meets the shore. Rural enough for my child to roam the countryside and sea from morning to sunset. Instead, I settled for San Francisco where the rolling hills meet the Pacific bay. This cosmpolitan bubble has it's quirks like aggressive child philosophy pragmatics. I had different expectations in regards to raising my family. It's not so bad. I can deal. All in all, I can't dwell on expectations, but I can make the most of where I am. Today, I am centered, hence content with life; I can live anywhere.

This is Shellie saying, "to play or not to play, that is the question," back to you Bob at the studio.

Nanny No How

It has been a week, since my nanny mishap. I am more productive now that I'm nannyless. Thus, I’m busier, but such is life.

As the sunshine slowly tips it’s toes into our home, the gentle sounds of Hunter playing with his stuffed animals fills the room. Shane makes his way downstairs at the crack of Hunter’s cries which usually involves a diaper fiasco. I follow his lead soon after his reflexes give way to clamorous gagging from Hunter’s innocent excrement. I find a good healthy chuckle in his diaper disposition.

I unlock the back door so Oliver and Chloe can do their doggy duties in their toilet which I recalled used to be our backyard that was free of canine urine and feces. I start the water for our breakfast cereal. Hunter finds the closet door stopper more entertaining than his room full of toys. In the wake of the nanny’s absence, I discover that the kitchen and the floor are not self-cleaning entities. I wash Hunter’s hands and place him in his high chair for his quick breakfast nosh of fresh fruit and fig bars. He dances in his seat to the songs of Jack’s Big Music Show on Noggin. Meanwhile, Shane and I sing a long as we clean the room.

Shane finishes the warm breakfast cereal with honey, almond slivers, and currants. I’m groomed and ready to tackle the big task; outfit. Six changes and 15 minutes later, my outfit a la mode is complete. I not so meticulously make the bed before heading down. The clock ticks eight o’clock and Hunter remains in his pajamas. Shane and I share an understanding when it comes to dressing our son. If I’m running behind, he compensates for my inefficiency. Visa Versa. Today Shane is losing time by dropping science. I put him in shorts and a Marley t-shirt, “Shoes, shoes! What shoes go with this wretched outfit?” I scoured the mountain of heels that is my closet. “You know you should really organize that,” Shane done with his science project thought his two cents would make a difference. Ironically, my red Kenneth Cole sandals were absent from the heel pile. My banal outfit too monotone for words, required a splash of color. Sometimes one must give in to fate, hence I wore black wedges. Pedestrian.

I have Hunter in my left arm. I struggle to untangle the diaper bag strap, hence forgetting I had a gripfull of milk, I spilled it eloquently over my outfit. The breeze blew my hair in a direction that was cumbersome. I entered the daycare to the sound of music. Hunter was on to me as he grasped tight to my calves. His cries become loud and brash. His clingy behavior just came on like a summer fever, I wasn’t sure if it was an age thing or a day care thing. Whatever it was, it was going to make me late. I held him for a few minutes and dashed out the door to the sound of his screams. My heart sunk deep into my chest as I turned the ignition and pressed the gas. I briskly walked to the bart station. Note to self: wedges good for looks, not for walking.


It’s half past five o’clock when I enter the daycare. I observe him playing with his fellow friends. He is up on two legs and pushing a cart while laughing. My soul is rich. He is gentle. He laughs. He smiles. Serenity, that peaceful feeling over came me like when I lay afloat for hours looking up at the blue sky as I was cradled in the warm hawaiian ocean as a child. “He is such a good kid, really well mannered.” Bernadette whispers, “they went to the park today and played for an hour and a half and he took a two hour nap. I’ve watched many kids and he is a fine child.” I am a modest mom. Her compliments ease my heart and silence my guilt.

Today he is fourteen months. Fourteen months, it's not a year and it's not a year and a half. Every day is just as significant as the day he was born. I thank my lucky stars. I thank the karma gods. I am blessed. I scoop him into my arms as he enriches me with a hug and a giggle. We drive back on S280 as Beulah celebrates through the speakers. Through my rear view mirror, he taps his feet to the melody of my heart that is happiness.

This is Shellie bliss rules all back to you Bob at the studio!