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!
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!
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!
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.
Once again, I find myself trapped in the web of time. I can’t believe it! As soon as Halloween hit, I’m catapulted into pumpkin pie, mistle toe, and fireworks. As the holidays rolls upon us, I’m filled with a mish mash of joy and exultation! Suddenly, I am struck with the idea of traveling back east for Thanksgiving. As mom deuce is probably going through withdrawals of Hunter, I say to myself, “Why not?” Thanksgiving equals family. The past few years, Shane and I were withdrawn from our family. We were so overloaded by our wedding that we needed a break. Two years and a baby later, we’re back in the game.
We purchased tickets equivalent to a high definition fifty inch plasma, thus we closed our eyes and took the plunge. I was never one to travel during the holidays, yet I didn’t understand what the hubbub was about. I love myself a healthy hustle bustle once in a while, it whips me into a flurry, but I don't mind. Most importantly, I couldn’t wait for Hunter to spend time with his grandparents. Onward and upward.
This will be the first time that we skip Manhattan and head straightforth upstate. Normally, I would object to such a vile and disturbing proposal, but not today. As much as I would like to take Hunter to Rockefeller center and indulge in my favorite culinary delights of Manhattan, I remind myself, “in good time young Jedi.”
Most of the time, it’s not about me. I would like to think sometimes, but mostly never. It used to be, but than I found myself at a four way stop sign signaling to the other drivers to go first just so I could bask in their “thank you(s)”. I was one with myself. Not a psychotic thought stirred through me, not even an ounce. Peculiarly, I’ve found myself at Whole Foods register purchasing meals for the needy. Am I oblivious to the turning of my new leaf? Most disturbing, I’ve found myself skimming through the volunteer section for Glide Memorial church. I had to bear a child in order to reconnect the wires to my soul. Never in a thousand midgets would I imagine. God moves in mysterious ways.
This is Shellie grounded like dirt to a doormat back to you Bob at the studio.
“It’s about the kid.” Shane insisted as I placed the wig on my head. I was Amy Winehouse. If anyone needed rehab, it was me. Hunter was dressed in his skunk outfit. I had just rushed home from work and was getting ready for the kid parade on 18th Street. Oddly enough, the neighborhood kids didn’t make it to 20th Street. Our block is completely bypassed, hence we do not get to pass out any treats. What a trick!
It seems Potrero Hill is very parade friendly. In fact, the past Saturday they had a halloween pet parade. Festive freaks. This year non of our friends hosted a halloween party and so I was going through a bit of a withdrawal. The parade started at five thirty, and we – or I- was running late. Shane, on the otherhand, kept reminding me that it was about Hunter. My husband, the sourpuss, was not in costume. He was going as himself for Halloween. He was as bland as table salt. Even more uneventful he wanted to post up at Rube Wine. I reminded him that it was about Hunter.
We ventured down the hill as I had to adapt to my depth perception of my billowing hair. My hair kept entangling itself in the tree branches. Chloe kept trying to outwit her leash in her pirate costume. Shane pushed the stroller. 18th street was a madhouse! We weaved through waves of families dressed in their favorite characters. It was great to be among such a live community. Hunter was oblivious of the buzz in the air. For the most part, my costume was unknown, except for the usual parent or teenager that would rave with delight. Otherwise, I could have been Marge Simpson for all they care.
After the parade, I would have been content plopping on the couch with a comforting meal watching a scary movie, but it was Felix’s birthday. So we made our way to the hip part of the Mission at Medjool. First of all, we had Hunter the skunk with us. I absolutely love being a mother, but dragging Hunter to a roof top bar is tasteless. I’m that person. I’m that parent. I felt slightly foolish for bringing him as Halloween in San Francisco is a drunker’s delight. Originally, we were just dropping in for a drink and making our way to a restaurant. So why am I sitting here tending to Hunter three drinks later? My drinking days are on “pause”. For Shane, it’s a reason for him to mingle with his friends. Ah the fun tryst of parenthood. As I don’t find any tingling sensation when urinating on his fun, we were heeding ten o’clock with an empty stomach. There goes our dinner plans, hello burrito!
In most cases, to be a parent means to be flexible. In my case, to be a wife meant to be patient.
Mantra: Marriage is priority. Kid comes second.
So why do I feel so slighted tonight? Shane never coerced me into it. For some death defying reason, I am not allowing motherhood to slow me down. It shouldn’t! At the same time, I don’t want to be that loser at the roof bar with the my son again. I need to start being a mom to my son. Ding! There’s an idea! So I shed the cool skin? I gain myself a sweet skunk.
This is Shellie having a treat of a time back to you Bob at the studio!
Angela and I browsed through Diane von Frankenstein’s collection, chuckling at the sale prices, “This is crazy!” Angela bushy tail and bright eye to the fashion world, “who buys this sheeyat?” She pulled a polka dot tunic from the rack, “My grandma has shit like this. This is three hundred sixty eight dollars? Gimme a fucken break!” Meanwhile, I fell into the gaping dark hole of seventies groovy vintage by See by Chloé my absolute. I loved anything obscenely colorful. Shrug, I’m Filipino it’s in my hemoglobin.
There in the right corner of the show room, hung this exquisite coat. A Nairobi snake print coat that lured me in to its lair. This trench was sleek silk with a cinched and buckled wide waistband and cuffs. With great haste, I placed my bag on the floor gently tried it on and, “whoa!” Cavalli you bastard! “Holy shit that looks awesome on you!” Angela boisterously spoke the truth, “That is fucking awesome! How much is it?” She grabbed the tag, “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me? Twenty nine hundred dollars? Why don’t they just call it an even three grand, shit after flippin’ taxes!” I didn’t care about the price, this piece was slick! It was beyond slick. It was orgasmic. It handled my body like Lamborghini on wheels. I slowly removed the article from my body and returned it to its rightful owner.
We traipsed a few other collections, “Angela check this out.” I handed her a Valentino bold garden print dress Italian silk that gathered at the side waist, “Dude it’s like two grand!” “Who cares, just try it on!” “Oh, alright.” That dress was gorgeous on her frame. We both admired the dress. She twirled and circled in the mirror like a little girl at a royal tea party. She was gorgeous as usual. There was nothing in this store that our bank account could handle. We shamelessly made our way to Forever21 where the dollar is king. We perused through the blouses, slacks, sweaters, and coats only to be disappointed. The pieces were pretty, but like Angela observed, “There is something to be said about designer clothing. They’re made better. Fit better and feel is better.” She was right we had been defeated by the designers’ precision in quality. Yet the styles of both stores were dead similar, Forever21’s quality was offensively brash. Lesson for today: window shopping is fun when you have a best friend to share it with.
************************ (This is dedicated to Minitti – fashion guru yoga meister) **********
A dear friend of mine, I’ll call her Minitti, resides in Costa Rica. Formerly, the dean for the fashion program at CCAC. Prior, she worked on the designing team for Donna Karen. Now that you have her credentials, she was just here for a visit. I was never one with the fashion phenomena, thus she taught me a lot about the art and industry. I “love” clothes as much as the next girl, but I have a lot to learn. I am always awe inspired by the European women as they are so sophisticatedly simple and classic. I’m as trendy as a rainbow print tube top on a roller rink. I’m a fadster.
Three years ago, a bunch of girls sat around the living room and Karen, modest, “I’m going jean shopping tomorrow can you girls tell me where to go?”
“Oh my god!” Minitti turns to Karen arms speaking in tongue, “ you definitely need to get a pair of True Religions! They’re stitching is wonderful!” Mind you this was when True Religions wasn’t as common as Kraft cheese. “Let’s see what else…oh! Imitation of Christ that’s not a bad one. Habituals they’re decent. There’s Citizens of Humanity, Chip & Pepper, Joe’s Jeans, Paper Denim. Yeh man! For sure!” She crinkled her nose and clapped her hands together.
By this point, she had thrown us sub humans in a whirl wind of obscurity. The roomful of girls sat there flabbergasted. It was comical as no one really had the guts to interject. She lost me at Imitation of Christ, I couldn’t believe the branding genius behind that one. She was an evangelist. She gave a thirty minute lecture on jeans! Is she for real? Personally, I bought my jeans at Ross Dress for Less with labels that read Paris Blues and Rampage.
Jeans have come a long way. Now they cost more than a liver transplant. What gives? They’re just jeans? Well, I’d bet Minitti would have a rebuttal for my question. “It’s all about pieces.” She reminds me, “you don’t need a lot of clothes in your wardrobe.” She says things like, “I almost have it to where my wardrobe is almost complete," she spoke like it was a long running project to world domination. Unlike my closet that’s full of clutter that is so out of fashion that it’s back in. There’s a lot of pressure to keep up with the Miu Miu, Chloe, Valentino, Carolina Herrera and the likes. Besides pressure, who has the cash?
I’m glad to have a Minitti in my life. Everyone needs a Minitti in their life. She is fascinating and passionate about design and fashion unlike us mere mortals. She can whip up a dissertation on a Peugeot pepper grinder in two seconds flat. She can deconstruct a piece of garment while maintaining vrischika-asana. It’s amazing. That’s just on fashion and design, you should see her “spit” on gastronomy!
This is Shellie putting someone else in the spotlight back to you Bob at the studio!
As a kid on blistering days, one of my favorite things to do was to soak in a refreshing bath and watch the wind frolic with the curtain to and fro. I would sink slowly under water to dull the noise. Upon coming up for air, the sound of the neighborhood kids playing completed the silence. Besides, it was a relief away from the harassment of my nine older siblings. I relished my time alone. Silence. The occasional pound on the bathroom door phased me as much as the dust on the shelf.
As I rinse my hair, I notice an unusual amount of hair at my feet. I didn’t think anything of it, until I began to notice it was everywhere! On the couch, the kitchen floor, the bedroom floor, the bathroom floor, the bed, on Chloe, in my under wear. My hair had covered the entire surface of the globe! The final straw was finding Hunter chocking on a strand! What the fu_ _? Gross!
Till this point, I hadn’t read up on post partum. Who had the time? I’d rather sleep. I recalled, my sister mentioning hair loss subsequent to giving birth. Was it time? I trust it must have some relation to my hormone upheaval. I was losing hair by the handfuls! Heck, I could make a throw rug. Eek! After a quick internet research, I realized that it’s normal. Women shed, some more than others, hair. Thus, they forget to mention the hazard to a child. It was that point that I realized that we, women, tolerate a lot of crap like tampons (sanitary pads for you special creatures), waxing, males, estrogen, emotions, aging, peers, and designer shoes. We’re tangled in our own web. What next? Eve just had to take a bite out of that apple. Cursed.
It’s natural for me to be negative. It's difficult not to take it personally. That's when mom's voice pops in my head reminding me to, "stop wasting my time on things you can't change." She was right? My stress is some one else’s joy. Truly, being a woman is a gift (specifically, a woman in America).
As I soak my blessings in my tub full of steaming bubbles, I remind myself to embrace my womanhood: tampons (sanitary napkins for you other creatures), estrogen, waxing (plucking for you prehistoric mammals), cramps, menopause, boys (men, if you won the lottery), stretch marks, shedding, gravity, and aging. I immerse myself under the warm bubbles. Silence. Let my hair fall where it wants to.
This is Shellie from the roots of her scalp back to you Bob at the studio!
I plopped myself in front of the fifty inch plasma television in the conference room. It was that time again. I placed the breast shield on my rightie and hit the switch. The slow woosh of the pump whisked me away to boredom. Darn it! I forgot to grab my meaningless literature, celebrity gossip smut. I guess I was better off staring at the white walls. Pumping, now there was a challenge. I was as luscious as the Mohave dessert. Ahem, I was not as fortunate as the others. It took me over twenty minutes to get a couple ounces, if I was lucky. Alcohol, on the other hand, was magic.
Honestly, I was racing against time. Hunter had become accustomed to the bottle and the flavor of formula (blah-yuck). His time with my boob was dwindling, since I started work. If I could provide more nutrients and antibodies for an additional couple months, I would be pleased. Besides, what mother can resist the weight loss via breast feeding. Duh, it’s a no brainer. As I was against formula originally, it has allowed me a bit of freedom. I was hoping to continue, but the gods have other plans for me. It’s called shrivel and dry. I can hear the deep “gasp and whispers” of the “pseudo neurotic hyper pyschotic” mom militia. I’m all about having an opinion, like body odor, keep it to yourself, sister.
The sun was on it’s way down as my left shoulder ached from dragging the beast aka breast pump from work only to produce a measly ounce and a half. Ugh. I’m also struggling to balance my maroon hobo purse that could be mistaken for a garbage bag up the gradual incline in Potrero Hill. Well, my four inch heels isn’t helping any. Fashion, I am such a sucker. Five foot two and ten pounds overweight, I was a hobbling mess. I couldn’t wait to get home. My heart raced and my stride quickened. I had two monstrous hills to conquer before I was homeward bound. The longer the walk the heavier the beast got.
I ran up the stairs and swung the front door open. Momma’s home now! There he was in the arms of Shane. His big brown eyes widened and his lips curled to show a smile full of gums. I whisked him from my husband’s arms into mine. I held him close and tight as he squirmed. I slowly set him down to my chest so he could nosh on his afternoon delight. Some need a glass of wine. Others need a pint of ice cream. Meanwhile, some may need a cigarette. He was my chocolate lava cake; sweet and petite.
This is Shellie savoring each second before he dumps me for the bottle back to you Bob at the studio!
In highschool, I was never that girl that could pass for an eighteen year old. I was a slim jim. A stick. A duffle of bones. A slender fragile fire cracker that barely slipped into a pair of size zeros. My seven brothers called me rat salad, why my inability to gain weight had any relation with a rodent, just proves that my brothers were complete idiots. I embraced my slender being with the usual insecurities of a teenager. How I enjoyed being a squeamish teen. Needless to say, I was never that teenager blessed with the opulence of beauty and body.
As a teenager in angst, I didn't have anything in common with my childhood girlfriends. They smoked menthol cigarettes hoping to capture maturity. Meanwhile, lapped on goops of gob on their eyes and held spell binding conversations that encompassed popularity, boys, and cars in that order. They were always in a hurry to find love, get hitched, and have babies, usually not in that order. As most females were in a rush to grow up, I strayed in a different direction. Me, I was the runt of the group, sure I had the usual crush, but I wasn't boy crazy. I had a flare for fashion, I sewed all my clothes. I was a half pipe skater loaded and sponsored with a fury for punk rock and new wave. Mostly, I adored poetry and literature. I was a whopping nerd. Certainly, I day dreamed of being legally eighteen and how divine it would be to be free from the nagging rules of my parents, but other than that, I was in no haste.
A whole decade has swooshed by and I’ve experienced the good, the bad, and the ugly. My seven brothers still call me rat salad, but that’s because they’re still idiots. I can’t really tell you what happened to my girlfriends back in Hawaii. Sometimes -upon visit- their names are woven in small town gossip. For the most part, I am still the same person. Not so slim. I am still that firecracker, thus I haven’t seen a size zero in ages. A victim to fashion, no time to sew. I have no guts for skating and no ear for punk rock. Although, I am poetry and my experience is literature.
It’s a few minutes till midnight and I’ll be a year older; thirty six to be precise. I sit up in bed and to my left Shane snores a chainsaw symphony. At the foot of the bed, Chloe is curled up in a snow colored shag. In the corner of the room, Hunter’s softly rests in his little cove. Our bedroom opens into a vast view of the bay which is well lit by the moon and the city lights. A brew of emotions bubbles and it will take an army and the marines to hold back this bliss. Me, I’ve never been so rich in love. I’ve a beautiful family. A wonderful home. It looks like I’ve finally landed! Anchors down! Now I understand what all the rush was all about. Sigh.
This is Shellie sipping champagne and noshing on caviar dreams back to you Bob at the studio!
I kissed him goodbye and closed the front door that read Hang Loose. My emotions cloaked slightly with numbness, a natural reaction when my heart is plucked quickly from my chest. In the meantime, I held my head high and my shoulders back and sought through my paper sack of a soul for a positive reason for my decision. The morning sun was brisk as I walked down the hill to Third Street. My charcoal Armani slacks swooshed with each stride over the I280 overpass. I took a breath in full and told myself it was going to be okay. There was singe of sadness in my electricity of a new day.
I stood at the Third Street platform waiting for the train to arrive. On the outside, I was prim and fine hoping to lose myself into my headphones that softly played “Happiness is a Warm Gun” by the Beatles. I got on the train and held on tight. The words, “Someday, not for long,” from the gentle lips of my husband echoed in my buzzing brain. I recalled that he held me in his arms in bed trying to alleviate my worries. What does “someday” mean? Someday, I could win the lotto? Someday, I could learn to tap dance in a tutu. Someday, a purple flying elephant could take a big turd on my head. Someday. Humph, that’s like saying, “Hey, where’s the house keys?” “I don’t know, it’s somewhere.” The cart was a load full of rigid blank faces except for this infant that beamed from ear to ear. It was that very second and that very breath that grounded me here to this train, grasping tight to this pole. A smile from that little angel was all it took to ease the pain.
I took the elevator to the 19th floor. I opened the door to suite 1975 and a tall dark haired woman greeted me, “Are you Shellie?” I forced my winning smile, “Yes, I am.” “So nice to finally meet you!” She finished with a hug.
I was going to be okay. Styles is fine. He was at home with Mary, the poster nanny. Life as a freelance writer is bliss, but a ball of laundry lint makes more than I do. Life remains vast and great. Privilege comes with a stay at home mom and I just didn’t have privilege right now. Someday.
This is Shellie trying to strike a deal with the devil back to you bob at the studio!
September is upon my heels, and there’s so much that’s happened. What can I say except that I’m a lousy blogger. No I take that back, I am not lousy just lazy. To keep you up to date, I can say that Styles has been smiling, speaking baby in his gurgling ways. It's, how can I say, magical! Magical! Besides, trying to fit into my deep abyss of pre-pregnancy wardrobe, is a big to do! And I thought I was chunky before the pregnancy. Chuckle. These days I'd be lucky, if I can get my pants past my knees. (A mild exaggeration...a little higher in the thigh region.)
I’ve been driving across town to the Marina to cinch my ever growing waistline at the Dailey Method or as a friend would like to call it the Jane Fonda work out. It’s an hour of great music and women determined to hold on to their youth with me included. Big plus, they have childcare! Sigh. Yes, and I even gave in to purchasing lullulemon gear. Hell, Jill the owner, is practically the spokesperson. I fell into the peer pressure. I just wanted to fit in.
Some mother's are lucky, they push their baby out and "whap" just like that, they're abs are back in play! I, on the otherhand, am slightly cursed. I'm not fat, but I'm not skinny. I'm a marsupial. I have a fanny pack. A pouch. A pooch. A bulge of fun. If I could lose ten pounds, I would be good. If I could lose twenty, I would be perfect! Problem is, losing two pounds is like a prayer to god. So I ask myself, "I say self? What can I change? Increase cardio? Take up jumping rope perhaps? Sprinting? Weights? Diet?"
I've been bashing my head trying to figure out my error in ways. I think it''s my diet. I love food. I'm a foodie! A former chef (when I say chef I mean a line cook) what can I say, I live in one of the best culinary cities. I’m taking three hour lunches at my favorite haunts like Bar Bambino, Boulettes Larder, Delfina Pizzeria, Salthouse polishing off a couple glasses of roset only to follow up with a nice kid portion of malt ice cream at Bi-Rite creamery the best homemade organic ice cream this side of the Mission. By then, I’ve put back the calories I attempted to ditch that very morning so I do a couple laps around Dolores Park.
As we are planning on our second sometime soon, I want to make sure my body is a slender machine. Studies have shown that gestational diabetes will not occur in women that is slightly under weight. Hence, my want to lose my fanny pack. My pouch. My pooch. My bulge of fun. I enjoyed my last pregnancy, but I didn't enjoy the gestational diabetes aspect not one tidbit.
I realize that I am different. I am not that woman with a resilient abs of steel. I have to work harder. I have to watch what I eat. Or eat less. Or eat more often, but in small portions. All the same, I heart food. So I say, "Self? You must increase the cardio" So when Styles recognizes my voice when I call his name and his eyes light up and his mouth curls into a super smile. My heart does a triple axel somersault. My eyes brighten. I am awe inspired. I want to carry him in my arms and fly to the moon and back. I say to myself, "Self, I’ve got it damn good!" Sigh. I love being a mom! I have absolutely no agenda except to spend precious time with Hunter. I couldn’t ask for anything more. Sure I could lose some weight, but my weight has taught me to be patient. Besides, the flattest abs will never make me feel as golden as when my son smiles.
This is Shellie's heart skipping a beat back to you Bob at the studio.
We had no more family coming to visit. It was a relief. We survived the onslaught of relatives. It was a last minute decision, as I skirted the issue unable to commit. Would Styles have an allergic reaction to the north woods? Lately, I’ve managed a daily routine that included Styles and Hunter. I am confident that Styles was ready for his first camping trip! The yuppie wagon was stuffed with camping gear, mostly food and spirits and my usual impractical outfits. Hunter was accompanied by his backseat buddies Cliff and Chloe. Hendrix played in the CD, “Dewd, where’s the reggae?” Cliff starting on his jabs early. “Aw crap! I forgot it.” Most of the time, I had to pick up my short term memory off the floor. Otherwise, I was too busy trying to make sure all essentials were packed for Styles. “C’mon mann it’s Reggae Rising!” Cliff with a quick jab and a clue. It was dusk on Thursday and the traffic was mild, yet not mild enough to get out of the city quick enough. We were on our way to Reggae Rising formerly Reggae on the River which took place four hours North in Piercy. I have a deep fervor for the Redwoods and the Eel river. Styles awoke on the last leg of the trip and sang Cliff a loud lung song. “Oh my god, did you just turn the music louder?” Cliff chuckled in amusement, “He’s been going for about thirty minutes. He should be stopping anytime now.” “I know, I think he’s losing his voice.” I turned Mos Def up a couple decibels to drown out my son’s wails. My selective hearing was paramount.
We arrived at the camp sight around eleven o’clock. The silence was wonderful. Joel sat at the camp fire as the logs crackled. Ruby, president of Styles fan club and potential baby sitter, crept out of her tent, “Is Hunter up?” “He is, but he needs to eat then he’s going to bed.” “Is that why he’s crying?” Ruby’s observation sharp as a knife. “Yes. You can hang out with him tomorrow.” “Okay.” Ruby smiled and returned to her tent.
Joel poured me a glass of white and offered the men a tug off of the bottle labeled Knob Creek. Let the decompression begin! We retired to bed. The sky jeweled with stars, I lay my head on the down pillow with Styles peacefully resting Shane kissed me good night.
I was awoken by the feeling that we were being watched. A light rustling came from outside the tent. There they stood Ruby and Simon, another disciple of Styles fan club and future baby sitter, peered into the tent with no sense of privacy. “Can I hold him now?” Ruby smiled with all her adorable charm. “Girl he is still sleeping.” I yawned. “Wake him up?” The dictator of fan club insisted. “Hey did you hear that? I think your dad’s calling you?” I tried to dissuade them from waking up the kid. “No he’s not.” Dictator Simon was on to me, “no one’s calling us.” “Yes, do you hear that?” I conjured their imagination. “No, I don’t hear anything” The dictator sneered. “Simon and Ruby get away from there let them sleep.” Maxine, mother of disrupters, whipped them into shape.
I was tempted to go back to sleep, but the morning light dusted the top of our tent. It was hard to get back to sleep especially when most of the air in the mattress had escaped. I got dressed and left Styles to continue resting. I craved a full flavored mug of decaf coffee and a cup of Wullaby yogurt. Traci and crew gathered at our site, thus she began organizing the breakfast menu. The sweltry air made my skin sticky. I couldn’t wait to get to the watering hole.
It was a divine day as we headed down the watering hole with our coolers stuffed with alcoholic beverages, water and snacks. We were welcomed with cheer and delight. Jill and Greg were accessorized with a bottle of beer waist high in the water. Randall and Gabby boasted their fancy water furniture. Lorelei, old roommate, whom I haven’t seen in over five years waded in the water. It was a reunion of sorts. Besides all the positivity, we were all equipped with ice cold beverages.
Baby rested in his bassinet on shore, he was sealed in protective sun block. My heart went pitter patter as his chest rise and fell from his deep sleep. I couldn’t wait to introduce him to the water. In the meantime, Chloe was sopping wet, resembling a wet rat. Soon enough, Styles was awaken by the tempered heat. I removed his diaper and held him to my sticky skin. It was evident that he was irritable and hot. I handed him off to Shane for quick cool quenching. I scrambled around for my camera. This was huge! Photos were in order! Everyone watched with a curious eye. Shane held him at his chest and not a whimper. Ha! He was my kid! He enjoyed the water. Within five minutes Styles closed his eyes to return to his rest. Meanwhile, Chloe on her own accord adventured into the water. It was a joyous day.
The night was all about Reggae. A group of us got on the shuttle and made way to the music grounds. Ticket prices were ridiculous, but we knew there was a group discount to be had. I felt like we were on the hunt for drugs as we nonchalantly inquired about tickets. For the three nights of Reggae, Styles slumbered in the bjorn, but he was among thousands. The highlight of the weekend next to the watering hole was the Marley brothers. Hubba Hubba. It felt great to be admired by many for introducing the culture at such an early age. It was love!
It’s so easy to get sucked into the day to day of living in the city. It is ridiculous to get sucked into the blackhole called drama. It isn’t hard to get drawn into the undertow of surviving. Reggae Rising was a privledge. It was the perfect prescription. A big dose of redwoods and friends. It brought Shane and I closer, as well as our friends. We can't wait to next year where we’ll hopefully thicken our love for nature and reggae. I can not preface enough how important it is to slow down. Life is roots. Without roots we have no life. We would like to send our appreciation out to the Blescakecs for showing us the light.
This is Shellie "I swear I did not inhale" back to you Bob at the studio.
A stay at home mom has special priviledges like not working. Me, I manage through the day drabbly dressed on six hours, if I'm lucky, of snooze. Despite the lack of sleep, I feel invincible. Besides, I enjoy every second with Hunter. That said, my heart goes out to all the working moms.
I absolutely love Potrero Hill, the warmest part of the city, but on a hearth of a day like today, I make my way to the North end of town. I load Hunter and Chloe into the X5 -the yuppie wagon- and pop in the Ethiopians CD. I roll the windows down and slide the moon roof ajar. The temperature gauge reads eighty four degrees. Yay! It's days like this that I wish I lived in Hawaii again. Nonetheless, a late morning departure usually makes for a ten minute drive to Crissy Fields. I turn into the parking lot as Chloe begins to scramble in the backseat like it was raining dog jerky. "Get off of him!" Styles caught in Chloe's trample of excitement. I pop the trunk to get out the kicks aka bugaboo - yuppie stroller. I plop Hunter's car seat in the stroller, grab Chloe's leash and we're ready to go!
The shore dense with families, canines, and the ocassional sun chaser. I quicky released the Bichon and away she went into dog euphoria. She was adored by all as she kicked up dust during her circular spazz attacks. I briskly walked trying to make good time towards the base of Golden Gate bridge. I smiled and proudly walked tall and nodded to my fellow mothers and dog walkers. Up ahead strollers were parked in a long row, "ten more seconds!" The militant instructor screamed at the group of women in their snug lullulemons holding their squats in hopes to lose their baby gut. I, too, was on the same mission to lose my jiggle! Up ahead Chloe was roused by a a pair of maltese. They each sniffed in a circle. Their noses muffed in their back ends, licking, and pawing. What is it with dogs and butts? Manners need not apply. If only humans were that simple. Hunter was down for the count. His eyelids were gentle and his lips part. A quick flashback of my birth played in my head. Motherhood is beyond cool! Part Shane and me, he was an absolute bundle of love. Double sigh.
In haste, I pick up the pace trying to pump some life into my aorta. The go getters, joggers, effortlessly pass me in light foot fashion. A herd of grustling German tourists in their dark denim pencil jeans rustle by on their bicycles. A pretty brunette in a vintage summer dress sit nestled in the arms of young man. As I got closer, "Please yew tek a photo?" The tall and handsome spoke in the language that made me knees give in. I quickly took a picture of the darling couple. The french woman melted at the sight of Hunter. I melted in the presence of Frenchman. No sooner than I could say, "Hubba Hubba," Chloe, in her speedy demon ways, picked up some heat and was a goner. I bid them adieu, and continued on my way.
There it stood tall and majestic, the base of Golden Gate bridge. We made it! I placed my hands in the palm marker and Chloe placed her paws on the dog marker as european tourists looked on at the silly Americans. I continued to push the stroller in hopes of making good time. I strolled upon a playful group of Jack Russells trying to get their yayas on Chloe. I chuckled at the dog walker and was miffed at how they managed to keep the leashes untangled. I was slowly coming towards the end of my walk and realized the boot camp mamas were done. Hunter remained in his sweet slumber as my work out was almost at it's end. "Sexy back. You mother effers don't know how to ack..." The gaggle of latina teenagers sang and chuckled and weaved through the human traffic on tourist bikes.
I made it back in under thirty minutes! I improved my time. I unlocked the tanker to let some cool air in. I unlatched the car seat and dropped him into the booster. Chloe followed my lead. I poured her a bowl of water, but she was too pooped to lap it up. In usual fashion, I let all the windows down and let the sun shine through the moon roof and turned up the rocksteady. I returned to Potrero Hill with the Golden Gate bridge behind me, I thanked the blue skies. Some women are hardened by being at home with their child. Some women rejoice in the rewards of spending all of their time with their child. I am exulted. Honestly. Today is a good day. Ah, this is the life! I am living. I am alive.
This is Shellie swimming in the womb of life back to you Bob at the studio!
I lathered little Styles with sunblock, slipped on his swimming trunks, topped him off with a sun hat, and made a run for the North. During my family’s recent visit, I wanted to share with them a place where the air is warm and the water is cool. Where else, but Glen Ellen! I know what your thinking, but they're from Hawaii! Different. The current heat wave had me dreaming of the pool.
My friendly gesture did not go over very well with my parents. As we drove over the Golden Gate bridge, which any normal person would oogle in awe, they were both slighted. My catholic kicked in and I felt guilty for uprooting them from the house. “Huh, it’s sunny here,” mom steadfast with her small conversation. I felt like I had performed a big fat juicy mortal sin. I wanted to please my parents. You know, be a lovely daughter for once. Besides they haven't been anywhere past Sausalito. I thought a nice drive and sightseeing would be harmless. Dad broke his silence and uttered, “The pastures’s brown here? Not enough water here? Where’s the cows?” Ugh, now I had to pull a cow out of my hat? I reminded them that there should be cows, I don’t know when, but they should appear soon.
We were twenty minutes into the drive when mom started to lose it, “Oh my god! It is so far away?” I thought her hair caught fire. “Daughter this is far,” dad was not entertained. “You said forty five minutes.” Mom vexed with apprehension. “It’s only been twenty minutes mom. Sheesh, I’m not driving to China or anything. Just chill.” I was plagued with questions. Sigh. My shoulders began to tighten. I pointed out the endless acres of grapes that shadowed our drive. “Grapes?” Mom was curious, “why so many grapes?” I reminded her that wine came from grapes and we were driving in a region that was world famous. “Oh yeh?” Dad scuffed, “Hmph. Wine? That's crazy.” He found it absurd and ridiculous. Mom was unimpressed. I dismissed the fact that my parents are very simple people. The only wine my parents sipped is the communion wine. Christ on a cross, why in the hell was I dragging them to Sonoma? If the gods are on my side, maybe they’ll fall in love with Glen Ellen too.
What started as a wonderful 45 minute drive, transformed into a bottomless pit of agony. On and on, I was battered with questions. Dad continued to moan about the length of the drive. They were two fishes on land. Flopping! How a glass of roset would alleviate this scene. Poof! I wished Shane was here to muddle the situation, but wishing’s for suckers. I’ll just have to deal. As I am finessed in the art of lethargy, my parents were proficient in the litany of labor. By mile 30, the thought of why I moved hundres of miles away became apparently clear. Although Hawaii is a paradise, it is still a rock. The locals can only handle no more than a twenty minute drive, anything beyond that is considered obscene.
Destination Glen Ellen. I grabbed Hunter and made a bee line for the pool. The rest of my family should be arriving soon. Things turned for the worse for mom as she paced with her arms crossed and was all sorts of odd quiet. If I had a valume, I would’ve slipped it in her water. You can quote me on that.
Finally, the rest of my family arrived! In the sky, I swear to virgin mary and all her cronies, a rainbow appeared across the sky! It was a sign! Phew! The kids tussled in the water. Dad waded in the deep end. Chloe did a little doggy paddle of her own. We cheered little Hunter as Shane dipped him in the crisp cool water. Another first! Yet, Mom sat under the umbrella arms crossed worried about dinner and who was going to cook.
Despite the squabbing and the mechanics of my infinite family dysfunction, I am lucky that we are together. The beutiful sunshine coating my brown skin with warmth as I dangle my feet in the water, I sip from the glass of roset, and Hunter is cozy in my lap. Relax. All is good in the world.
This is Shellie having a splash of a time back to you Bob at the studio!
During Grandma Colleen’s visit my San Francisco perception broadened. The mere introduction to Stow Lake and the Arboretum (fancy word for botanical garden) added spark to my day. My walks mostly entailed Crissy Fields, Fort Funston, or Land's End. Change is always good! Aunt Nyra is a total walkaholic and privy to San Francisco strolling spots. She swore me to secrecy when she permitted the concealed parking spot to the lake. All secrets at my disposal, I felt dangerous, yet special. Smile.
We - Grandma Colleen, Jill, Aunt Nyra and Hunter- strolled a couple laps around the manmade lake. It was my first step to shaking this heavy thing called weight. It felt great to take in the fresh morning air amongst the fellow strollers. An onlooker was shaken up by a defenseless baby duck that was ravaged by a seagull. Honestly, I was more befuddled by the seagull being in Golden Gate park. Aunt Nyra in all her blessed sensitivity dismissed it as nature than later regretted her frank, but honest remark. If you had seen the cute ducklings innocently scaling the serene lake you too would sling shot the next seagull that crossed your path.
Aunt Nyra proceeded to navigate the group to the short cut that led to a flight of stairs and gradually opened to a path, leading to the DeYoung Museum as well as the botanical gardens. We had lunch at the museum and than ventured into the wild gardens. As small as it seems from the outside, the Arboretum is grand. I was never big into gardens until today. Wowza! It is an agricultural nerds wet dream! If not educational, certainly stunning! Paths cross into different areas that represent a region of the world’s and it’s indigenous plants. Aunt Nyra was in desperate search for the varietals of succulence, instead we dodged sprinklers like land mines. We opted to return back to the lake for more ass whipping workout.
Today, I am inspired. I was struck by the tranquility of the trees and the lake. I was overwhelmed by the animal life like the tiny turtles that nonchalantly sunbathed on the lonely log and the ducklings that waddled behind momma duck. I was amazed by the stoic crane that majestically stood alone in nature. I chuckled at the families that exhaustingly paddled the boats with no end in sight. Mostly, I was consumed by the joy that it was Hunter’s first time in Golden Gate park. A big shout out to my Aunt Nyra, Jill, and Grandma Colleen, "Thanks for a wonderful day!"
This is Shellie with not one dull moment to my name back to you Bob at the studio.
My side of the family is just as sweet as an insane asylum. We function in dysfunction, it makes my life fun and interesting! I love them to death! That's why I moved hundreds of miles away! Chuckle. My blood pressure took a staggering leap as the days came closer to their arrival. It just so happens the Cadelinia's visit intersected with my nephews high school graduation. Double duper. I am over the moon to see mom. She's been driving a nail through me for decades when it comes to children. She persisted, knowing I had no potential candidates as a husband at the time. Albeit, I want her all to myself. I can't wait for her to traipse in with her sweet filipino jubilee goodness gop! I miss her! I shall have her all to myself. Ahem, I mean my son will.
My parents arrived around ten o’clock pm. Mom was even keel on the drive from the airport. She diligently inquired about Hunter and his behavior. Dad, in usual dad fashion, kept to himself. So far, so good.
Mom and Dad knocked on the door as we prepared for bed, "This is for Hunter. Put it in his savings." They both stood above him smiling. Dad caressed his cheeks and bid us good night. It was a hundred dollar bill. Shit on a shingle! They've figured out a way to get me all choked up! A hundred dollar bill from my parent's equates to a herd of cows, three dozen chickens, and twenty pigs in the days of old. Wow! Dad was a field laborer for the sugar plantation for decades bringing in an estimated $200 a month to support a family of ten. They sold produce at the farmers market and raised live stock to prevent us from starving. Powdered milk and a block of welfare cheese anyone? Being in their presence is always humbling. I don't how they did it! Heck mom can lasso a miracle when it comes to saving money. She always has money. Note to self, must be more like mom.
The next morning I was awaken by the curious sound of light paper shredding. I turned over and returned to sleep. I sat up in bed, an hour later, as Hunter snoozed next to me, there at the end of the bed sat a piece of B. Franklin's receding hairline. Gasp, Chloe had gotten her scrappy paws on the bill that was on the nightstand! Before my brain could scrape a bit of understanding of the situation, as much as I would have liked to splat her against the wall, I swiftly whapped that Bichon! Meanwhile, mom and dad peeked in their smiles and delight transformed to emotional arsenal, "What happened!" She was distraught, "Is that the money we gave Hunter?" I sullenly nodded. Dad continued in his silent bout, but his eyes said it all, he would rather had thrown Chloe against the wall and kicked her down the flight of stairs. I quickly scrambled to gather the pieces. To think, last night I boasted on how well behaved this white mop was.
I distracted them by handing Hunter over, "Here momma." Mom knew my tactic. I had to do something before it snowballed. Crap, all of the labor and work that went into that money. There was a gloom about the air, "You should give that dog away." Mom sliced through the awkward silence with her sensibilities, "What?" She shrugged her shoulders as she gently rubbed Hunter's back. It was the word according to mom. Dad remained statuesque enthralled by The Price is Right. The hellfire in his eyes had died down. If this had happened in the Cadelinia home, it would be fire and brimstone. Chloe would be first grade pâte.
Beside the money snafu, my siblings and their families were here! Yay! Our reunions revolved around feasting layered with laughter and idle gossip which entailed our brushes with childhood. A good time was to be had by all. Hunter was passed around the room with comparisons to his fellow cousins. Everyone clucking on his looks, "He looked a little like Robert when he was a baby." Chris, eldest, found the resemblance remarkable. "Nah, he looks like Zashtani." Darrell chimed in. "I think he looks like Uncle Shane! He's soo cute!" Little Alyssa jumped in unafraid to slug it with the adults. "He is so adorable." Sydney agreeed wholeheartedly with her little sister. In the corner of my eye, mom sat enjoying her room full of loved ones. Dad sat slouched with arms crossed resting his eyes.
I am super charged that Hunter is privileged to be part of the Cadelinia experience. As hectic as the Cadelinia's reunions can be and as crazy as we are, I embrace each sparse visit like catching a falling star. Family is vital. It is my heritage. It is who I am. Now I have one of my own. It's about time.
This is Shellie basking in the milky way of life back to you Bob at the studio!
We gave ourselves a few weeks before we allowed any family to arrive. We wanted to make sure we had a rhythm to this new two step blitz, if that was even possible. Hunter, thus far, has been simply fantastic! I endured the spurts of feeding sessions throughout the night like a champion. I tolerate my husband's "I'm so tired" bit instead of going at him with a dull axe. The guy whines for getting six hours of sleep a night. He mocks me with his snoring as my eyes are peeled open to nurse at 3 o'clock in the morning. Can I get a "God Your Such a Dick" trophy for my loving husband? I could always use some extra help. What's a girl to do. Thank goodness for eager Grandmothers.
Grandmother Colleen was on her way from New York. Alas, a helping hand. Gramma Colleen couldn't wait to get here. She's been calling night and day and day and night and every where in between on the happenings of Hunter. What's he wearing? How many hats does he have? What kind of books does he have? How many times has he slept today? Has he pooped? How many hours have I slept? The questions just kept rolling off her tongue. Yikes! Easy there first time Grandmother your scaring the child.
Gramma Colleen arrived with a vengeance. Hunter is her first, but not last, grandchild. She was off her rocker absolutely thrilled with the boy that I thought her head was going to burst. She went papparazzi on Hunter, taking pictures of him like it was pay day, "Smile!" Her visit consisted of many poses and candids. It was pretty insane. She's been waiting a long time to meet the sweet angel.
Needless to say, Grandma Colleen had a great visit. She was ecstatic! She was at Hunter's side every nanosecond, but isn't that what grandmother's do? Styles is lucky to have a grandmother that adores him. She is all love. She is a wonderful mother full of good intentions. That's why she is such a perfect grandmother. In this day and age, it's a rarity. I couldn't ask for anything more.
This is Shellie pocketing her lucky stars back to you Bob at the studio.
Hunter slumbered in his stroller as the parade flamboyantly marched by. It's May 26, 2007, and it's Hunter's first Carnaval celebration. We cheered with each passing float, enjoying the flashy costumes and dance. I was overjoyed to immerse Hunter in one of my favorite San Francisco events. I was enthralled by the brazilian music and dance. We were in the Mission! The main artery of the city. I love the Mission! I adore everything about it. It's versatility, the swarm of co-existence of all differences come to settle in refinement.
Jill and Greg hosted their first Carnival at their home. Their house sat on Bryant street which was a great stretch of the parade. The weather was chilly, and still the women danced in their frilly modest outfits. We followed the parade down to 18th street trying to catch the drum circles and dancers, but the density of the crowd thickened and our attention turned strictly towards alcohol. We made steadfast to Jill and Greg's to get this Carnival started.
I can't wait to the next few years when Hunter will be dancing to the beats of the drum circles. Smiling. Cheering. Laughing. As my husband and fellow male friends gawked on happily and freely at the beautiful backsides of the performers, the baby slept soundlessly in his stroller. It was beautiful to know that he too will experience this great enchantment in years to come.
This is Shellie nay nay on the brazilian ay back to you Bob at the studio!
Most of Hunter's waking moments are spent with my boobs. The boy is eager to eat! I don't know what all the books are saying, but as soon as he cries I feed the little sucker. It works for me. I'm sure it works for him. My constant nursing has me addicted to television with shows such as Top Chef, Hell's Kitchen, Weeds, the L Word and Entourage. My love affair with television is scandalous. My biggest sin is Law & Order SVU. It doesn't help when TNT and FX is broadcasting a Law & Order marathon. I'm hooked! Hiss to all you anti television advocates. What am I supposed to do while nursing? Read a book? Snooze. I love reading, but oddly enough, it's so arduous while Hunter's having his leche feast. Television is just easier to feed to.
You can blame it on my family. We had one television that was shared with seven boys. My television time consisted of sports, sports, and the occasional Benny Hill. I got up at 530am just to catch my Tom and Jerry. Other than that, I was outside playing with the neighbors. So in essence blame my childhood. I never got over it. I'm that kid that wasn't allowed to watch television, look at me now! I can't get enough of it. Word.
So back to the whole nursing gig. Besides having to wrack my brain around a shirt or blouse that allows the prisoners to accessibly bust out, it's entirely a whole new world. Can I just say awkward? Not in a feeding sense, but in a public arena. There's a whole gaggle of people that are against it, but gosh darn it! I'm not here to offend. I just need to feed the kid. It's challenging to keep'em covered. Thankfully, he's little enough that it's inconspicuous, but I've gotten to the point where I just want to whip it out. I've whipped the sucker out at home around close friends and family, I don't care any more. I know it's gross. I'm that big pink elephant in the room. Yowza.
This is Shellie trying to find some law in this disorder back to you Bob at the studio.
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