Wow!

Mom, Dad, Shane and I sat in the doctor's office. This was Shane's first appointment for the Kitchster. The room sat mothers and mothers to be. The bright eyed mothers-to-be watched the newborns with sheer excitement. We all were at the edge of our seats knowing that we had one of those love buns in our oven too. There was a sort of camaraderie between all mothers-to-be and mothers. A community of silent understanding. I was too early along to join in the reindeer game.

I specifically chose The Women's Center's at St. Luke's as it has been highly recommended by friends that are midwives and doulas alike. It is considered the most innovative program in San Francisco. Specializing in natural births, water births and births in general. I am glad this hospital is at the top of the game, but I am seeking a healthy and pain free birth full of epidural. The word around town is that the other hospitals, especially CPMC, are infamous for unnecessary c-sections. I was not down with that.

Shellie's Proverb: A well with no bucket is just a hole in the ground

As Shane and I sat in the room, we overheard one of the doctor advising someone to not answer any of the patient's questions. Shane's like, "I thought you said this was a great hospital? Why can't she answer our questions? Talk about weird." We both started giggling. It seemed absurd to not have our questions answered. Apparently, it was the medical student's first day and so we really wouldn't want the text book responses. Her name was Julie, a medical student, with a soft spoken voice that quivered like leaves on a windy night. She walked us through the preliminary questions like how was the pregnancy going thus far.

Sue McDonald entered five minutes later and was humourous and informative. She got out the ultra sound contraption and reassured us that we wouldn't see anything so keep the party in our pockets. Suddenly, we saw the entire definition of the love bun. It's body alongwith spine, heartbeat, arms, hands, legs, feet wiggled and did flips in my belly. It was Shane's first time to observe such sweetness. We were over the moon! We were excited to see that all was good in the womb of the Kitchen.

Despite my high increase in fat distribution, my toiling bowel movements, my wicked appetite, my pregnancy is healthy. She stressed the importance of protein, vegetables, water and rest during this period of the pregnancy which does not prey as a problem. Although as I am no spring chicken, I will have to test my chromosome count. Cross my fingers. Otherwise, Mrs.. Kitchen and little Kitchster is doing swell! In the end, I'm just ecstatic that the people that I hold dear to my heart were there with me to experience the miracle in my heart.

Lesson: A Grasshopper that appreciates is one that will never be disappointed.

Run

As Shane is certain that his social life will remain the same after the infant is born. Surely, I do not jest. Sir Braggadacio strolls around the house with his chest puffed out like a pigeon. He seems to think that beer with the boys will remain unharmed. Currently, his weekends consist of sports, beers, cards, and buddies. I have gradually introduced him to the fact that things will alter. I'm totally cool about his arrogant claims, he's taking this preganancy better than expected. Yet, it's as obvious as veal at a vegetarian dinner that our lives will evolve, horrendously. In the delusional sector of his mind, he is convinced that he will continue his independent boy hood as I've gladly allowed him to. I smile, laugh, and shake hands with his fallacy, but little does he know what brews in my belly is a big ball of responsibility that I myself will not be able to handle alone.

Shellie's Proverb: A man that holds his dreams in his pocket is a super catch.
For now, I'll let him fly all the way to Pluto with the idea. Who am I to shadow his last six months of sunshine. Please do not take my husband's interpretation of birth as embarking on the jagged edge of gloom. He's just somewhat unrealistic. My Ken doll did not come with the forsight feature. He knows deep in the back of his mind what lies ahead and so carpe diem ala golf. Tim and Kurt, are witnesses to my statement that Shane will be able to golf whenever he wants via video. Shrug, I scream duress. I am constantly reminded that this video is my testament to relinquish him from the iron hand. So for now, I encourage him to get his maximum fill of golf and cerveza with the boys. That's the best a wife can do.

Cleo, the psychic I am not. I embrace the future and the fate that comes unraveling. I wish Shane the best of luck, but will lightening please strike some sense into him? I am hoping that he will gush with delight upon sight of his child, but sometimes men run straight out the door to the nearest bar for a couple shots and a cigar with his team of boys. I expect the latter to occur. Snicker.

One should not perceive a new addition to the family as doomed, but a call to arms for rejoicing and celebration! Change is beautiful. I look forward to it. Deep down inside I know Shane does too.

Lesson: A knowledgeable Grasshopper must remember that all actions can never be reversed.

Oink!

I have made it through the first three months by the skin of my teeth! Hallelujah! Sigh. I'd like my medal now so I can proceed with my speech. Smile. My snooze fest is on hiatus as my weight gain snowballs. I have gained seven pounds in one month. Seven pounds! One Month! Scream! Weep. I am trying not to find an excuse to eat everything in sight, seriously! Just 'cause I'm pregnant doesn't give me the right to treat my body like a garbage dump. In the past few weeks, I've gladly welcomed glazed doughnuts, dulche de leche ice cream, egg mcmuffin, and pumpkin milk shakes and justified my leisure to the extra curricular foreigner in my belly. Christ on a stick, these are foods that are so alien to my body, but I'm consuming calories like a blonde does bleach. I don't want to be that class of pregnant women that finds every excuse to have a banquet of a snack. I would love to, although my metabolism is as slow as a constipated tortoise. Certainly mom's popped out ten kids and is slender as a popsicle stick, but my dad has a pouch a pooch can love. I, Shellie Kitchen, unfortunately take after my pop. Frown.

Shellie's Proverb: A pig that doesn't share is a hog.

I want to be those brilliant pregnant women that take charge and exercises fastidiously and psychotically. We've all witnessed these women in spinning class that is cycling their way to Timbuktu. How about the overly ultra conscious environmental spiritual granola mother? The one that's preparing her limbs and organs for birth via yoga. My personal favorite is the expecting mother that is working her biceps, shoulders, triceps with cables and free weights. I want to be that Nike women too gosh darn it!

As my cupboards and refrigerator are gushing with organic and free range absurdities, my appetite strays into the deep and dark. If I keep this up, I will turn into a real bleeper and I can not. I refuse to fall. I have prepared a beautiful regiment of exercise and meals to keep baby and me healthy. Since I work across the street from 24 hour fitness, I will tackle my cardio and work out on my lunch. I've done it before and I can do it again. In my head, the schematics are clean! But suddenly the flavor of a super quesadilla is sinking in, must learn to....fight...the urge...must be....strong.

Lesson: A keen grasshopper must walk in the shadow in order to see the light.

Husbands

It was eleven o'clock last night and a dog funk stench loomed in the bedroom. Instantly, I got up to check on Chloe. This puppy is full of surprises and to my deceiving eyes, Chloe had purged an array of her fetor in the corner of the room. At what end the excretion of this matter originated was besides the point, because I had to clear up this vile immediately. Earlier this morning, she went through a similar vomiting session, but I was convinced she had meddled through our compost and that it would pass. I quickly cleaned up the mess, yet Chloe continued to meekly shiver in the corner of the bedroom. Was she on the verge of death? Rabies perhaps? A piece of chewing bone, is it lodged in her intestines? Cursed, was it the organic raw lamb and rice diet? Of course, it had to be! I mean puppy and raw meat just don't mix. I don't care how organic or healthy! The logic still stands as idiotic as puppy at a flea convention! Why didn't I just feed her a bowl of larvae for flip sake! Great, I just contributed to the illness of my pup, because of my narrow minded health conscious ways. A swarm of conflict stung me with questions.

Shellie's Proverb: Never select a dentist with filthy teeth.

As I blamed myself for the dog's illness, Shane slept comfortable and sound. I understand as he worked a laborious ten hour day, but I couldn't ignore Chloe's uncontrollable bowel and projectile display. I was concerned with worry. As I witnessed the dog's terrible mishap I tried to shake my husband from sleep, but he was useless. Meanwhile, in half an hour flat, I had replaced two puppy potty sheets, disinfected the floor from four freshies that didn't smell so fresh. I tried to get Shane's attention, "What should we do?" I shook Shane's shoulders, if he was a tree the branches would be completely bare. I was slightly disappointed with his sloth like behavior, moreover, it frightened me.

Eeek! It was a quick flash into the future and what it had in store for us naive newbies: a wailing infant, a pooping dog, and an incessant golf addict of a husband that sleeps like a wet log. Although a puppy and an infant are, by far, incomparable. It doesn't change the direction of the wind in that when it comes to slumber, my husband will be frolicking in the fields of dreamland. Next year, upon arrival of the new born, I should not be surprised. Last night was just a whiff of my future lifestyle with a new Kitchen utensil; a prelude to parenthood.

Lesson: A wise Grasshopper never play with matches in dry field.

Miracles can happen!

Today, is a new day! Today, I am exuberated and could run a marathon....well, maybe walk up a hill. It all started when I volunteered to drop Shane and Kurt at BART so they could catch the A's playoffs. Even though Shane and I had prior plans, as we have friends coming to stay with us tomorrow, my tendency to dismember one of his body parts were non existent. I felt normal. The old Shellie was back! Furthermore, when I reminded him that we needed flowers to fluff up the home and he arrived empty handed, I was declined to violently disembowel my husband. I didn't feel the need to shriek from the top of my lungs or throw my wedding ring across the room. Oh, happy days are here again!

Shellie's Proverb: Never pet a dog that is foaming at the mouth.

I grabbed Chloe to join me in my festivities of running errands. Yes, the pup goes everywhere with me and no, I do not carry her like a clutch, thank you very much. I had to make a quick stop at Rainbow as it is the only store in town that carries Wullaby yogurt for seventy nine cents. Besides, they have the best organic products that won't dent your check book. Regardless, they have the most beautiful and vast cheese selection in town that will make a French monsieur weep.

My lethargic brume is magically lifted like a terrible spell. My record slump is broken! It is a miracle, the parting of the red sea. I headed home and picked up the house, played with Chloe, made dinner, and fit some time in to watch a chick flick. It's a beautiful day and I am in a wonderful mood! Glee! Life is good! I'm in love! I'm happy! I'm thankful for all that I have and all that I am. Sorry, but I can't save this speech to Thanksgiving, because now is the time to give thanks and praise! Wow! These Zoloft pills are really kicking in. Surely, I kid. I would be so privileged for more days like this and I'm sure my husband wouldn't mind it one bit. I am nearing the end of my first trimester and I see a bright light at the end of the tunnel.

Lesson: A kind Grasshopper must share his bowl of porridge with his starving enemy.

Breathe

During my journey to conceive, I forgot to consider one important pang. Pregnancy. That's right, the actual labor of pregnancy. I was naive to think that it would it would be a hop, skip and a jump to baby dome. I was to busy lollygagging with my ovulation contraption that I was oblivious to the nine months stint. My continuous bout with my first trimester has not been poppies and sunshine. I have discovered a mélange of particulars that stick out like an elephant at a mice convention.

My "no alcohol" policy excludes me from most social activities. I get no kicks in watching friends drown in intoxication while I sit there with my arm floaties trying to keep up with the nonsensical conversations of the inebriated. I don't mind attending a dinner party, that's a picnic. It's the large dinners that's ruled by cocktails, where it gets muddled. It's like a David Lynch film, any moment I'm waiting for the midget to pop in and start conversing in gibberish. It's no fun! Although I don't want to be sorted out as stern and uptight, the silent one. Worse, I am socially inept, and distracted by daydreams of a down comforter, eight hundred thread count sheets, a bowl of warm soup, and a good book. There's a word for that and it's a home body. Gross.

Shellie's Proverb: Happiness is waking up without a hang over.
"Excuse me sir, you've got your narcolepsy in my nausea! I'm sorry sir, but you have that backwards, you have your nausea in my narcolepsy!" Despite everything, my lack of vim is ruthless. Working in this weary state is a hoot, coherence is as absolute as the Easter bunny. Really. Truthfully. It's like I'm waist deep in quick sand. Regardless, at work my margin for error is nil, hence making my job even more brutal. Here's where being a house wife would be plush and candy. Since my nausea has been jilted by ginger root, nausea gently retaliates it's revenge by being the master mind behind my temperamental appetite. My hunger have been deceived with distasteful suggestions like burgers, fries and strawberry milkshakes. Do you understand that my body has not processed the atrocities of fast food in three years? Three years! Saturday, I was weak and gave in to temptation, I made haste to McDonald's. I gorged a filet o' fish and small fries in two thousand volts flat. Saturday, I mourned the first upheaval of my healthy and conscious state.

The most vile of all evils is the overlord Queen Hormone that rules all with a vengeance. I have cried more in the last month than I have in the past five years over trivial subjects like, "Candy corn should be available year round?" When I really should be more concerned about why my bowel movements have gone awry. I am conscious of my heightened sensitivity and how it effects me, but it reigns my emotions with a tight fist. Maybe padded walls and a straight jacket isn't so bad. The best I can do is isolate myself to uphold my self preservation. Until I feel somewhat normal, this hormonal war is not over.

Meanwhile on planet restless, my frequent yearning to urine in the middle of the night is trying. Shellie, the person that held the world's record of pee holding, has fallen to the rubbles of my bladder. There's nothing like the interruption of a good nights rest with the urge to splurge. Speaking of etiquette, I won't even mention the term constipation. I mean it must come out some time, right?

Pregnancy is thrilling, but certainly toilsome from the social aspect to the toilet facet, my hands are full. I am purely grateful for having such a lovely husband, awesome friends, and a family that is stoked out of their mind! There's so much to look forward to and all I can hear is mom's homogenous religious blurbs, "if god permit." I have a long way to go with an arduous haul to bear. Eventually, I hope to take on the positive side of pregnancy and flourish and enjoy the experience, if god permit.

Lesson: Young Grasshopper must never be fooled by the calm waters of the river.

Nacho, Nacho Man

The past few weeks, I have been intensly exhausted. I know, I know, I'm a broken record, but I have never experienced such weariness in my entire existence! I have to super glue my eye lids open to keep them from closing. I woke from my usual drool snooze only to find my cursed hunger for nachos. That's right, nachos! Strange and bizarre. I do recall stumbling into El Farlitos at two o'clock in the morning with smeared vision slurring something to the likes of, "super nachos por favor pronto por favor," but that was three years ago.

As I entered the kitchen, Shane's obsessive compulsive kicked in and jumped into third gear. He's whipped dishes out of the fridge like a mad scientist, "What is this? Is it pork chops? Are you going to cook it soon? Or can I cook it? What about this Italian sausage? Should I put it in the freezer? Are you cooking it? Can I cook it and eat it with the left over polenta? What is this green curry? What kind of green curry? Should I throw it in the trash? How old is it?" I could not endure the barrage of questions that he tossed in my direction. I quickly snapped, "I am not answering any questions until I have something to eat! So zip it!" This is just my "g" rated version of the story. More appropriately, imagine the scene in the exorcist where Regan's head slowly spins and she projectile vomits green pea soup all over the priest. That would be more accurate to the event.

Immediately, I was appalled at my rejection as well as the surprise appearance of my fifth personality "Regan". I felt terrible. Hideous. Yet, my appetite had the pedal to the metal on a one way highway to the city of Nachos hitting anything that gets in the way. I knew deep down that a few bites into my nachos this demon head would be gone and I would be left with a big whopping wax ball of apology that I would have to present to my lovely husband.

Shellie's Proverb: Without food, toilets would not be essential.

I quickly whisked together a béchamel and incorporated some cheddar cheese! Poured the beautiful sauce over my blue corn chips and black beans. Viola! After a few crunch bites my taste buds expired. My evil part had recessed into dormancy. I immediately felt like a rear end of a donkey. I quickly apologized to Shane who quickly brushed it off. He has been tipped by his friends that in pregnancy, there is no "right" the male counterpart can do. He made me promise that I would not be like the others. I must boast that I'm quite honored that my husband puts me above the average female. Sadly, I could not commit as I wasn't sure what was in store for me as I walk the plank of pregnancy. I was ready for anything like my teeth turning into fangs or better yet my back hunching into a deep unattractive curve. My mind was a clean slate. I wasn't sure of anything. I gave him my word that I would do my best to not be a complete freak, but here I was in my first trimester wigging out over chips and cheese. Oh, dear. The last thing that I would want is for my sweet heart to have to tip toe around my frenzy. Such cruelty.

As my hormones orchestrate this symphony, I am just an instrument in all of this. The music heightens to my hunger that surges like a tidal wave along with the loud crashes of my peculiar cravings. I will throw myself against the tide to keep my husband safe from the likes of me. My first step is to not press him for anything or everything. I will take sole responsibility of my needs and wants, hence my expectations will be minimal. So begins the first score to my ever changing repertoire.

Lesson: A grasshopper must learn to acclimate to his environment in order to become enlightened.

It's all about Timing

J. Minnitti, a dear friend, is staying with us from Costa Rica. It's been a super thrill to have another female in the house. She and Darren, her husband, are also trying. As I never in a thousand days, thought that we would conceive so quickly. I wished upon the gods that she and I would be simultaneous. Selfish, but true. Although our friend Meaghan also has a bun in the oven, although it's like her third child, she's a pro. The three amigas. It would've been tres chic! All in good time, young Kitch, all in good time.

Shellie's Proverb: Man cannot chew gum with no teeth.

I really looked forward to sharing my first experience with J.Min, since it would both be our first. It would be a prego party! I kicked the ball around regarding visiting Tamarindo during my pregnancy and sitting side by side as our bellies absorb the beautiful Costa Rican sunshine hanging. It's all fantasy at this point. Fortunately, I have my fellow veterans (sisters and friends), but it's not the same, because they've already experienced the war time and time again. The first time is crucial. For instance, like my first kiss was absolutely bizarre. Not to mention, the first time was awkward and unmemorably memorable. I thought to myself, "This is what people kill, steal, and die for? Eck. Losers."

Save your tears, it's not worth shedding. All is not lost or forlorn, I just had a tiny head start. Since she's visiting for the month of September, it allowed her to avoid a due date that would fall on the dark month of the Gemini. No personal jab to you Gemini's, I would just prefer to not give birth to one. Thus, I will be thoroughly green and envious, if she lands herself a Virgo through Capricorn skip the Scorpio. On the flipside, my ignorance landed a challenging sign, I am scheduled to have the horns! The bull. Ouch!

Despite her intriguing fashion designer background where the likes of Gucci and Luis Vuitton is trite. She will evangelistically give you a two hour dissertation on how and why obscure designer jeans make the perfect fit. "The wardrobe is all about pieces," she always says, "beautiful and classic pieces!" She has also found solace in Iyengar yogi studying under the great master Manuoso. It is a true delight to have her as a friend. A sparkplug of a woman that will talk an atheist's head off about Buddhism and why it's the most logical religion. I wish her all the best of luck and enjoy during the process of making babies. As she is a great person, she will make a great mother as well. Viva Capricorn!

Lesson: A young grasshopper must cross the path of hot coals to enjoy the journey of life.

Just eat

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

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

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

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

First Timester

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ruff Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

First Appointment

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

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

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

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

Cougar Collective

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kitchens are PotentWe did it!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Getting Wiser

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Starbutts

Sometime in June 2006, I walked out on coffee like a bad musical. Subsequent to my first appointment with the Chinese acupuncture, I was advised that the enzyme in the coffee bean irritated the female fertility machine. Nonetheless, any other form of caffeine was okay. I'm no saint, I have stumbled off the wagon once or twice, but what's the harm in one cup of coffee?

Since my coffee free debut, I have noticed a dark phenomena. On the way to work, during my lunch, in the office, on my way home, driving on the weekends, in the hands of celebrities, in the movies. Starbucks! It's taken over! It's everywhere I turn. It's in my face like a passive aggressive bum. In the financial district, there's a Starbucks parked on practically every block, if not every other. It's a Starbucks cesspool. It's disgusting. Talk about pusher. Walking from the N Judah to my office building, these Starbuckers with their glassy dazed walk of a zombie. There's more Starbuckers than smokers. I think that Starbucks is giving Phillip Morris a run for their money. I don't mean to dishonor the throne of Starbucks, but when do you say, "enough is enough?"

Shellie's Proverb: Nothing uplifting about a facelift.

Kudos to the Marketing and PR departments, they are filthy geniuses. They took the McDonald's Super Size strategy and went to the circus. As appalled Italians sit and watch the Americans in amazement: macchiato is a cappuccino; cappuccino is a latte; latte is a bowl of soup. Didn't we insult them enough with our version of the pizza? The cup sizes are another subconscious ploy: small a 'tall', medium a 'grande', a large a 'venti' and must be ordered as such. If ordered differently, the robots behind the counter will correct you on your ordering etiquette. Next time, just throw some water on them and see if they fizz out.

I'm not a political person at all, although I should be. I'm not a hater rater either. I would just like to see less of Starbutts. Give the cozy neighborhood coffe houses a chance to stretch and breath. I would love to see some sort of regulation requiring a maximum of 2 Starbucks allowed in one square mile. Regulate. How lazy are we? Give us a reason to walk a few blocks to get a nice cup of coffee? The next time you leave your house count how many zombies are cozying to a nice cardboard cup of Starbucks. You'd be surprised.

Lesson: A strong Grasshopper must remember when enemy does not look you in the eye he is plotting a conspiracy.

One Small Step for Marriage One Giant Step for the Kitchens

Marriage is not for everybody, hence the flighty. Marriage is not for the spontaneous at heart. It’s not a flower arrangement. It’s a commitment. A lifetime. It’s a roller coaster ticket to ride so buckle up. Today is our one year mark. One whole glop of a year. I still have a hard time saying, "my husband," without stuttering. It'll take a while for it to stick. The other day I slipped and called him my boyfriend and he abruptly corrected me. Oops. Darn you Freudian!

As marriage is a new culture, so room for improvements are, most of the time, welcome. I remain true to my art of cooking, although portion control has been established. Thus, our passion for hosting dinner parties still lives. My clothing spree is down to an all time low. A nice pat on the back. Frown. As a recovering bulimic takes it slow, hence I have slightly curbed my shoe collection. Heck, I even make the bed! Folks, seriously, please hold your applause until after the speech. Boxing, what can I say? Boxing has positively contributed to every aspect of our lifestyle. Huge fan! As for my cable television and couch intake, that's as sparse as the brain cells jouncing around in my head. On a high note, my complaining is null, but my whining are all kicks and giggles.

In addition, I suffered a blow to my name change from Cadelinia to Kitchen. The origin of that name is still outstanding. My guess is that it used to be Kuchen or Kiechen or some Dutch derivative. As soon as Grandpa landed on American soil they immigrantized it to Kitchen. Anyway, I constantly suffer the constant inquiries, "Is that real? What kinda last name is Kitchen? What is the origin?" If I was Caucasian, I wouldn't be hit with that question. Although a Filipino with a last name after a room where meals are prepared, suspicious! This here Filipino is an imposter! Arrest her, she might be carrying a pipe bomb!

2005 to 2006 Benchmarks:
August 27, 2005 – Consummation Proclamation
September 2005 – First birthday as Mrs. Kitchen
October 2005 – Kitchens first Halloween
November 2005 – Kitchens first Gobble
December 2005 – Purchased and moved into Potrero Hill Home. Kitchens first Christmas.
January 2006 - Boxing work out infatuation begins. First new year as Mrs. Kitchen. Shane’s 34th birthday married.
February 2006 – Urgency to slim waistline, discreetly signed up for Weight Watchers...ssshhh
March 2006 – Sloshed down first black diamond as Mrs. Kitchen
April 2006 – The birth of the idea of Kitchen’s as parents was born. Gulp.
May 2006 - Shane is a General Contractor
June 2006 – First and last hike up Yosemite’s Top of the Falls
July 16, 2006 – First conception attempt
August 27, 2006 – One year

I, Mrs. Kitchen, had a reservation at Charlie Palmer's Dry Creek Kitchen at the Healdsburg Hotel. Idea was quickly axed subsequent to current husband reviewing the menu. Apparently, it was not breakfast friendly. It was all fluff. I was reeled by the foie beef burger. I couldn't see past it.Foie! Nothing like a nice goose liver.

Instead, we opted for The Fig and the Girl or is it the Girl and the Fig? Prelude to breakfast began with a refreshing glass of fig mimosa and bellini. A split order of the brioche french toast stuffed with whipped cream cheese. The best!!! I had the sausage with the potato pancake red pepper coulis. Blah. My husband, as usual, topped my dish with a breakfast pizza. We wobbled home as thoughts of a nap slowly weaved its way in my thoughts. Napster on my first year anniversary? How appauling! Maybe on year seven!

A flock of friends (the newly engaged Carrs, Colleen and beau hunk, The Bleskaceks, Grundmans, Randall and company) joined us on such a beautiful day. We noshed on barbecue sausages, array of antipasti, and we managed to hydrate on our favorite serum. A game of horseshoe ensued as the women clucked poolside. My chick clucking was followed by a two hour swim in the pool. Did I mention that I was half fish?

Shellie's Proverb: Each laughter is original authentic and can not be fabricated.

We had a dinner reservation which was rescheduled twice to 8pm due to traffic congestion from Glen Ellen back to the city. Ame was simply unpretentious, the food was superb and the service was genuine. Shane finished a cucumber martini in five seconds flat, because it was -in his own words- off the hook! I sipped on an Urban Cougar, a ginger pomegranate cosmopolitan, not really listed as such. Roar. We ordered two items from the sashimi bar along with crispy sweetbread, FOIE terrine, miso black cod, and kurobota pork chop with crispy pork belly. Every bite was followed by a hymn of mouthwatering praise.

Shane. He comes packaged with a wad of idiosyncracies that are like finger nails running down a chalkboard. Such as his constant rebuttle in rap or hip hop lyrics. Or his constant zeal in detail about a grilled peanut butter sandwich he had for breakfast. Finally, his light obsessive compulsive disorder tendencies such as silverware being individually stacked on top of each other and must face due South. Consider that against the weight of any other male overlord and you've got cotton candy!

Top 10 Qualies to Win Any Woman's Heart
1. Loyal, definitely no more than a dog.
2. Spineful quality, but not too much that it get's you into a women's shelter.
3. Fancies your quirks.
4. Finds you attractive despite how fit or fat.
5. Greets you in the morning with an, “I love you,” and closes the day with an, “I love you.”
6. Best friend: shares his daily dallies without your prodding.
7. Honest, will brave the unchartered waters i.e., "that outfit is atrocious."
8. Charming, opens the car door for you.
9. Cleanliness: daily showers, dabbles in you expensive facial wash, but not too much that he's a metrosexual.
10. Compromise, will allow you to scan channels during the commercial break of the Giants game.

Marriage is still fresh and new. We have yet to be sucked into this vacuous great abyss that veterans label the black hole. We have remained true to ourselves. God forbid, we are joined at the hips. On the contrary, he has his rooster time aka golf trips and poker nights. I have my PMS support group it's called Netflix and a glass of Pinot Griggio and the latter the group of cackling inebriated girls night out. It's the only route to go. We are independently cohesive.

It's not the date, the friends, or the meals that made today precious. It's been an outstanding year! It's been action packed full of sweetness. There is not one day that passes that I’m not happier than the day prior. Certainly, we have the occasional bicker which never last more than fifteen minutes, because our disagreements are no more than ludicrous and it always results in laughter. To put in a tiny cute plastic box, we are in love. This has been the word according to Mrs. Kitchen.

Lesson: A loving Grasshopper must learn to hug himself before hugging others.

Hot Date

Not much to report from Kitchenville except what do you get your husband for a first year anniversary present? A plastic coffee stirrer? A tidily wink? How about a package of M&M peanuts? Kidding. Our first year anniversary is at hand, but what's making it through your first year? We don't deserve as much as an applause. Well compared to celebrities' marriages, we deserve a gold medal. They always say that the first year is the most difficult, on the contrary, it's been a wonderful year!

Shellie's Proverb: The blade of a pre-nuptial agreement is sharper than a marriage certificate.

A few days shy of making a year, I am just sending off our order for the wedding pictures. Yep, a true procrastinator at its best. Dilly Dally Do Heart, that's me. While the Grundmans have just outright shamed us in the post marriage propers. I keep coughing up dust balls, I'm so ill. We can't seem to get it right. So since making it through a year isn't celebratory, I told Shane that I was fine just staying at home cozying up in the living room. He would not hear of it. Romantic dinner it is!

Lesson: Young Grasshopper must comprehend that one can never conquer love.

Away with Fat

I'm unable to get into the rythm of my daily routine. My diet regiment is so far fetched, like an unseductive siren. My brain sends out signals that I'm not on vacation, but my stomach is unable to comprehend my S.O.S. Have I gone soft? Literally. Life is too short to be strict. I just need a little push in the direction of discipline.

As soon as Friday night rolls around, under the bus my diet goes. The weekends are my comfort away from my work week. A reason to drink and be merry should never be an excuse. Well, it should, if it didn't effect your fat count. Last Friday, I gorged on a gob of St. Andre cheese and chased it down with two pieces of fried chicken. To make matters worse, I woke up the next morning and stuffed my face with a cold piece of fried chicken. Later, I snacked on a crunch wrap supreme from Taco Bell at 10:00pm. If I keep this madness up, I will be schlepping a belly soon.


Such hostile times for my stomach and arteries. My body is like what the hell! It has become a battlefield, bombarded by saturated fat, sodium, high calories, bad carbohydrates, preservatives. A grease trap. The only weapon to fight this obese battle is liposuction. Kidding. Healthy food and exercise. Did I hear a crack of a whip?

Shellie's Proverb: Waistline does not lie.


Normally, our meals are set for the entire work week. Since we've been back from our trip, our cupboards and refrigerator have been bare as a baby's bottom. That is our problem. It's time to beat this fat race. The farmers market is held every Tuesday at the Ferry Building so I brought my country basket, to be filled with wonderful and seasonal organic produce. Onward, to my local butcher on 22nd and Mission. The shopping is not complete until I have hit Rainbow Groceries and Trader Joe's. Why I can't find time in my weekend to tackle this adventure? There is no ending to this madness that is my laziness.

I can see the roll of eyes and the chirping of yuppie's smirking. Shane and I are at the stage in our lives where we are unable to afford exclusively organic and local farm raised protein. We would love to, but our budget doesn't allow such absurd frills. Whole Foods a.k.a. Whole Paycheck, is just out of our league. I can't justify paying for organic free range chicken at $15.99/pound. I had our own livestock growing up, and it didn't cost $15.99 to raise our chicken which inevitably landed on our dinner plate. Nothing will be as delicious as the live stock we raised growing up. Until the prices come down, I'll have my chicken in a cage and imprisoned please. Until organic prices plummet to reasonable, the organic evangelists will have to shush it.

Finally, a fully stocked fridge will get this here grease trap back on track. "Baby steps," I tell myself, "crawl, flunky, crawl." It shouldn't be difficult for ridiculous sake, it's food! It's just food! This is Shellie coming from her vein of vanity, back to you world!

Lesson: A grasshopper must learn to balance on chopstick.

Game Face

We were back home, and enjoying every minute of it. The average weather in San Francisco has been amazingly in the 80s. Sitting on the couch enjoying the sailboats on the bay. It is nice to be home. We are gradually returning to our daily routine which includes work, boxing, and Davies Hospital to see Jonny.

Jonny is looking and doing remarkably well. It was just in July that he suffered a stroke and 2 brain surgeries. A true miracle. He is in a vigorous rehab program and is speaking, eating, even moving his right leg. In his attempt to articulate his thoughts, he laughs when he is not getting through to us. His sense of humor and patience are evidence that he is progressing. I honestly believe that the volt of positivism generated by friends and family was a big factor in his recovery. We were optimistic. The hospital has not seen anything like it. I mean the outpour of support was extremely and positively overwhelming. It is tidal.

Shellie’s Proverb: Kindness is greatness.

Vacation took its toll the day I returned to workout at the boxing gym. I could barely jump rope for a few minutes much less 15. I was in a complete mess. As my chest tightened, I felt my Achilles tendon was going to snap. I barely got through the cardio section which was a breeze before I left for vacation. I went from working out 4 days a week to scraping the bottom of the barrel. All my months of hard work, straight down the drain.

Vacation is like the video game Frogger. One second I’m lackadaisically daydreaming downstream on a log. The next, that leisurely log ride turns into a frenzy of dodging cars, otters, snakes and the occasional crocodile. Life keeps you on your toes. A constant flux. Ebb and flow. “Keep up,” I tell myself, "Pick up the pace." Zap. Just like that, my vacation was over.

Lesson: A wise Grasshopper must be pliable like the branches on a bamboo tree.

Perfect Day!

The pool was filled with floating devices of all shapes and sizes. There was even a floating shamu.

"Do you know my friend Vanessa? She's eight years old, but she's moving to Canada." Tattiana tilted her head as she tried to see through her swimming goggles.
"Where does your friend live?" I asked, "next door?"
"No, she used to live next door, now she doesn't." She swam the width of the pool, "Vanessa comes over all the time. I wonder why she's not here right now?" She dipped her head into the water.

As I am Aunt to 15 nieces and nephews, I hold no bias. Although, Tattiana is the coolest six year old ever! Besides the fact that she could have been modeled from a pixar film, she was -in one word- absolutely delectable. She's not whiny, clingy, bratty. On the contrary, gregarious, brave, friendly and independent. I haven't seen her, since she was one years old. Here she was five years later,
jumping into the pool.

"Let's race to the other end of the pool?" I tricked her into practicing her into swimming.
"Alright!" She smiled.
"Ready, set, go!" I gave her a head start. I let her beat me couple times.

Toni, their 3 year old, with no shirt and pot belly strolled past us. "Hi Toni!" I waved excitedly as he had just woken from his nap. He smiled and waved and smiled again. "Hi Toni! Hi Toni! Hi Toni!" Tattiana got out of the pool. He waved and showed us all of his teeth. Toni was another morsel treasure. "Hi Vanessa!" Tattiana greeted her friend. Vanessa was a large plump girl with a head of curly dark hair. An important issue had developed. Apparently without adult supervision, Vanessa took it upon herself to swim in their pool. To add fuel to fire, she dared Tattiana to jump in the water first.

"Vanessa you did a very, very bad thing." Olga in all seriousness looked Vanessa in the eye, "Do you know what you did? I think you do?" Vanessa nodded silently. Tattiana whispered evidence in her mom's ear. "Vanessa I think you know what you did?" Olga was very strict in her candor, "What you did was very, very bad. Very bad." She gave Vanessa the Russian stare down that gave my bones a chill. She was quite for a moment which was meant to give Vanessa some time to think about her actions. Than she continued in fairness and without patronism, "Do you promise not to do that again?" She was stern, but very disciplinary. Vanessa nodded. "Alright, you can play now." Olga had said her peace. both girls jumped into the water.

Steve, the kid's dad, is Shane's childhood friend since they were 2. He was a legend in Shane's eyes. Steve was the no guts, no glory extreme sports master from snowboarding to mountain biking. As they rode through trees, Steve pulled flawless back flips and continued on as usual. He met Olga as he studied abroad in Russia. They later married and are now parents of two stunning children. When I first met Olga, her English was very limited. Today, she was one credit away from a bachelors degree. Amazing!

Shellie's Proverb: Catch a dream and set it free.
Kyle and Mom joined us for the barbecue. The boys laughed as they caught up with their childhood. We started the barbecue as the yard filled with neighborhood children. It was refreshing to know that kids in the Upstate area were not coddled and unspoiled. They weren't treated like a Faberge egg. Here, they were filthy, scabbed, but they laughed and played with the other children in the neighborhood. They weren't plopped in front of a television playing video games, it was exactly as how I remember my childhood. I was a bit nostalgic, but the Leggirious gave us hope. I'm not sure as to what fate will thrust in our direction, but my wish is that Shane and I could raise children like the old days, free and strong. Just like the Leggerios did with theirs.

Lesson: Grasshopper must open mind so as to not lose hope.

Hug your mom today!

Sunday morning was a bit rough. I sat in the backseat of Kyle's auto, chewing on a croissant breakfast sandwich. I was horrified as to the damage I was putting my body through, but it was either local gas station food versus standards. Gas station food of course! Kyle, a marketing victim, sipped on revival vitamin water, hoping to be clear of his hungover haze. While Shane, not a breakfasteer, jonesed for a banana so he could take his vitamins. We were all on high maintenance mode, and we were off to the Saratoga Racetrack. It was "t-shirt" day. Oh boy! A free t-shirt! It was the thing to do.

I was fresh to placing bets. Between trifecta, trifecta box, exacta, exacta box, to show, to place, to win, it's all trigonometry to me. My favorite thing is to watch the horses parade by, prior to their race. My bets are solely based on the feistiness of a horse, the color of the jockey's outfit, and, of course, odds. I love the races and I'm not talking NASCAR.

It was elevenish as we dragged a hefty cooler full of beers and sausages from yesterdays barbecue. The sun had already began it's ruthlessness. We joined the mass of locals that funneled their way to the shady spots. There Jill sat amongst a circle of empty lawn chairs. "Do you mind?" My butt halfway in the blue cloth chair. "Sure! Why not." Jill was absolute. Suddenly, I'm swatted, "Get off my chair. This is my chair." Char stood there persistently hitting me with her free t-shirt. We we were circled by empty seats, and Char made a pouting display for her blue lawn chair. Jill and I, made silent eye contact, which pierced, "freak!"

I had no reason to dislike Char until today. Apparently, she disliked horse races, this she did by repeating herself like a senile old lady. That's eleven races which consist of 3 hours? This co-dependent woman is 3 years shy of 60. If she had any manners, she should have allowed father and children to catchup. Instead, she chose to anchor his attention with her infantile demands.

For the first five races, I was on a roll. Sadly, the sixth race broke my winning series. I overheard her smugly say to the Duke, "it's about time Shellie lost." Again, this is a 57 year old going on 6. Creepsterville. We were enjoying our time with dad, winning and losing. The fun came to a halt when wanna be mommy dearest threw a tantrum, "We're going home." "Why? There's two more races?" Kyle adamantly responded. Nevertheless, we wanted to take them out for dinner and drinks. "We never stay for the whole thing," Char huffed incessantly. "So we need those chairs," she pointed to all the chairs, "I need to return those to our neighbors."

The slab of discourtesy was as obscure as Mount Rushmore. The Duke was speechless, he was caught between his children and a nagging nobody. Even the cat caught my tongue. If she hated the races so much, why was she here? Insecure in your relationship perhaps? She suffered from the cling on effect. That's one level up from co-dependency.

I'm no stranger to this obsessively tyrant guilt bearing behavior. I've seen it before. In fact, I know of one unmentionable particular that would make an ideal poster child; an authentic trophy nut case. Snicker. Men, I insist, stop dragging your balls on the ground. Sheesh. What is wrong with you? No one should be treated like a dog. It is pathetically unattractive. No one, men or women, should be ruled by another. Furthermore, they shouldn't tell you who your friends are, where you can go, when to go, what to eat. Get a spine, people, they're free.

Shellie's Proverb: Never make a compromise with a snake.

Sadly, that was our Sunday. It started off being a fantastically fun filled day. The day quickly dwindled into Duke dragging the cooler and chairs behind Queen Bee. We made our way back to mom's condo. It was a pleasant feeling to know that we would be welcome in her home, although an uneasiness loomed in the silence of our car ride home.

Lesson: Young Grasshopper must always root himself into the soil by speaking his worth.

Surprise!

Today was the day. The day of surprises. The day of hurrah! It was Dad's a.k.a. the Duke's 60th birthday. We packed into Kyle's auto and made way to the Catskills. We couldn't wait to see the look on his face. Char (pronounced Cher), his woman friend, called two months out trying to slay us with the guilt card, "you know it would really be nice, if you kids could make it for your father's 60th birthday." Who are you? How dare you? Eck, she's not even pleasant. Besides, who calls two months out? The nerve. Anyway, we were ten steps ahead of her.

Kyle dropped us off at the corner. Jill and I, giggled as we crept through the neighbors yard and plopped on the lawn chairs. Kyle was in the house persuading the Duke to check out the back deck. "I can't get'em to come out. He's friggin' naked!" Kyle's plot was flawed. We chuckled, "Nah, that's okay, don't worry about it, we'll just wait till he comes out. There's no hurry." A few minutes later Kyle returned, "I told Char you guys were out here. She's the only one that can hurry his ass up." A slew of reaction came from the siblings. "Why in the hell did you do that Kyle?" Shane was pissed. "Kyle! Why? She's going to blow it." Sweet Jill finally not so sweet. Kyle, like all young siblings, meant well. I should know, I'm the ninth child of ten. Secrets, they're like tic tacs, why not share them?

The next door neighbors kept nosing their way into our business. Peeking and waving and making a visible fuss. "Don't look at them, they're whack." Jill conspired to overthrow the neighbors. The neighbor's filthy chocolate lab lapped our faces and scurried from yard to yard. Screams of "Happy birthday!" came from the front yard. "What the," Jill ducked wandering who blew the whistle. It was just a troupe of brownies that vacated a float and was now making way to the swing set. They just returned from the Catskill's Bicentennial Parade.

Our conversation wheeled towards whether or not Char was going to blow it. We didn't fly all the way here to have our surprise deflated. Finally, the door opened and Duke slowly made his way to the end of the deck, "Hey you made it." He was as surprised as my pet rock. "Did you know we were here?" I was surprised at his initial reaction. "No." He smiled. How did this man father my husband? Shane wore his emotions on his sleeve, he must've got it from Colleen; mom.

"Happy Birthday!" Shane hugged the Duke. We all had a hug out. "Why didn't you kids tell me?" Char was surprised and a bit dissapointed to have been ostracized. "We knew you couldn't keep a secret." Shane responded. I agreed and shrugged. Sure, I felt fake as we weren't huge Char fans. We were here for one reason, and it was to make sure that Dad was surrounded by his children on his day.

The barbecue was a different epic. Firstly, an assortment of beers were in three coolers, but the barbecue sloped pathetic. "So what are we eating? I'm hungry. Do you have anything to munch on?" Shane always excited about food. This was a big day, and all we had to celebrate were potatoes salad, sausages, corn, and a few bag of chips. Come on people! Let's get with the program. Probe a little, what was his favorite foods? At least start with that? Please don't tell me that it was sausages.

Yikes! There was a stifling silence in the kitchen. We were bewildered. One year olds have a more elaborate spread than this and they haven't mastered the way of the toilet yet. Where's the love? We never arrive one's house without food, thankfully we brought over 3 slabs of slowly roasted ribs and our german chocolate cupcakes. Kyle and I shot up to Price Choppers to get this party started.

Shellie's Proverb: A bed never gets made by complaining.

Once again, our bellies were at it's peak, and all that mattered was that we were all together. Childhood friends gathered, horseshoes kept the men at bay, and we women clucked and sipped on our cocktails. We did it. We made a father's wish come true.

Lesson: A wise Grasshopper must contribute to make a difference in this world.

Momma Mia

Mom and Jill, sister in law, met us at the Albany train station. Mom was ecstatic as any normal mom would be. She recently moved into a condo development. There was something different about her. A sense of blooming and flourishing perhaps? She was easy and relaxed. I might even go as far to say, a free spirit. She did her first Jell-O shot a couple weeks ago, and called us to tell the tale. In fact, I think she is looking into getting the recipe for future celebrations. It was refreshing.

Shellie's Proverb: There is no expiration date on enjoying life.

Upon arrival to mom's home, she popped open a beer. We were in awe. Invasion of the body snatchers come to mind? Where's that pod goshdarnit. It's not like she was awful. Have you seen How Stella Got Her Groove Back? It's the same thing except different. She told us tales of her neighborhood block party. It was nice to hear that she was enjoying life at her own accord.

Her digital camera was her new appendage. She clicked and flashed with every movement of our bodies. We later went to Casey's for dinner where the dishes were of gargantuan proportions. "Smile guys!" Mom on her hundredth request, Jill rolling her eyes. By the time our entrees arrived, my belly had increased in mass! Stomach why have you forsaken me?

We weebled and wobbled our way into the Price Chopper. We thought it would be nice to bring a dozen of german chocolate cupcakes over to Dad's birthday party. As Shane and Jill, took homage to the toilet, mom and I shopped for ingredients. I posed with a bag of shredded coconuts as mom insisted. I quickly striked a pose with the shopping cart. Jill and Shane were quickly coerced to take pictures. It was Friday night at the Price Chopper and we were all smiles.

My first experience with a self-check out counter was like two virgins having sex, it went no where. We fumbled with the items and tried to scan the barcode to complete frustration. Mom coached from the sideline, "scan it, put it in the bag. It's easy." After we were all thumbs, we got the hang of it. Shane mastered the self-check in system. "Isn't that easy?" Mom exclaimed. I'm not sure if it was easy, but it sure was entertaining for the employees.

Before baking we whipped up a fresh batch of pina colada. Kyle
brother in law, was absent as he is graded "poor" on the priority scale when it came to family. We were offended, but not surprised, as it is his common behavior. You gotta love him for being himself. We poked fun as he made excuses of being stuck at the Saratoga horse races. Uh huh, and the world is flat. Another round of pina coladas?

"Smile kids get together." Mom continued her marathon of photos. "Mom, you need to stop it." Jill bothered by the excessive paparazzi nuisance. "I see you kids once a year." She found a loophole. Shane took the role of meticulous baker and began to measure, mix and pour as we continued to polish our cocktails. It was a very delightful evening as we gabbed, laughed and celebrated.

Lesson: A Grasshopper must cross bamboo bridge with plum wine in one hand and tea in the other. Only without spilling will Grasshopper find perfect balance in life.

On the Go

We had a purpose to our visit. We were on our way to surprise Shane's dad, now my dad, for a surprise 60th birthday party. In the meantime, we were to spend time with his mom, now my mom too. The product of divorce does become somewhat hectic, but what can you do? It's a no win situation, so we make the best of it.

It was 100pm and all the taxis refused to gives us a ride to Penn Station. We were shunned like lepers at a mysophobia convention. It was the strangest thing. The sun beat down -fiercely-, lashing our bodies with hotness. I was attractively special when the back of my legs dripped sweat. Ehck. We had succumbed to the fact that the taxis were not going to stop. Was it the luggage? Could it be the location? Was it because we weren't dressed in this seasons' uber urban chic attire? Did we look like a couple of stiffers? Either way Shane's anxiety attack erupted, like chicken little when he thought the sky was falling. We had 45 minutes to get to Penn. As we quickly made our way to the subway direction uptown, Shane enlightened me with his negative perspective, "We're going to miss the train. I can't believe it. We won't make the train. Shit!" His incessant moaning was as refreshing as needles in my pupils, "Stop being so negative, there's no need, we're on vacation, chill the -bleep- out!" We needed to be positive and focus.

Shellie's Proverb: Mirrors always tell the truth.


First, we got off on 42nd, because Shane overheard a pair of bubblehead's conversation, something about Penn and 42nd. As my eyes quickly browsed the map, we had gone one station to far. We quickly made the switch and got off on 34th, not free of my criticism on his etiquette on eavesdropping. Where the hell was Penn Station? Our train departs in 10 minutes and we had no sense of direction. We were ants at a picnic, scrambling around for the cherry pie. A street hood gave us the best pointer, "It's at the end of the block you'll see a big black woman." We jetted down the street in search for that big black woman, pushing and shoving against a strong current of people. There she stood the big black woman, but the "no walk" sign prevented us further. We were down to a mere five minutes! I understood why the taxis refused our fare, because midtown was a growling jungle of vehicles against a force of pedestrians.

The pedestrian sign lit and we sprinted our way down the stairs shoving and pushing anyone in our way. Our eyes scrambling for the Amtrak sign. Finally, we get to the electronic ticket machine which spits out our tickets. It is down to the minutes as a woman, probably lonely and bored, inquired with customer service, "hi my train doesn't leave till 3, but is there any way..." They were having a gentle conversation while our urgency dripped from our foreheads. I wanted to push this flimsy woman to the side and tell her she had two hours to decide so step the flip back, but we stood there fidgeting like our bladders were about to explode.

It was our turn. Ugh. We tried to be patient, but our hearts were in it. I didn't shove the smoker that stood in the middle of the sidewalk for nothing. "Yes, what gate do we go to for the 145?"
"Gate 5 right there, you'd better run before you miss it honey." She pointed to the gate. We jumped over benches and made way down the escalator only to see our train depart without us. "Bye," a smiling Amtrak attendant waved from the train.

Our hearts pounded so hard that I swear people could hear our struggle. Our clothing clung to us like paper mache. As my travel bag began to wear on my shoulders, there was no use being upset over a missed train, "Wanna get a slice?"
"Sure why not, it's not the end of the world anyway, right?" He shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
"Right, the next train comes in an hour." I agreed full heartedly.

Lesson: Grasshopper, to go against the grain of the bamboo is to master the way of patience.

Friendster

I am an absent minded person...sometimes. I am definitely not a flake, but I was certainly a former flake, than I sprouted into adulthood. It just so happens I had made tentative plans with Meaghan to meet up in Manhattan a month ago. So Shane attempts to surprise me with, "bet you can't guess whose in town too?" As I poked around in my brain for a few minutes, no one came to mind. As soon as he told me, my long term memory clunked in. Of course! We had a conversation on the phone. Duh. We met up at Union Square Park and caught a taxi to Jane restaurant for lunch. The torrential hot weather and humidity were stagnant, ac ASAP. After three healthy cocktails, and an arugula salad, we were ready to explore the city.

Shellie's Proverb: Person with no laugh lines can not take a joke.

Much to our surprise we were in for foul play, the Guggenheim was closed. Blasphemy. Our focus to stay out of the sun was short. We decided to stroll through Central Park and ended up at Tavern on the Green. We were out of sorts. As the heat was harsh, our bodies yearned alcohol and sparkling water. We entered the stuffy joint, three cocktails later and $60 dollars shorter, we couldn't figure out why the bill included us to tip the captain separate from the server. Who the hell is the Captain? Who does he think he is charging an additional tip? We were disgusted and made haste to the Prada store as Shane cussed out the Captain.

The Prada store was just as pretentious as Tavern on the Pee. It was hysterical to witness Shane as he browsed the price tags. He was definitely not discreet exclaiming in complete horror, "Thirty two hundred for this piece of shit?" The sales people were aware the only reason we were in there was to enjoy the luxury of their cold air. We decided to go home to rest and meet up after dinner.

There's nothing like spontaneity. We met up with Tim, Meaghan, Laura and her fiancée at an outdoor bar. As the evening grew later, Tim brought us to a more intimate bar where long time friends could catch up. We closed the evening at around 4:00pm stuffing our faces with gyros the size of a super burrito.

Lesson: Young Grasshopper must never leave home without toilet paper.