Jami Is Ready for the Super Bowl

HERE WE GO!!

Here we go, Steelers!!! On a side note, I saw a sign today that said "Go Steelers, our other hand is barf" It took me a few minutes to realize that this probably actually said "other hand is bare" but snow was stuck to the bottom of the "E". I really tried to figure out why their other hand was barf. I'm cute, not bright. For those not in know, the Steelers have 5 Super Bowl rings, so one more would, you know, go on the other hand.

Jami and the Pizza Envy

I'll admit, I'm an emotional eater. You can't tell me that there's a day so bad that a bowl of macaroni and cheese won't help a little. Warm melty love in bowl is what that is. So today, I heard a noise outside; checking out the window, I saw the pizza guy pulling into my driveway. For a brief glorious moment, I thought maybe someone had sent me pizza. You know, like flowers, but delicious and greasier. From a secret admirer, maybe. I thought, because that's the kind of secret admirer I'd dig. But, of course, the pizza was not for me, but for the neighbors on the other side of the driveway. Sigh. Jealousy overcame me, but not being able to justify ordering pizza for myself when I have a fridge full of leftovers,I ate the entire box of pizza-stuffed pretzel bites from the freezer. Delicious. Not quite the same, but satisfying nonetheless. Why am I telling you this? Probably because I'm still hoping some secret admirer will send me a pizza.

Jami and the Better-Be-Good Berries

At the little store near where the Husband works, they set out nice big signs every week with their specials. The store mostly carries organic, specialty and gourmet foods. Because of this, sometimes the specials sound, well, not so special. I couldn't get a good photo while I was driving, but the sign out this week states: Blueberries, $1.99 each. Wow. These better be seriously delicious and/or large blueberries. I realize we're not in blueberry season, but this seems a bit pricey. Even in a recession. I love blueberries, but I've yet to taste the individual berry I'd pay 2 bucks for.

Jami on Patience

Any parent of a toddler can tell you that patience comes into play on an everyday basis. It's something I certainly have had to work on. One of the reasons I'm not a teacher is that repeating myself indefinitely drains my patience more than anything. Asking the same question endlessly appears to be one of my son's specialties. But I digress. Today in Sunday School, someone in my class said (and I'm paraphrasing here) that when we lose our patience, what we are doing is showing our real, ugly selves. My first reaction was disagreement - we're not all ugly deep-down, hidden only by this thin veneer of patience. And sometimes I lose my patience and I am instantly sorry - haven't we all done that? How that can be my real self if I am instantly mortified that I've done it? But it's been clunking around in my brain all afternoon, and I'm going to change my stance a bit. It's not our ugly selves, it's the ugly side of ourselves that we all have. Frustration, pain or anger calls to our worst qualities and patience is the skill we have learned to hide those qualities. What the loss of patience reveals is not our "true" selves, but the worst part of ourselves. Excuse the religious reference, but it's my sinful nature showing through. Not what I aspire to be, not a part I nurture or like, but still part of me. Not one of us is born patient; newborns never stop crying because their mothers say "Be right with you!". When Eddie wears down my patience, it's not a failing in Eddie, it's that I haven't acquired the strength of patience required. Like a muscle stretching with work, patience must be practiced to be increased. Maybe this is all obvious to everyone but me. Maybe each reader is thinking "well duh", and I'm just the person who never really pondered the nature of patience. It's a change for me to think stretches on my patience as a chance to exercise, not attacks.

Jami Flies

I love button flies. Really, I can remember the first pair I had in high school. Buttons, instead of a zipper? Cool! I loved them. My favorite pair of jeans I've ever had were button fly. They were the softest denim ever. I wore them until the holes worn through the knees were almost meeting in the middle. The Husband finally told me "If they don't have a crotch, they just aren't jeans." He was right, of course, but I hated to see them go. Here are the reasons button fly jeans are better than zipper: 1. They fit better. I don't know why, but I think the buttons with material in between offer more custom fit than a flat old zipper. 2. Fun to open. You know it - the pop-pop-pop of yanking open your button fly is way more fun that zzzzip. 3. Harder to hurt yourself. Ever pinched your skin (or guys, something else) in a zipper? Ouch!! Won't happen with a button fly. Just plain won't 4. Less likely to be embarrassed. Button flies can't ease themselves down without your notice. No one will ever be point out your shame if your fly buttons instead of zips. 5. Looks cooler. Just does and you know it. Now, there is a down side, and that's that button flies do take a bit longer to do up. It's not a major thing, but I am trying to be fair. Also, it seems that button fly jeans are more expensive. I guess 5 of those anchor-style buttons are more expensive than a zipper and probably require more effort to install. Overall, though, the button fly is one of man's finest achievements. Right up there with Velveeta, Dixie cups and scented candles. Aren't we lucky to be living in a world with these fine things?

Jami Gets Her First Mommy

Ah, I know what you're thinking, you've always had a Mommy. You're right, my mom is a great mom and as far as I can recall, I've never lost her. However, I did get my first mommy as a doula! That's right, I found myself an nice pregnant lady who wants my help so YAY!!! She's been the perfect first mommy for me so far, anxious for help, open, friendly, excited for her delivery. She's due at the end of March, so we've got some time to bond before we go. I met with her and her husband last week, and got to know them and what they are hoping for. I did all my paperwork stuff. Today we went to the doctor's together. While he didn't jump up and down and hug me, he also didn't look like he was considering throwing me out of the room, so that's good. I don't want her to go into labor, but dude, I'm so ready!! I can't wait!! It's been so ridiculously long since I've posted, tons of stuff have happened to me. Let's see - my Wii Boxing coach finally told me "Nice Job" instead of "I know you can do better." Eddie's been going to bed without me having to staple him to the mattress. The Husband has been recovering from various ouchies. The Steelers are going to the SuperBowl. I have less than two weeks of my job left. Other stuff that's minor. Other things that aren't mine to share. The good news is that the last time my first mommy was pregnant, the Steelers won the SuperBowl. So if you had any doubts, now you know.

Jami and the Eternal Bedtime

It's an age-old paradox: Kids, who actually get to nap and go to bed at bedtime, never want to sleep. Parents, who need the sleep desperately, are lucky to see their beloved pillows (and woobies) before midnight. Sigh. I bring this up because Eddie, who has always been against sleep, is in an exciting new phase, in which he has decided that he never needs to sleep again. Naps have been a thing of the past for more than a year, but bedtime is now becoming Battlefield Bed. Last night, after I thought he'd fallen asleep, finally, I go upstairs to use the bathroom and he toddles out into the hall. "I'm going to stay up all night tonight." He announced nice and matter-of-factly and went on into the playroom. Because clearly, that should be fine with Mommy. After all, he'd been in bed for nearly 15 minutes, in a row. After 2 extra potty trips, one "I NEED MILK" and Mommy's threat of taking every train in the house if he called her upstairs again. He was rather surprised when I told him no, that he was absolutely NOT staying up all night. "Back to bed, buddy." He shook his head "No thank you." Needless to say, his politeness, while appreciated, did not produce his desired result. Howls of protest emanated from the baby monitor until I shut it off. Eventually, he did fall asleep. Until, apparently, around 6am when I heard my bedroom door open. Tiny footsteps approached the bed. Little soft hands clasped my face. "Mommy? Are you awake?" "I am now." "I'm just checking on you." "I'm okay. Thanks. Go back to bed." "Can I sleep here?" Normally, I'd say no. I should say no. We don't have the room to have a family bed, and with at least two of us being sleep-talkers and kickers (not to mention names, but the Husband doesn't kick and I don't talk) a group sleeping arrangement doesn't work. But, I was tired, I was warm and I just wasn't up for a battle. "Okay, but you have to sleep. NO talking or playing." Fortunately for all involved, he did. This blog was written amidst 5 trips upstairs (three to track down the cause of the footsteps - 3 potty breaks, one trip to the top of the stairs to see if I was coming to check on him, 1 trip to refill his water because of pathetic sobs between cries of "I'm sooo firsty!!" and one return trip because I promised that if he stayed quiet and in bed, I'd come check on him in 10 minutes. The last one I explained to him that I wasn't coming back until morning and if I hear him out of bed again, I'm keeping Thomas and James,maybe forever. So far, so good. It's been 6 minutes . . . .

Jami Bids the Holidays Farewell

Ah, it's all over, the presents, the food, the decorations, the food, the music, the food and the food. Back to "real life" I guess. But there is some relief, too, in having it all behind us. No more stressing over gifts and schedules and all that jazz. And, you know, the food is finally gone, no longer calling me from the kitchen or parties or wherever and demanding I eat it. My old tradition for taking down the decorations (remember, I had 9 Christmases in my own place before the Hideous Beast Child . . . I mean, before Eddie was born) was as follows: The Husband goes to work. I sleep in, make a large hot pot of tea, put on Lifetime Network's Marathon of Trash (I don't think that's what they actually call it, but still) and take everything down amidst former TV stars facing horrifying dilemmas usually caused by men. It was the only day each year I watch Lifetime. To be honest, I don't even know that we have it on our new FiOS package, but for some reason, it just made it easier to transform the house back to boring-ness. I'd sip hot tea and lovingly wrap Bubble-Blowing Santa back into his box while Meredith Baxter faced her eating disorder or Valerie Bertenelli hid from her drunken abusive ex. Now, however, I really don't want to expose my son to that sort of trash, plus, it's not like I could sit in the middle of the floor with the boxes, wrapping and hot tea all around me. The Tornado of Terror . . . I mean, Eddie would tear through that, unwrapping, breaking, stealing, spilling, etc. And I can't ignore him for that long. I've tried. Without my comforting day of weeping women, I missed a bunch of the decorations, which now sit on the dining room table, waiting for me to get the motivation up to carrying them up to the attic and find the appropriate boxes. They may well still be there next Christmas. So, I don't know who took whose children where and if she ever got them back. Sigh.

Jami In 2009

Here we are in the year Two-Thousand Nine. Can you believe it? I don't know about you but when I think about that number it almost boggles my mind. I clearly remember as a child thinking how crazy it would be when I reached the new millennium (no discussions here about what year that was) and now we are almost a decade past it. I don't do resolutions; I don't think I know anyone who has made any major change in their lives starting on January 1. But here's my hopes and intentions for this brand-new year: I intend to ensure my family makes many more wonderful memories, big and small, as we did this year. I hope we all take the time to enjoy these small moments that life is all about. I hope my new career as a doula allows me to minister to families and improve lives. I intend to continue to improve my body, my mind and spirit. I hope you find great joy in what you're doing. I hope we will grow stronger as a nation, smarter, kinder, more willing to let go the little things and celebrate what made us great to begin with. God bless us all in this new year.