Kick Ass Mofo

In lieu of my recent mom tangent, I purposely ommitted the most important, the Big Kahuna, the Top Best, the one that have paved the way for all…america’s sweetheart Ms. Meaghan Benjamin! The first time I met Meaghan, she hosted a dinner at her home in North Beach in hopes of getting to know one of her old friend’s – Shane – new girlfriend (me). They just moved back into the states, previously running their own bike tour in the lovely town of Florence, Italy. We instantly hit it off when we exchanged childhood stories and realized we were both products of a family of ten accessorized with a hefty catholic upbringing. How can one not be catholic with a family of that grandeur? The final component that fused us forever was our vexing for “powdered milk” (part of our staple growing up) that vividly affects us to this very day.

From that day on, I had been touched by the Megstar. It is because of this beautiful woman that our network of friends have flourished into a ridiculous size. It is because of her, we’ve been enlightened by the fabulous Minniti’s. It is because of her, we have been blessed with the Grundman’s. It is because of her, that I can balance work and family life without the guilt of not being a stay at home mom. It is because of her, that Angela and I helplessly pee in our pants when we think of South Beach, Miami. Although she has left us for Chicago, the distance is a mere “skype” away.

The Benjamins



On April 11, 2008, Megstar made way for her first baby boy! That’s right a healthy Elias James Benjamin 9lb. 9 oz. After a sprint of three girls, she has broken the dash for girldom. Next to my own mom, Meagan comes pretty close to the perfect mom. Besides her bubbly and magnetic personality, one can not help but to look to her for wisdom and advice. I am overjoyed to have a friend that is uniquely rare in magnificence!

This is Shellie popping the cork to a bubbly back to you Bob at the studio!

Mother Dome

I write as if I’m the only mother in the world. In fact, I have a few gal friends that are in the process of joining the motherhood fellowship. Erin, Aussy, and Bliss (in that order) will be mothers this year. I applaud them for walking this exciting plank. Motherhood is everything and more. There’s nothing like it. It is so effen cool! Sleepless nights, dirty diapers, breast feeding, oh my! Kidding. Hunter has made my life rich with happiness. To think they count the days to meet their special little one that flourishes in the belly. Sigh.

I can’t wait to have my second, third, and so forth child. I can’t wait to have a house full of Kitchens. I’ve enjoyed Hunter so much and can’t wait for him to mentor and possibly kick around his future siblings. Time it flashes before me. He’s gone from laying on his back to flipping over to crawling to pulling himself up. His gibberish conversation crumbles my soul into little tiny pieces. It’s all a bit too much for me to take. It is overwhelming to think that it’s almost been a year. Sniffle.

I am thrilled for them as they will never know the strength these little babies have on us, until they arrive. I sit back and watch from the sidelines as they enjoy their own experience of pregnancy into motherhood. In great expectations, I wish them love, well, and joy.

This is Shellie saying, "Mother's Effen Rule!" Back to you Bob at the studio!

and the award goes to

Top 10 - 2008 Hopefuls

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1. Hopefully (fingers crossed) pregnant with number two, possibly three, weeeeee
2. Molding and watching growth spurts of Styles
3. Drop weight to fit in waif category – Surely I kid, not really
4. Shane succeeds with Hive Builds
5. Sell my useless gas guzzler and environment crusher BMW X5 in trade for another useless European auto
6. Go for a vacation, Provence or Barcelona would suffice – I can smell the foie and toe fungus cheese now
7. Knit, knit, knit, must learn to knit!
8. Mas Girls night - yummy tequila shots and shakin my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump
9. Clear out my massive wardrobe and make way for new wardrobe
10. Continue on the path of happiness. Ohm. Namaste.



Top 10 - that didn’t make it on the 2008 Hopeful list

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(mostly due to my age)
1. Take up DJ(ing)
2. Sign up for break dancing
3. Rock a mid riff
4. Short bettie page bangs
5. Braces
6. Starting a band
7. Surfing, brrrr, not in these chilly shark infested waters. I’m shriveled as it is
8. American Idol
9. Tap dancing
10. Taken seriously

This is Shellie breaking a sweat back to you Bob at the studio!

T is for "Therapy!"

I used to be this somewhat polished party girl who loved going to bars, sipping from a pint glass of cazadore margarita on the rocks, hold the salt, and dancing till the break of dawn. I should say the key words being "used to." These days, living on the edge means steeping my decaffeinated tea more than five minutes and going to bed at nine thirty which I consider way past my bed time.

“The old Shellie’s back.” Sophia had repeated what her husband was so clearly jubilant about. It was the day after Tim and Karen’s pre-wedding celebration and the day of their wedding. An offensive sour odor wafted, there next to the bed a stock pot and the waste basket lined with plastic. My organic 800 thread count Donna Karan European sham stained with last nights cosmetic debacle. My brain throbbed and my head spun. I partied like it was nineteen ninty nine the night before, throwing down shots of chilled patron one after another, regardless of my tolerance which was the immense size of a germ.

Angela entered the bedroom with frightful treats, “okay who wants an egg mcmuffin?” I was disappointed with myself. I had gone almost three years with no fast food. “Honey, you still have this from last night?” My sweet husband pointed to the brown burger king bag stale full of my blurred memory, “you didn’t touch it at all.” They both laughed. One of the many reasons why I don’t drink is my fascination for fast food. I shamefully ate my quicker picker dumper, hoping it would ease my spinning head and soak up the alcohol. The second helping of hash browns was not my saving grace.

“Okay, I gotta go get this shit to KJ,” Angela pointing to another McDonalds order, "before it gets cold." We thanked her for making a stop. I rolled over to appease my throbbing brain. It was that day in that dying moment that I realized my love for tequila and it’s fellowship had taken a back seat. This coming from a person that worshipped reposado and nothing but.

Since my pregnancy, I have grown accustomed to a glass of nice wine or glass of champagne. I enjoy the pace of grapes. Grapes never made me dance on a bar. Grapes never made me scratch my head in wonderment as to where that large bruise on my arm came from. Grapes never made me the center of a manwich or womanwich on a dance floor. Grapes is the marijuana of the alcohol phenomena. Perhaps, grapes was behind my altruism. I needed an instant demise stat.

The Carrs wedding occurred last October. Since then I’ve been the virgin mary, determined to return to my orignal weight prior to my pregnancy. My healthy life style has ruled as the tyrant overlord, dismissing any want to veer off the health kick. What have I become? I look forward to a good night's sleep so I could have a great work out the next day. Friday nights I toss and turn with excitement for Saturday's farmers market at the ferry building. I've become obsessed with finding the best sparkling mineral water on earth. A mani pedi is my pint of ice cream. I am a cardio addict looking to break my weight record. I am "that" person that weighs out my meals on an electronic scale. I have become an anal retentive cardio hog caloric counter freak magic. The thought of a shot of tequila made my waist line cringe.

Lately, I've been feeling a bit empty. I am a party girl drop out. I realized that I haven't had "obnoxious drunken" fun in almost two years! No wonder, I was feeling lost! I had lost a part of myself somewhere between pregnancy and motherhood. I concocted a date with a bunch of my chicas tomorrow night. This is the new Shellie telling the old Shellie to liven the shit up.

This is Shellie “stirred” not shaken back to you Bob at the studio.

Luxurious

I quickly made my way off the Third street train with gym bag and purse in hand. My pace and heart quickened with anticipation as I strode up the 280 over pass on 20th street. In three inch heels, I hiked up the vertical hill towards home. Chloe’s sharp bark was evident as her white head bopped in the front window. She barked ferociously as I approached the top of the stairs. “Chloe please,” I closed the door behind me as this puppy of a dog pawed endlessly at my slacks, “stop it.” I quickly dropped my things and headed for the sink for a good antibacterial lather. The house was spotless as Hunter, freshly bathed in his christmas pajamas, smiled boasting his new teeth.

“Hi mommy,” Martha greeted me with a hug, “he went to sing a long class, and he loves to clap clap with music. He went to playground and played with girlfriend. He pull her hair like this,” she demonstrated his early flirtations with the other sex, “He made big poo poo, two poo poos. He ate dinner and bath.” She meticulously covered Hunter’s daily activities.

“What time did he eat?” I scooped Hunter up as he sat at my feet.

“About four thirty, pollo and rice, yogurt, and water.” Martha a mother and student gathered her things, “say ma ma?” She instructed Hunter to repeat after her.

“Ma ma.” He laughed and waved his arms. There it was the very words that I’ve been patiently waiting for. The words that took a back seat to “da da and la la.” The two syllables that brought me closer to smitten. I held him tight as he repeated the two most special words to date. As I wanted to hold on to this moment longer, he began to wiggle rambunctiously breaking our unity. I placed him down so he could venture the wooden floors with his newly discovered crawling feature. He scrambled away to the front window, “ma ma mama ma ma,” he pulled himself up from the window sill to peep at the world outside.

There it was short and sweet. He and my husband were the real reasons behind my sprint home from work. Another minute away from home is a negligent minute wasted. There’s nothing in existence that could substitute for the lush and richness of my home.

This is Shellie speechless from the center universe of my heart back to you Bob at the studio.

Reality Bites

Alright, I will come out with it. One of my guilty pleasures is reality television. I know I should be stoned and left for dead in a midst of hungry wolves. Reality television has become one of my closet addictions. As Shane absolutely loathes the concept of my addiction, he has grown to love a few of my favorites. Actually, not one of my favorites, Shane shamelessly watches Making the Band 4. He somehow finds a deep connection with -cheese factor- Donnie. Shane's modest illusion of himself when he was Donnie's age. Shameless.

As I routed for the 21 year old Christian Siriano from the beginning of Project Runway’s season four. Last week, he “fiercely” took the winner’s position. It’s shows like this that makes my heart grow fond. It's an opportunity for talented dreamers to aspire. Christian is the poo so take a whiff! This little whipit of a 21 year old was absolutely amazing and pulled through flawlessly with each challenge. Now that Project Runway is done my heart is not saddened as my diamond of all gems starts tonight!

Top Chef! I can usually sniff out the winner from the first show. The winner is confidently produces dishes that include simple components, but hold complex flavors. Each quick fire challenge always gets my blood pumping, I hang by the seat of my pants. Twenty minutes to create an innovative dish out of gas station food is phenomenal. The dishes range from “off the hinges” or for some “not even a hinge.” Furthermore, I love to hear what Bourdain will say next. This season there are four chefs that hail from San Francisco. One of them, I’ve had the displeasure of staging for a line position, a cocky one dimensional chef that is a “shoemaker” as they say in the culinary world. As I have always been keen on picking the winner from the very beginning, I am predicting his stint on Top Chef will be short lived.

There you have it. My confession in writing. As my affinity for Law and Order, Entourage, Californication, Tudors, Big Love, The L Word (in that order) lives on. I still find myself surfing basic cable for reality television. So drop whatever your doing and grab your bowl of rosemary parmesan seasoned popcorn and plop your bums on the couch, it’s Top Chef Season 4!

This is Shellie where today’s reality is reality television back to you Bob at the studio!

Caffeine

As I have been caffeine free previous to the birth of Hunter, I was thrown under the wagon wheel the day I returned to work. There’s nothing like sipping a warm cup of tea in the morning, but my office is not equipped with the warm water dispenser, thus heating water in a microwave debunks the beauty of tea. It’s like poaching an egg in the microwave, ew! Oh how, I long for a nice mug of genmaichi. Hence, I have succumbed to the essence of black mud.

It all started with a harmless cup of decaf hoping the little evidence of caffeine would give me the right boost. Between Hunter’s late night wailings and my having to be on point at work only called for the real stuff. One cup of thick brewed peets. In truth, I never finished a cup, because a few sips did me in.

As a final protest, I wrote off coffee and caffeine. Did I really need it? What’s a couple sips? I did away with nicotine this should be a parade. “Slam!” I walked straight into a brick wall. I am struggling. Especially, after a late night dinner party, I’m hanging from tooth and nail. I struggle to hold my two ton eyelids awide. My head brainwarps into a blank stare, pulling me into a deep abyss of nothing. As amnesia drops an arsenal on my memory, I sit amidst paper and files trying to grasp the vacancy effect.

I try to counteract the lethargy with a nice refreshing glass of room temperature water, guzzling 10 ounces in two seconds flat. I repeated the guzzling until my belly couldn't take it anymore, each breath brought chest pains. I was about to explode. I defy the advice of my acupuncturists to drink no more than eight glasses of water a day. Did the eastern medicine practice know more than the french who drink as much water as they’re daily butter intake? I tried everything like blasting Flashdance’s Maniac on the speakers and working up a sweat dancing like I’ve never danced before. That only further exceeds my exhaustion. There I slouched in my office chair bloated, sweaty, and exasperated.

Finally, between the sweating and bloating, it hit me. I need to switch up my daily routine! Instead of working out at the end of the day, I would do it on my lunch! Eureka! I’ve struck gold. As I absolutely adore Bakar Fitness, compromises need to be met. Working out on my lunch has provided that extra "hmph" of energy. Adios coffee. Hello cardio!

This is Shellie gasping for air from the escalator doodad that goes nowhere back to you bob at the studio!

Contempt

Living in San Francisco comes with its perks and pests. In this case, getting Hunter into a nursery program is ridiculous. I’ve been advised by members of the higher echelon to submit applications as soon as birth. For some, during pregnancy. I thought these claims were frivolous, until I realized the absurd demand for a well rounded curriculum that is San Francisco. Let’s start with the momsters, they travel in mobs with their little angels duds and diet consisting of nothing less than organic. The fellowship of momsters have a mental diagram, plotting on the highest aspirations for their privileged spawns; baby ivies. The crummiest of all momsters is the “momster dearest” accessorizing herself with children like a pair of Cathy Waterman earrings, but abandons all responsibilities to the nanny. Vulgar. What's my point? Like an army of ants to a crumb, San Francisco is going through a grotesque baby epidemic! Hence, has created a bit of congestion in the nursery arena.

I vividly recall my former boss – nickname stepford for her overzealously trite personality - bursting with orgasmic delight over her daughter’s acceptance to an exclusive jewish preschool. Dumping a bucket of water on her would probably result in a short circuit. She was over the moon like her daughter had just been accepted into Harvard. Prior to acceptance, she had interviewed with all the top nurseries making sure it was the right one that would kick start her daughter for success. I assumed the Congregation Emanu-El had the best curriculum in finger paints.

As I’ve started my trek into the system, I was startled by the year and a half to two year waiting list. What should have been simple became the latter. I have my work cut out for me. After a healthy research in programs, we completed the applications along with the non-refundable fees. Shane and I have appointments to visit these institutions to get a feel for their philosophy and curriculum. Now and again, I have to remind myself that it’s just preschool: crayons, gardening, yoga, potty accident, watercolor, read time, construction paper, sing-a-longs, and play. On the contrary, the sought out nursery program (proper term is early childhood) leads to a matriculation process into a decent private kindergarten program requiring curriculum vitae. If you ask me, it's supercilious. Regardless of all the frippery and flam, there’s one vital element –with high impact- the most prestigious school can never instill and that is a good home. As parents, we are committed to establish a deep root of goodness and strength in solid ground.

Remedy

As I’ve been feeling faded and fatigued, I decided to visit the American College of Traditional Chinese Medicine a few blocks away from home. I always feel better after a good pricking. Acupuncture the feng shui for the soul. Since my original acupuncturist is on the other side of town, I thought I’d take advantage of the close proximity of the needle dome.

I couldn’t wait to lie down so they could pin point the exact cause of my unbalanced self. If I was lucky, maybe they would perform moxibustion to stimulate my blood circulation. I couldn’t wait to fall into deep relaxation with my body and my mind realigned.

There I sat against a panel of four students and a teacher. They probed me with questions of libido, regularity, stool solidity. They studied my pulse, tongue, and blood pressure. I was hoping they could put to rest this lethargic bomb. Deep in the shallow of my head, I knew my fatigue stemmed from accomodating sir Hunter in the middle of the night, causing great raucous with my R.E.M. Nothing less or nothing more. Instead, here I was explaining my menstrual cycle, blood clots, color and size with a bunch of students.

Because they were students I anticipated the lack of finesse with the sharp tip, “That’s H9,” the teacher reminded the student, “your looking for H6.” In the bright fluorescent lights, it suddenly hit me, I am an experiment. I am the lab rat. Oh my god, I am that fermaldehyde frog in biology class. My nervous system was tip top, because my heart rate kicked in high gear.

They left me for thirty minutes, steeping in the needle connection. Normally I fall into deep rest, but I was wide awake combating with my thoughts burning rubber on the parking lot of my mind. The minutes dragged by as I forced my eyes shut hoping for the needles to do their magic. Nope, not today. The frog that I placed on the bunson burner as a prank back in tenth grade had come full circle.

I left the college still exhausted and off keel. I walked up Connecticut street defeated like a pyre being lit inside me. Than my cell rang, it was a call from my best friend, “Hey do you wanna go to Gary Danko tomorrow night? Just me and you? I need to get rid of this two hundred and fifty dollar gift certificate. There’s no one else that I’d rather go with” I smiled and accepted her invitation.

Right then, right there, standing under the street light on 20th and Missouri Street -almost immediately- like a B12 injection, I was alive and warm. Hearing her voice and experiencing her white bubbling energy made it all worth while. It just brought more clarity to my theory, “Friends is a perfect remedy to feeling better.”

I would like to close with one of my favorites by a true favorite Oscar Wilde, “True friends stab you in the front.”

Book it

In appeal to my hectic schedule, I introduce a literature circle (a fancy term for the nerdum; Book Club). Originally I thought it would be leverage for girl time, but in a tailspin it evolved into something meatier. The group has immensely grown involving not just women. I am excited to hear everyone’s perspective to the first read. The objective to this nerd forum is to hone my love for a good read.

In my junior year in high school, Mrs. Sabado quizzed us on the thought process of poets and writers. As an adolescent, deconstruction of literary pieces was moot. How dare I attempt to analyze the great minds of Homer, Byron, Carroll, Poe, Shelley, and Keats. I was just a mild acne waif invisible to her classmates. I guess that was the point to my teacher’s responsibility, trigger critical thinking, but at the time there were stronger forces in play like the furies of being a teenager. Decades later I circle that square, because here I am hosting my first deconstruction.

I picked up the book this past Tuesday. I have managed to wedge my reading to and from work with my head in the book. One must be very careful when reading and walking so as to not step into a tree or a building. Although I accomplished most of my reading on the stair machine on level eleven interval steps. I am that lonely geek on the cardio machine obliviously sopped with sweat, meanwhile enthralled by words, foreshadow, paragraphs, and similes.

Saturday is our first gathering to discuss Love in the Time of Cholera. I am excited to be among different levels of people discovering the different facets of the work. Mrs. Sabado’s face would be ablaze with joy, if she knew that she was the only teacher that harmonized my love for words.

This is Shellie claiming books are not the enemy back to you Bob at the studio.

Ham and Cheese

Shane was never one for holidays or birthdays. Christmas he would break into hives trying to find the ultimate gift. My birthday he hyperventilates as the lack of ideas trumped unruly on his existence. Simply put, celebrations pained ruthless on him. Celebrations were like taking a nice poison oak bubble bath; luxuriously painful. Today is Valentine’s Day 2008, the successful ad campaign for amateurs.

Shellie’s Proverb: Orchid that sits in a vase is short lived.

We awoke a little after four in the morning to Hunter screaming his tonsils out. Shane changed his diaper and wedged him between us on the bed. Chloe, attention deprived, jumped in the center of the family hug. Shane kissed Hunter’s head and I followed. Chloe vigorously wagged her tail resulting, Hunter to sit up and smile, laugh, and babble. Then he dove for Chloe’s tail as Chloe playfully licked Hunter’s cheeks like he was canine lollipop, “alright Chloe give it a rest.” I tried to diffuse the situation so I could selfishly get more snooze.

“This is the best. I could watch them all night. Who cares about sleep, my family’s right here.” Shane beautifully honest and I returned a grin that equated his content in the moment. Back on his back, Hunter’s eyes slowly glazed by the warm lullaby of his bottle.

Today is Valentines day and people scramble about in search for the perfect fluff and frill to say, “I love you,” albeit flowers, card, jewelry, and pre-fixed dinner. As Shane is always in pursuit of my happiness, little does he know that my heart—it lives in his happiness.

This is Shellie shot through the heart back to you Bob at the studio.

Will Work for Food

My month of no meat has come to an end. It wasn't the master cleanse, nonetheless, it was difficult. Although I have faltered a little throughout the month of January, I continue my stride towards eating healthy. Fresh, seasonal, and organic, I try my best to integrate a little more raw vegetables into our meal. Albeit, my husband would highly oppose as he would rather chew on gristle than have another meal consisting of seafood. For weeks now, he has been dreaming of a nice luscious medium rare rib eye bone in. Gasp, steak on my ever cinching waistline? How dareth thy foul words from thine sweet lips.

San Francisco has fed my fervor for food. With different fresh and new restaurants sprouting all over, it’s hard to not dig in. I have vowed to keep our dining down to zilch, I find myself making reservations at the new and upcoming restaurants such as Conduit, Laiola, Serpentine, Spruce. Worse off, I have my arsenal of repertoire: Ame, Bouchon, Range, Bar Tartine, Salt House, 1550 Hyde, and Boulettes Larder. I can’t help it. It’s like an addiction, “the need to feed.” I feel that by staying home, I’m missing out on the life’s culinary pleasures. The beauty in food is flourishing all over the bay area, and I can’t sit at home without labeling myself fifty one fifty.

“Worthless people live only to eat and drink; people of worth eat and drink to live.” –Socrates

One can not eat out every day, technically you could, but why? Once I entered culinary school, it pried my eyes wide open to the craft. I continued onto cooking restaurants, I quickly realized I didn’t know poop about food. As I was destined to move to France to further hone my ardor, marriage happened. Quel dommage! Until than, cooking is my therapy. If I’ve had a long arduous day, a normal person would start a warm bath. On the contrary, I spend a good one to two hours whipping up a three course meal for Shane. I immerse myself into a world of seasonal ingredients and simplicity. I slice, brunoise, mince as different sized pans sizzle, the oven is preheated, pots simmer, and the house gradually permeates my culinary orchestration. The pulse of our home is in the kitchen; of course the bedroom comes a very close second.

Enjoying the finished product is difficult when our dining table is collecting dust in our garage. My enjoyment is lulled when confined to eating on our couch. The evil and vile couch, because our nursery has replaced our dining room. There’s something beautiful enjoying a meal at a table. Preparing a meal together and sitting down at a table, enjoying it with loved ones makes for a remarkable experience. Substance. Thus, we have come full circle. Dining out should never be a sin.

“There are people in the world so hungry, that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.” Mahatma Ghandi

Nueve

“Da da da da da da da da dada da da…” Hunter repeated from his crib. His affinity for his first words quickly separated my husband and me. I was a little bitten, but I will get over it. Shane, of course, walks around the house repeating Hunter, “dadadada, “ laughing absurdly ecstatic like he just won the gold medal table tennis match. “Did you hear him? He said dada?” His chest wide, he paraded the living room with Hunter on his shoulders, “say it again Hunter boy, dadadada.” They both in sync, “dadadadadada,” I sat amazed at how such a small feat made me feel like I was sitting on top of the heavens.

Hunter is nine months today. Yes, our little runt is babbling like a maniac. He is sitting up and playing with his toys. Sure, he sometimes teeters over, but so do I. He is pulling himself up from the crib and scaring the shit out of me. Our crib setting has been dropped to the very bottom, yet Hunter seems focused on making the big escape from his crib by pulling himself up. He gets that from my side of the family. Diaper changing has become a difficult task as he is always trying to roll one over on me. So changing him after a good healthy poo takes a lot of agile and wit. I strategize by taking his attention to a new toy or a book while I attempt to quickly change his filthies. This morning he flipped on me so fast that he almost made a head dive off the changing table. By the way, the safety straps are useless at this point.

Mister Crawling McCrawler, isn't official, but he pulls himself forward with his arms. He's fast! He’ll get up on all fours wobble to and fro than flop back down on his stomach. Repeat. Let's just say that I can no longer leave him alone unless he is fenced in.


Dr. Treece says that he is “failing to thrive,” referring to his weight. He is sixteen pounds. I don't understand, because he eats alot. Many women would kill for his metabolism, but in baby world it’s not cool. He is constantly salivating, because his two bottom teeth are growing in. I wondered if his teething is contributing to his lack of weight gain. Sometimes, little man's gnawing on his hand like he was a zombie from Night of the Living Dead. To care for his gums I give him some homeopathic teething pills that instantly dissolve alongwith rubbing his gums with teething gel. If he develops a fever, than I drop it like it’s hot by dosing him with Tylenol. I believe that all babies grow at their own pace. I'm not worried about my little featherweight.

Speaking of food, my baby food processing days has come to a ceasing halt. It seems my darling boy prefers the store bought stuff. Traitor. I don’t mind except that it be organic and no sodium. Safeway has a great organic line and it’s cheap! Screw Whole Foods, Safeway’s organic line is the poo. I guess it’s just as well as it takes time off my hands and creates some space in our freezer.



As Chloe always fights to be the center of adoration, he and Chloe are creating a close bond every day. There’s nothing like Hunter’s growing interest in tugging on the white furry tail of our Bichon. Once a day, they sit nose to nose for a few seconds and than Hunter bursts into a chuckle. This goes repeatedly a few times, before I put a stop to it. You never know when our bichon may turn on Hunter. It’s like a bunny rabbit gone wild, but it could happen.

Stay tuned for his next month’s baby’s new trick report. Hopefully, he’ll be babbling “mama” and crawling like spider in heat.

This is Shellie and the rest of the Kitchens bidding you good “dadadadada day” back to you Bob at the studio!

Bottleless Pit

For months now, I’ve successfully managed to go through the day on a minimum of four to six hours of sleep. Lately, Hunter’s teething has got me up in all spurts of the night. Most of the time, I don’t mind as I don't get to see him during the day, any chance with him is all worth while. Recently, we have been awaken by his loud wail. A wail so loud that I am trained to pounce out of bed. Mostly, he just wants his plug back in his mouth or a bottle which I have all ready to go.

For the past five years, I’ve become this morning person. For instance, sleeping in past eight thirty in the morning is like struggling to do a hundred push ups. In turn, yours truly takes pride in sharing my morning with my loved ones.

“Hiya! Whatcha doin?”

“I knew it was you, only you would call before eight.” My sister incoherently tousled by the phone call, “you woke your neices you know.”

“Sorry, I just wanted to wish you a good morning! It’s a beautiful day out there, you should get up!” As I lay in bed comfy in my 2005 christmas pajamas with husband, Chloe, and Hunter, “alright, I’ll call you later go back to bed.” I giggled and made a mad dash dial for fellow victims. I pounced on friends that couldn’t see past ten o’clock in the morning. They never answered the phone which left me no choice, but to sing them one of my personalized jingles usually in the form of a seventies tune like Close to You by the Carpenters, “Why are you sleeping like a bear? Are you hung over? Do you care? Just like me, I long to be, up earleeeeeee. Click.” I would go on chorus over chorus until their voicemail cuts me off.

“Why do you do that?” My husband always shook his head in dismay.

“It’s funny.” I always shrug with delight.

On Saturday mornings, we’d go for an early work out at the gym or to the Ferry Building and hit the farmers market before the the late risers got there. Well, this particular Saturday I rushed the family out the door at eight to get to the farmers market. After a few weeks of over cast and wind chills, we were exhilirated to be up early on a beautiful sunny day. As Shane stood in line for a breakfast sandwich at Rose Pistola’s stand, I waited for a lushes cup of Blue Bottle coffee. Shane had Hunter in the stroller thus he began crying, I quickly went for the bottle in the diaper bag. My heart quickly shoved up my throat, the bottle was no where to be found. I quickly retraced my steps and realized I left the bottle on the counter when I opened the back door for Chloe. At this point, Hunter is wailing like his big toe’s been snapped off and he has thrown his yellow plug on the ground. Rats!

As I’m constantly grilling Shane to keep his diaper bag stocked, I wholeheartedly screwed up this one.

“I forgot his bottle.” I felt like a five year old that had wet her bed.

“Are you serious?” Shane was astounded, especially after my lecture on making sure we had a back up of everything in our diaper bag.

“Yes, I’m an idiot.” Still, I was determined to shop for tonight’s dinner party.

“I can drive back home and pick up a bottle. We can’t stay here with him like this.” Hunter’s wails began to disturb the peaceful shoppers that basked in the warmth with their coffee and breakfast.

“Stroll around and I’ll find you,” My quick resolution to defy the bottle.

“We can’t stay here without his bottle?” Shane threw me a look sharp as a five star ninja blade. He unstrapped Hunter from the stroller which instantly ended his battle cry, “Go shop, I’ll hold him.”

I wanted to stroll through every stall, but we didn’t know how long Hunter would last especially with his teething and the absence of his bottle. He was a ticking time bomb. “Shellie hurry up.” Shane shook his head as I patiently stood there tasting a bite of Alaska sprouts from the sprout vendor.

“Alright, alright. Let’s get some fish and hit the Wine Merchant than I’m done.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Shane liked it best when we had direction. Heck, I liked myself better too. We entered the Ferry Building into the mass of people. There were more early risers than expected. I quickly made a detour to the mushroom stand, I grabbed two varieties of shimeji mushrooms. Shane two stalls ahead held Hunter on his forearm like a football, witnessed my weakness. After purchasing a whole escolar we were almost done, we made our way to the wine shop. Shane a few steps ahead of me, I thought I’d sneak into Recchuttiti to see if they had any fresh marshmallows in today.

“What are you doing?”

I was busted. “Getting some marshmallows. I figured I’d get some for Valentines day for myself.” I grabbed for the quickest reason, but came up with a lie.

“I was going to get you some.” Shane always full of surprises, "now your not getting any this year."

“I wouldn’t want you driving here on Thursday. It'll be insane. I’ve saved you some time.” I smiled waiting to see if this lie could make it to the surface of common sense, “besides they’re always out.”

“Oh my god, I’ll meet you at the wine shop.” He saw straight through my fib.

We drove back home Hunter asleep. It was a close call. For it was my fault, because I removed the back up bottle yesterday, I thought the bag was to cumbersome for Shane. Shane grabbed my hand as I apologized for my inefficiency, “That’s okay honey, now you know that when I forgot something it’s not on purpose.”

This is Shellie discovering the many facets of being human back to you Bob at the studio!

Nanny Can

Nannies. San Francisco is a haven for them. The good ones are in high demand like the flawless cut. You see them everywhere pushing trendy strollers on the sidewalks of the neighborhoods of San Francisco. On a weekday, they travel in packs and meet at the playground guffawing about the parents outlandish demands. They come in all sorts of shapes and sizes: college graduate, teenager, elders, bilingual, no lingual. One could even set up a nanny share, if one is financially strapped. The options are endless. Some nannies run equivalent to a mortgage payment and that’s cheap. Some are blessed with the advantage of a bay area grandparent, we have a Mary. I know there are some haters out there. I can feel the pride strong bitterness, but to bitch his own.

As much as I wanted to stay home with my little precious, we decided back in September that we would move ahead with the plan. Mary, nanny extrodinnaire, is no exception. She came recommended by one of Angela’s client. She is a god send. I prefaced a spanish speaking nanny as it is vital that he is immersed in two different languages. From the second she sets foot in the house, she is in work mode. As she changes his diaper and gets him ready for the day, she sings nursery rhymes in Spanish. This ritual lasts a good fifteen minutes, because Hunter’s flipping over on all fours and causing havoc. She is even keel and patient. We interviewed a good amount of nannies, she was the only one that was genuine and trust worthy.

She takes him on walks in golden gate park or the zoo, singing class, reading time at the library. On top of her commitment to Hunter, she manages to keep our home stunning. Our home has never been so immaculate. Upon opening the front door to a beaming bathed baby and holding him in my arms, I observe an orderly home. His crib is neat, the kitchen is tidy, the bedrooms are spotless. Miraculously, our laundry is put away. I go to hang my coat in the closet and realize that each pair of shoes are lined up in orderly fashion. It’s insane.

I am grateful for Mary. She has made our house a home and has placed Hunter in the center of her universe. If I were a stay at home mom, I wouldn’t be able to pull it off. I could care for my child, but the housekeeping would be disastrous. After seven years, she finally made permanent U.S. citizenship and is in Columbia for two and a half months visiting her family. I have grown very fond of her and consider her a part of our family, in her absence she is greatly missed.

This is Shellie in her own orbit back to you Bob at the studio.

Adapt is Futile

Shane always had the freedom to do anything and the same for me. Recently, it just came to slap me in the face. Since the birth of Hunter, I made a point to establish the romance in our relationship, hence date night. As having a nanny has its benefits, alas it comes with a cost of a pretty shiny penny. We have many friends and family that have step forth to baby sit, but it is a delicate situation when it comes to last minute situations without coming off inconsiderate. Ideally, to enhance our marriage, I thought it important to introduce date night, which excluded Hunter, into our lives.

Early Friday evening as I lightly dust blush on my cheeks Shane mutters, “Oh Anthony says he won’t watch Hunter unless I go out with him after the movie.”

“Well I guess we’re not going out then.” Shane’s friend was newly dumped by his hot girlfriend of three years. I thought it be a good idea that Shane play wing man after our date night like laying in the path of a python.

I shlepped into my pajamas and plopped on the couch.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re staying home.” I browsed through five Netflix videos that collected dust for months. Staying home sounded welcoming, since the weather was dreary.

“Don’t be silly go get ready, he’ll be here soon.”

“No serious, we can stay home. Call the dogs off. Besides, I don’t want you going out with him after the movie. This is our night. I don’t mind.”

He huffed, “We’re going to the movies. Now go change.”

I hiked up the stairs and made a wardrobe change. I must admit I was slightly singed with the deal my babysitter had proposed. Doesn’t he have other friends? Rude.


“You know your husband’s coming out with me when you guys come back right?” The bull headed dumpster was absolute.

“I don’t think so?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Well, not unless you want us to get a divorce than sure he’s going out.”

“I had other things up my sleeve after our date.” How could one end a date without the assuming the biblical?

“No, he’s coming out with me. You guys don’t have sex anyway.” It was no surprise
why this person successfully fails flawlessly in his relationships, lack of perspective perhaps?

Shane remained quiet waiting for the decision.


No Country for Old Men was a smash, we had such a nice time together. I savored the richness of our time. We went to some restaurant and topped off the evening with a glass of champagne and some appetizers. The evening was early and to be a nice wife, as usual, I vowed to let Shane join the dumpee. I lay whole heartedly in the way of the sharp jagged fangs of disappointment.

Most women would put their foot down. I, on the other hand, put my husband’s happiness before my own. I allowed him to continue his lifestyle with no risk to responsibility or commitment to his family. Hence, my failure is my leniency.

Shellie’s Proverb: A pot of stew is no good without flame.
Meanwhile a couple hours later back at the cave, I had a text war with ex babysitter. I turbulently disposed my displaced anger on the dumpster, he shot back, “You’re overreacting, so what he saw you calling and he didn’t pick up,” it was apparent why he was brilliantly single, “blame your husband for coming out.” I stopped in my tracks. Subsequent to throwing his wing man under the bus, he is precisely right! Shane is gregarious and very well respected, but the idea of marriage and family hasn’t come to fruition. My calls went ignored which ensued the release of the ferocious beast from within. I made sure Shane came out bruised and scathed as I grappled with the dark idea of divorce. I couldn’t see straight at two thirty in the morning.

Mister Carr, Shane’s long time buddy, said it best, “Perhaps, this is something you pent up.” Brief and concise, he was grossly smug, but precisely correct!

Side bet: I would like to see any of his buddies pull off a Shane without being disembowled by their wives first. They're on lock down more than they precede.)

It was true. I held it all in. Was I submissive all this time? I am a fools’ fool. I allowed him to gad about on his many boy trips of football, golf, snowboarding, boy time with not a phone call to me.

I have prefaced my importance of these phone calls before, but I have gone days without a phone call. Days. I was always mild mannered, turning a blind eye. Any other, would have been butchered with a serrated knife. Instead I greet him with a hug. In essence, he never had to face the wrath of a woman’s worry. I bottled my anger so beautifully deep, that Friday night just blew the mother ship wide open. He nor I never saw it coming.

I thought our parameters were understood under the respects of consideration, but I was wrong. I never threw my arms around like a gorilla and battered him with threats and consequences. I could be a monster and put a stop to his fun. Why? That wouldn’t make me feel better and it wouldn’t contribute to a healthy marriage. I'm tired of playing the doormat. I bid death to the “cool” wife routine. He will quickly realize how good he had it. Aretha belt it out sister friend, "respect!"

In the end, I understand that marriage is an ever changing entity. Furthermore, a child plays an integral part to this anomaly called balance. In this day and age, dashing through a McDonald’s drive thru and getting a super size divorce seems convenient. I, on the other hand, choose to fight for love. Naturally, divorce scrambles through my brain, but love always prevails. Thus our loves deserves to bloom and a change is in order. How else would we grow closer, but to grow in change.

This is Shellie watering my backyard roots back to you Bob at the studio!

Accidents Happen

I have failed so beautifuly on my new years resolution. In order to realign my health, I thought it would be trying to omit meat except for fish and the likes. Three weeks into my challenge, I’ve fallen face first off the meatless wagon. I sneaked a chomp on my husband’s sopressata hero as he stepped away to grab himself a drink. He shook his head and laughed, “you know that was meat right?” I could spit in my eye.

In addition, I succeeded to fail in the “no dining out” sector. That was a given. As I clucked with my girlfriend’s at Serpentine on some juicy gossip, I ate to my heart’s content. Until, that is, I get to the homefront, Shane inquired about dinner, “You should really give it up, you can’t do it.” My husband may be precise, for once, I enjoyed delicious lamb riblets and stuffed quail, regardless of thought or restriction.

I absolutely refuse to forfeit. So what I did a couple free styling face plants, I also used to smoke two and a half packs of nicotine a day. I had to tell Angela, my BFF, and she found a healthy chuckle to my demise. She’s surprised that I’m not going through withdrawals and slowly introducing meat to my system at this point intravenously. As she is part filipino, she expressed the absurdity of my challenge. It is true, my dead ancestors would urinate on my head, if they could.

Ironically, previous to the new year I wasn’t devouring much red meat. I resigned to poultry and fish incorporated with the usual seasonal suspects of fruits and vegetables. So what was different? I could whip up a tasty meal given a minimum of ingredients. As my husband boasts, “He’s never had the same dish twice.” He’s spoiled, if you ask me.

The best thing that came out of this is that I’ve learned to be creative with dinner. My dinner preparation is shorter. Time spent with Hunter is longer. My weight on the scale is lighter. Nonetheless, Shane is going through fits of heaving as he’s being force fed wild fish and vegetables. He will axe me off when he finds out my next venture, raw meals. Never ask “why,” but “why not!”

This is Shellie taking one step at a time towards a healthy life back to you Bob at the studio!

Time and Balance

Life at the Kitchen home is a balance beam act. Happiness takes a lot more than saying, “I love you.” Taking on too much will forcibly throw us off our axis. In this existence, it’s give and take. Since Hunter, I’ve come to realize that there is not enough time in a day much less a year to accomplish my wants versus needs.

It is essential to spend time with Hunter. It is vital to share time with Shane. It is crucial to sit down during dinner. It is necessary to exercise. Most imperative is to get a full night’s rest. This is my cohesive foundation and without one, my world crumbles. Everything else is superfluous.

Because time is utmost limited, my husband and I bicker about who gets to go the gym. This only occurs in spurts when my husband finds it convenient to go to the gym, which is usually once every two weeks. I, on the otherhand, integrated exercise into my life since my decision to drop weight. Our gym provides child care, except that it’s very limited and is difficult to get in on the same day basis. Which is where my husband typically wedges his fat head.

If it came down to one of us making it to the gym, I am fair when it comes to the deciding factor such as, “What did you have for lunch?” He is automatically disqualified, if he has devoured a pile of pork fried rice, which is usually the case. That’s a “try again tomorrow” factor. I would take into consideration his portion control, but the fact is that he polishes off a pile of fried rice. Hence, he is a perfect candidate to my “absolutely not” campaign. Fortunately, if we have a reservation for kid’s club than it’s a free for all, because it all comes down to who is watching Hunter.

I am just in my decision. His practice is inconsistent when it comes to healthy. It is to our disadvantage that our metabolism has decided to take a ride in the backseat. Shane always bellows about the past, “I used to be stick thin till I hit twenty seven than it all went downhill.” What he doesn’t recognize is that gorging four slices of pizza and topping it off with a beer contributes to his non existent abs. For the record, twenty seven was eleven years ago. Deal.

Just one in many instances, of the limit on time and balance. We have continued with our life as normal with the exception of making sure to make time for ourselves. There’s all the time in the world, if you can’t find it, you “make” it. It’s easy and it works. Luckily, we have made this far and managed gleefully without scratching our eyes out . Life is grand.

This is Shellie drowning in the belly of happiness back to you Bob at the studio!

Present!

We survived 2007 without a scratch. Knock on wood. As soon as Halloween arrived, I was blasted into oblivion. I was joyously propelled between traveling to New York, chomping on holiday turkey to sipping glasses of champagne to festive parties to flying to Hawaii to welcome the new year, I’m not sure where to start! I must exclaim that I did lose a whopping fifteen pounds. I can’t believe it! My weight is the lowest it’s been in ten years and I’m still not done. Which leads to where I’ve been spending my spare time for the last three months, and it hasn’t been blogging. I’ve been sweating my bum at the gym. According to Jill, sister in law and astrology extraordinaire, Saturn is in Virgo for the next two and a half years. According to her, fellow virgos will be very health and fitness saavy. Well, whatever hoodoo voodoo is going on, it is working!

While mother’s are tiptoeing around their child’s schedule, I take mine to the child care at the gym. I’m so exhausted of the typical bay area mom…I mention mothers as dad’s really could give two you know whats…engrossed in their child’s schedule. I hear it all the time, “I can’t meet you for a stroll, because that’s when my child is napping.” Boring! Step it up and get refined. It must suck having to be confined to a schedule. Stifling, it's like they're amputees! My visit back to Hawaii only rectified my exact suspicions that urban moms are pod people. A product of body snatching.

Let's slow down and discuss my new year’s resolution. As everyone’s squirreled up about cinching their waistline, I’ve gone a different route. I’ve denounced meat for a month. That, my friends, is one tough habit to break. I celebrate meat! Meat is my best friend. I would marry meat, if I could. Along with that self infliction, I’ve cut myself off from fine dining. Vile! As I live and breath in one of the culinary jewels, I find that would be a challenge. As new and innovative restaurants (Laiola, Spruce, Conduit, Serpentine) are popping up I hold tight to the homestead. My vow also includes brunch. I can do it, I went from smoking two and a half packs of cigarettes everyday for years, hence I can do anything!

Marriage is swell. I am smitten in bliss. I’m trying not to gloat, but parenting is so much fun. Don’t let the parents with the screaming child on the floor of the grocery store fray you, motherhood is sweet. My job is the best. Have you ever worked for men? Sigh, refreshing! Life is great! Time is precious, thus it is difficult to sit down and blog when. I am very fortunate to be content. Here to a beautiful 2008!

Gym Crack Corn, and I Don't Care

We finally got the call back from UCSF Bakar Fitness. Only the best gym in San Francisco equipped with two lap pools, one inside, the other outside, a wall climb that overlooks the financial district, ample supply of cardio machines not to mention a lush circuit training section. Classes offered are great. What I like best about this gym is that it’s not chockful of the slender giraffe types. It's not a crime to jiggle.

We were told that the wait list is six months, it was actually almost nine months. Mon dieu! Whatever the case, we are official members! We couldn’t believe it. I am thrilled because they offer child care for six bucks an hour. I just finished French Women Don’t Get Fat and am awe inspired by food and fit. I set a lofty goal for myself and with patience and hard work I am confident this jiggle is just a fangle.

I have been tortured with this weight gain, and I am tired of hearing that I just had a baby. That's not a good excuse. I’ve met mother’s that are slimmer now than before they’re pregnancy. I know for me it will be arduous, but nothing in life comes easy. I accept that challenge with a big smile. I am set to cinch my waistline the only way I know how, through enjoying my meals, chewing slowly, drinking lots of water, and daily exercise. Easy. On guard, you menacing fat, away with you. Be gone!

This is Shellie from the pinnacle of her madness back to you Bob at the studio.