Got Pumpkin.

As a growing family, it is written that traditions should always be established in order to make the heart grow fonder. I always say, “bring on the love!” As it is Shane’s nature to be mildly aloof when it comes to the general masses, he caved in to the wild wild west that is the Half Moon Bay Pumpkin Patch. Note to self, in all the autumn festivities that encircles my favorite time of year, even I don't fall for the Pumpkin Festival. Amateur move.

We had plans to meet up with both my sisters’ families at nine o’clock am at Lemos. It’s a challenge in itself to get myself ready, yet two children seemed like a fifty yard dash with surprise hurdles up ahead. Thankfully, Shane has proven instrumental in the process of getting the kids ready. I, on the other hand, wrestle with outfits and wardrobe dilemma’s of my own. I’m not proud, but it’s a problem that needs some mending in the time management department.

We're on the road S280 and breaking through the fog that is Daly City. I disappointingly sip from a pedestrian latte disuguised as a cappuccino. I noticed not a peep from Hunter Styles and Stevie Day in the second row. Shane cradles my hand as he steers the car south. The traffic to Half Moon Bay was non-existent proven our hypothesis was a success, "Get there before ten o'clock." Up on the horizon the rows of orange awaken our solemn drive from the city. Hunter points, “look pumpkin, pumpkin daddy, pumpkin mommy, pumpkin, daddy, mommy,” he is sparked with intrigue. I'm content to know our monthly tuition to preschool is not a waste, he recognizes a pumpkin. The wafting smell of roasted pumpkins and air popped corn mingle, my heart drowns in the crisp autumn air.

Hunter and his cousin Alyssa and Sydney are thick as thieves. Personally, I never had the benefit of cousins and always envied others that did. Hunter laughed and smiled, playfully jousting with them. I watch from the outside, as an outcast, as the observer, as his mother. Stevie warm in her cozy stroller idly watched as the cousins menaced in the rows of pumpkins. Alyssa held the pumpkin that Hunter’s expressed such affection for, “my pumpkin.”

I wistfully purchased a few tickets for the kid zone activities, assuming that Hunter was open to all that was kid zone. He enjoyed the pony rides as he pushed my offer and advances with a stern, “no, I don’t want to.” He participated in the petting zoo with arms crossed and chest out, “no, I don’t want to.” As a proud parent, the train ride was a hoot! Beside, the fact that he shoveled blue berry scone due to mild starvation, the train ride was a success. Finally, Sydney and Alyssa volunteered to take Hunter down the slide which wheeled no parent coercion whatsoever. Eureka!

“Hunter say good bye to the pumpkins,” Shane gently reminded his son.
“Bye pummmpkins!” Hunter waived to the rows and rows of round orange pumpkins, “I love you!”

This is Shellie exclaiming, “It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown” back to you Bob at the studio!

seis mes.

The big S-I-X! There’s no mess up on the vowel selection for you filthy mind(ers). I really do mean the big six! Time is whizzing by and it’s freaking me the hell out! If there were a “pause” button, I’d press it. Instead, my kids have to suffer through the storm of kisses and hugs that could gradually lead to suffocation and anxiety. I know back off right?


Here’s the six month status on little Stevie Day. She’s flipping over like a fish on land, flopping all over the place making historical distance travel across the living room. In fact, she’s attempted to break that prison of a crib by pulling herself up with two hands and peering from the top of the rails. Shriek! The abrupt shock of it all drop kicked my heart into a mild cardiac arrest. Literally.


In other areas of lifestyle, formula was starting to get a little pricey even at $14.99 a pop, the solid food option couldn’t have come at a better time. She’s on homemade organic purees and loving it! Culinary school has stooped me back to the basics. No mother sauces need apply. I’ve always enjoyed cooking for my loved ones and cooking for her just satisfies my soul. Occasionally, Hunter gets a little jealous with the spoon feeding, but I’m curbing his spoiled ways with the back of my hand. (easy there child advocates, that was just a joke so put the phone down.)


Unlike Hunter, she’s a little gabby gabba, chatting away in her baby gibbers. In the early morning, I’ll hear her jabbing away from her crib. It’s a delightful feeling like drinking chamomile wrapped in a cashmere throw on a Sunday morning. I absolutely adore it. Her female attributes are developing quite nicely, she’s definitely female.


Until this house is sold, the kids will learn the power of sharing 101. Hunter in the toddler bed and baby in the crib, it’s cozy and it’s perfect. Alas, the largest leap of them all, sleeping through the night! Sigh. What’s that? Besides the guzzing sound of my husband snoring, that’s the sound of me knocking on wood, as we’re about to embark on the season of teething and who knows what sick and torturous acts fate has up her sleeve. Perhaps, fate may give me another “get out of teething for free” card for all of the good deeds and intentions I’ve bestowed on my fellow neighbor.


For you ladies who were afraid to make the plunge, motherhood is not only chic trendy and fashionable, but absolutely fabulous! It can get somewhat tiresome for some, but shake off that soot and get your booty out of the house. Life is rewarding just look around you. Until then, I’m embracing the coolness that is Stevie Day’s six month bench mark. Hooray. I’ve made it with just mild scrapes and bruises.


This is Shellie, “Just be thankful for what you got. Diamond in the back, sunroof top, Diggin' the scene with a gangsta lean,” back to Bob at the studio!

Quattro

It was mid eighties in the East end of Kauai as the sun in all it’s array lit up the ocean blue sky, the schlack of foundation gradually melting off my face. It was just as I pictured it, ocean front the serene sound of the gentle waves caressing the golden shore, champagne, and most importantly family and friends. The acoustic band played Israel’s version of Some where over the Rainbow as I walked up the aisle arm in arm with dad. There he stood waiting for me in white linen. Eyes rimmed with tears, dad hugged me one last time and handed me over to the man, in a few moments, that I would call husband. Shane mutters through his smile, “is that fake eyelashes?”


Along with the push up bra, he absolutely despises cosmetics. Every night before I went to bed he dreamily says, "your so beautiful why do you put all the crap on your face?" I am greeted more aggresively in the morning as I slap on the makeup, "I don't know why you put that shit on, you don't need it!" Little did he know that I've been hiding underneath all the makeup, as a shield from insecurity since highschool. Although he could just be saying that, to reduce the hours it took me to get ready. There I stood in the midst of paradise as my soon to be husband is fixated on my fake eyelashes and the schlack of foundation on my face. He was so astonished he forgot to point out my half-witted debacle of walking in sand in four inch heels.


Girls get whisked away in their wedding delusions of grandeur, stuck in the details like dresses, bridesmaids, flowers, photographers, and caterers. Consequently, after the five hours of celebration and a bank account with non-existent funds, one is stuck with that dude of a husband. If a female can see beyond the diamond ring, white wedding, and the house with the white picket fence, than your disappointment factor is marginal. Like a goody bag, you never know what you’ll get. Shane and I, never fought not even a whisper during our four years prior to marriage. I retract that statement, I nailed his manhood to his brain cell, once when I exploded from an unforeseen nicotine fit. Six years later and one cold turkey later, nicotine fit be gone! We have yet to have a shouting match of absurd proportions. Most definitely, that's the sound of me knocking on wood.


He’s the only man that I saw fit for forever. We were cohesive, confident in ourselves from the very beginning. We were smitten. We were tight as possums. He withstood the others by the true fact that he was a very candid person sometimes to a fault. He addressed issues that men in the pass feared to tread. He trekked the new frontier with great maturity. Bonus points, he was equipped with a sense of humor. He didn't have me at hello, but he had me soon after that. New York always grows them correct: witty, blunt, chivalrous, and far from a sucker. Besides his obsessive compulsive disorder, and his need to aggrandize everything, he was “issue” free.

A very wise person once told me, "all the things that you are so fond of, will -in turn- become an irritation."

Indeed a bold statement, but I can see how that could come to fruition. Forever is a “long” ass time! Thank god this padded cell is comfortable and cozy!

We have a lot to show for four years. Mainly, a boy and a girl. Like a stick in a spoke, riding this bike took more practice. We’ve stumbled along the way and we have scars to prove it. The kids are endless treasures, but they’ve been known to terrorize. A moment in particular, Stevie Day belted a striking sound to murder from her bassinet and Hunter chimed in with his toddler melt down. My thoughts were deafened. I look to Shane and both his hands are up like a conductor at a symphony. We burst into laughter. As we chuckled, it was that defining moment that I knew it would be okay.


On occassion, I am false eyelash friendly. He still tells me I’m beautiful at night and yells at me in the morning when I'm enhancing, he calls it tinting. All the same, we’re still happy as clams in a bucket of sand. As far as I can see, forever is not a problem. Again, the sound of my knocking wood. We’re stuck together through vows, kids, and debt. I accept it. Everyday, I’m thankful for all the beauty and goodness that surrounds us and for that I love him more. Happy four years!!!


This is Shellie waiving the white flag back to you Bob at the studio!

Girlesque

Little Stevie was a mover and a kicker. In my belly, she voraciously thrust her fists and feet every which way, but still. The ultrasound technicians went berzerk attempting to capture an image, she always hid behind her appendages, "nope that's her hand, there's her feet..silence...that's her other hand...longer silence....that's her thigh..." I wondered if my future Pisces would be a future recluse as well. Let's just say I never had a cute picture of Stevie as she took my body hostage for nine months. Just like Hunter, the gender was unknown, but my female intuition yielded a girl. Why? Well first of all my emotional instability was a dead give away.

The second time around was like sipping a flute of Veuve Clicquot. Besides my induction, my labor took no more than eight pushes and out she came. Look out world make room, because Stevie Day has arrived! There she was six pounds nine ounces and nineteen inches long of love wrapped in my arms. Little Stevie’s almost six months, that’s half a year, approximately 26 weeks, or six hundred twenty four hours. I can’t help but notice how time is whizzing by. She went from a docile little newborn to flipping over like a fish on land. She once slept so cozily in her bassinet and now she occupies the crib in Hunter's room.

She is mild natured baby with a voracious appetite. She enjoys being held, but what can I say except, “um yeh, she’s a girl!” All her little quirks and personality traits are apparent like the way she likes to ham it up, smiling and batting her eyes which, to me, sounds like trouble.

It's been a joyful journey with the second child in tow. It took getting accustomed to the high balance beam act, but the circus act must go on. Besides, the Kitchens are a team to be wreckoned with so get the hell out of the way. Besides, my honorable respect for the single parent, I have a newfound respect for parents of twins and beyond, "What the hell were you thinking!!! You crazy?"

Whatever the future holds, I look forward to watching her grow and flourish. I’m even more excited to watch both of them grow together, expecting the fantastic and the terrible. Certainly sleep has it's perks and being coherent 24/7 twenty is overated. Simply put it, I'm happy. If my day ever goes awry, all I have to do is reach into my heart and hold on to the two jewels that are Stevie and Hunter.

This is Shellie is numero tres my lucky number? Back to you Bob at the studio!

"Two. Terrible. Tantrum"

As Hunter has made great strides into the underbelly of the terrible twos, he has also discovered the power to publically humiliate his parents route screaming. As his tantrums never work at home, he can kick and scream until the takeover of interplanetary aliens, we never cave in. The public forum, on the other hand, was it’s own circus act. He has been known to throw objects across the room, if his requests aren’t met like ice cream for breakfast. After throwing, he would follow with hitting and his new phrase, “but I want it,” or “but I don’t want it” which ever was appropriate at the time. I’m unimpressed of his familiarity with all the letters of the alphabet, but I find it diabolical that he’s able to play the public factor to perfection.

As our bank reflects the current financial climate, babysitters are allocated for special occasions like anniversaries or birthdays. As for friends and family, that it didn't apply for last minute events unless his godmother pulled her last minute hook and ladder play. This only leaves us with the option of a) stay home like normal parents or b) double dog dare to bring Hunter.



We attended an Augtoberfest that expected a hundred plus guests. As Shane and I share a brain cell, we took Hunter with us provided the circumstances that he was functioning on the idea of sleep. At this point, we were mocking the gods. The beer festival was on with German music, steins, lederhosens, sausages, and kraut. Shane did his best to be a great dad and a supportive husband, but the keg lured it’s sexy tap far and away from his family. Hunter was Hiroshima just waiting to explode. I cradled Stevie against my chest in the bjorn as I tried to keep an eye on the H-bomb. I look over and Hunter's sucking on an electric blue lollipop! No sooner than I could pluck that from his grasp, the sugar touched down in his blood stream and the screaming ensued. Through the crowd of german wear and sour cabbage, he plopped himself in the middle of the party and self-orchestrated his kick and scream symphony. Shane, oblivious to his son’s screeching, drank from the traditional German drinking boot as the party cheered him on. It had gone awry and the slippery slope was a steep one.



Flashback to our pre-family days, Shane and I prefaced that the kids wouldn’t impose on our lifestyle, but the shrill from Hunter's tiny two year old lungs, I discovered that we were naïve in our assessment. Hunter wasn’t a helpless dolllike infant anymore. He had opinions. He had choices. He had a scream that could deafen dogs at a thirty mile radius. Finally, he wasn’t at home. Right then and there, I could just bury my head in a paper bag of sharp shattered glass. As he kicked and wailed and dozens upon dozens of eyes looked on, I was officially mortified. Shane was useless as the alcohol had swooped him away from the responsible role. I was on my own. Shit. Why I thought this was a good idea was far from my perception. I didn’t even drink beer! I loath the foaming mess. Five hours and thirty Hunter tantrums later, I threw in the towel.

Before I could sneak out, Shane swayed and slurred something about going home as well. I was responsbile for three kids. I knew as soon as I stepped on the gas pedal, that much needed sleep would fall on my once little sweet Hunter. In the meantime, I mistakenly gave a drunk person a ride home only to find that she removed Stevie from the car seat on a busy Guerrero Street on a hectic Saturday night, because she was incessantly crying. As I would’ve loved to violently boot her into fast oncoming traffic for being a complete and affable idiot, I knew this was just another test of patience before I cashed in the day.



Shane's boisterous snore rose up from the couch downstairs. Hunter sweet snore from his bed. A sleeping Stevie cuddled in my arms. I decompressed the mild events of the day in my bed like a zombie in my cotton pajamas with a nice mug of chamomile, and a movie. Hunter’s tantrums seem distant in the silence. He was finally home. Asleep.

This is Shellie trying to wrap her head around everything responsible back to you Bob at the studio!

The G Unit

Shane’s dad or as everyone calls him the Duke landed in San Francisco for a visit with the kids. It was his first time meeting Stevie Day.

In usual Hunter fashion, he didn’t warm up to Grandpa Duke immediately. The last time they met, Hunter was eight pounds and a mere two months old. Hunter circled his grandpa like a vulture, playing with his train set. I handed Stevie over to the Duke, “Hi Stevie Day.” Cool Hand Duke held his granddaughter for the first time. Hunter discovering his replacement, ran over to his grandpa faster than the idea of a gallon of chocolate covered ice cream. The wheels to sibling rivalry reared it’s ugly head, the game was on. Grandpa Duke, the coolest in town, hugged both kids equally. He had that grandparent glow that grinned from ear to ear.

Like everything fantastic, Grandpa Duke’s visit was a short one. He made enough of an impact, that he's got Hunter marching around the house repeating, “granpa, granpa, granpa, granpa.” He left this morning back to New York, but on the drive to preschool Hunter muttered, “Granpa. Where’s granpa? Granpa? Mom, where’s Granpa.” Just when the kid had grown to love his grandpa, he was gone. I guess Grandpa Duke’s job here is done.

Unfortunately all grandparents live nowhere close to home, but we’ll take what we can get. It is imperitive that the kids have a connection to the royalty that is their grandparents. They should always know where they came from. They should be proud of who they are. Unfortunately I didn’t have the luxury of meeting both of my grandfathers, thus this visit was a mine of gold.

This is Shellie G Unit representing back to you Bob at the studio!

Domesticated

Dratz! The children did it to us this time. Docile like camels beaten in the dessert sun, we were officially domesticated.

As sleeping in on the weekends has become just a phantom of my immature adolescent angst, weekends have become the equivalent of weeding the backyard; a cruel must. It takes a healthy good hour to get the family out the door, which essentially means nagging Hunter to “please” finish his breakfast followed with a mild case of power struggle when brushing his teeth, than onward to peeing in the potty. Meanwhile, Stevie’s screeching her sweet little lungs out, because she’s on her stomach and she’s not down with tummy time. Essentially, she's not down with receiving the short end of the stick. In the back end of the house, Shane’s wrestling with his obsessive compulsive disorder and ruthlessly losing to the mess in the kitchen. I have been accused of dabbling in the dawdle of my wardrobe cohesiveness, thus my circus juggling act ensue.

Fifty five minutes in and a few toddler melt downs later, we were on our way to Sunday Streets, a safe, fun, car-free place for people to get out and get active in San Francisco neighborhoods. We jumped on 280 South and were well on our way. Too add more noise to the raucous, Chloe and Oliver, our two dogs yelped as they were detained for the journey. Shane dearest father and husband boasts “equality,” thought it was unfair to abandon the dogs at home. We had a truck load of love transported for the weekly Kitchen family day. Ambitious.



The Great Highway was blocked off from Sloat onward, I strolled Stevie and Shane rode his bike with Hunter as tote. The air was warm and delightful. A cluster of kids whizzed by with the fury of their training wheels as their parents faint voices begged them to slow down. The sun gradually burned off the fog and all was good in the world as Stevie looked back at me. Bonding has it's rewards.




At the Lincoln intersection, the sight and sounds of children were apparent. We had arrived at what's was essentially the "kid zone." The man with the monkey and organ grinder entertained the children. Hunter immediately wanted off of the bike to meddle in the playware provided by the YMCA. We parked ourselves in the median and joined in the festivities. Hunter mingled and meshed with everything plastic. Shane and I exchanged smiles as my heart glopped with goodness and my insides were aflutter with butterflies.


We were a block away from Park Chalet and our thirst required immediate quenching. We parked the stroller with a snoozing Stevie and spread our picnic blanket. I sipped from my glass of Prosecco and snuggled with my sweet husband as we paved our memories of our children brick by brick. In all the warm weathered goodness, the mild ocean breeze, and the crowd of friends and families that surrounded us, I couldn’t help but feel choked up.



This is Shellie, mommyhood now I know what the fuss is about, back to you Bob at the studio!

Potty Down Like It's 2009

It was a Saturday and we were focused on training Hunter to go to the potty based on the 48 hour theory of no diapers. This was on the heels of Hunter’s daycare jacking up the monthly rate to thirteen hundred dollars a month. I still haven’t figured out the care situation for Stevie, but all I knew was that I had two day cares to worry about.

First things first, the pre-k programs were significantly cheaper, if the child was potty trained. Besides, I completed the application claiming that he was potty trained and for six hundred fifty dollars a month, how could I not? At what stage did they have to be potty trained? Is there a class curve? What’s the margin for error? We were up on the waiting list and received the call, I was determined to fulfill the divine prophecy of potty.


Shane and I watched Hunter carefully, we enticed him with delicious wholesome filtered water in which he threw across the room. As soon as he had an urge to urinate, we plopped him on the potty and in the repetitive words of other parents before us, “pee pee in the potty.”

Not clinically proven to be a “control freak,” I possibly nagged my dear husband, with an attention span of a germ, to never turn your back for a second. I had too had to go to the potty.

Upon my return, Hunter, in full monty, urinated on the front window while standing up on his table, on the sofa, and in the kitchen. Hunter shamelessly tinkled as Shane was as effective as a wet mop in a corner. As regularity comes with a schedule, I anticipated Hunter’s droppings estimated time of arrival was anytime now.

In the playroom, Father and son delightfully played with his Thomas the train set. My cerebrum had been dulled down by the constant concentration, as I fought off a nap that weaved an intricate web. It had only been an hour.

Suddenly a shriek from dear husband, “shit, he took a crap!” Once again, dear husband was bedazzled by our son.

“You were playing, what happened?” I was curiously baffled by husband’s lack of awareness.
“Exactly, we were playing and he stood up and there it was.” My dear husband rattled.

There it was in all it’s magnificence, Hunter’s fresh droppings. Dear husband, equipped with a weak stomach, began his rhythmic gagging. Hunter pointed in great amazement, “big poo poo momma, big poo poo.” In silent failure, we threw in the towel.

In the words of other lenient parents before us, “They will let you know when they’re ready, you can’t force it.”

In the past weeks, Hunter has finally taken to the potty and I am beyond thrilled. So we missed the boat on the six hundred fifty dollars pre-k. Hot dog! Hunter can whizz like a mother trucker!

This is Shellie kicking her heels up back to you Bob at the studio!

New Kid on the Block

My first entry for the year 2009.

I've returned from my sabbatical that is motherhood. Rewind to Mar 6, 2009, exactly at 5:27pm I gave birth to a baby girl. It took us a day to come up with her name, but we settled on Stevie Day Kitchen. It took eight contractions of pushing. It was so much of a breeze that another baby didn’t seem so far fetched. Mister Hunter is handling the new addition like a big brother in his twos. I have come to embrace his new behavior as the “menace” henceforth will be known as the menace. We acclimated to Stevie like a hand in glove. She is mild in nature, but unlike Hunter she likes to be held. She is such a girl.

Life, as I have come to know it, is an ever changing animal. Hunter’s in a new pre-school. Stevie is in a separate Spanish immersion family daycare. I returned to work after three months of maternity leave. I can be found at the gym six days a week shedding off the baby weight like a rat does cheese. Perhaps, this may be perceived as mere neglect towards my children, but I’d like to call it “me” time. At the same time, nothings changed I am still a shopaholic, a foodie, a wife (surprisingly), and a social mishap.

Honestly, there is not enough time in a day. From the time the alarm goes off, to the time the kids go to bed, life keeps me on my toes. If I had an au pair, well that would just flip this story a thousand times over. This, on the contrary, is not a complaint. My kids have bestowed upon me a gift of appreciation. I’ve been humbled by it and have kicked myself a hundred times for being such a fool. Thus, I cherish every moment as I am slowly realizing every day that I have yet to live.

This is Shellie advising you to “check yourself” back to you Bob at the studio!