Jami Plays the Name Game

So here's the deal, folks - we know this baby is going to be a boy and we're tossing around some names. However, we will not be sharing the name with anyone until Gurgle (as Eddie has named him) makes his appearance in this world, probably around the end of September. It's nothing personal, it's just that we don't want everyone's opinion of the name we pick. We have some friends and/or relatives for whom tact is a foreign concept, and since we can't tell some of you and not all of you, well, you all suffer. So sorry. This way, by the time you hear it, even if you hate it more than any name ever created in the history of man, it's just too late. BUT - if you have naming suggestions, we will be totally happy to consider them. Post them here, email me, tell us in person, whatever. I promise you we will at least say it once out loud before rejecting it and mocking your complete lack of taste in names. Since all of us currently have 4 name-names, we will be giving this little sprout two middle names of his own, giving you one extra chance to get your suggestion in there. Of course, my laptop also is nameless, so if you prefer to stick with naming the basically inanimate, we'll be accepting suggestions there, too.

Jami Remembers the Other Mothers

I usually think about posting this around Mothers' Day and this year I just didn't. If I've expressed the same thoughts in this blog before, I apologize, but it's worth doing again. Mothers' Day sometimes gets a little too dramatic for me. I dislike the people who celebrate "all women" on Mothers' Day. I'm all for celebrating being a woman, but that doesn't make you a mom. I don't think we should be thanking every female who inspired us or was ever nice to us. While I like getting gifts, it's not just about what did you buy - this year, I asked for only a garden - more work for me, but more on that in another post, someday. I also agree with EDW's post here. One thing that always is on my mind on Mothers' Day are the two women who mothered my son before he came home. They don't celebrate Mothers' Day in Guatemala, at least, if they do not the way we do here. Some folk seem to think that adoptive mothers fear or resent birth mothers, and let me tell you, nothing could be further from the truth. I know tons of adoptive parents and we all are in awe of the women who broke their own hearts for the children they carried. Yes, there are birth moms who lost custody because they weren't great, but even most of them loved their children, even if they didn't know how to care for them. A woman I will most likely never lay eyes on grew Eddie in her womb. She felt him move, and did what she could to have a healthy child. She birthed him , saw him, named him. I don't know if she got to hold him. But she loved him enough to know that her life was not what she wanted for him, and she handed him over, to be given to strangers in a country she's never been to, knowing he grow up in a culture different from her own, speaking a different language and probably never seeing her again. What unbelievable, sacrificial love and courage. We pray for her, and we thank God for her. She is more of a mother than many women I've heard of, because she did the very best thing she could for her child, no matter the pain it caused her. And that, my friends, is the heart of mothering. Eddie's next mother is the one who received him from the hospital. She had the midnight, and 2 am and 4 am feedings. She saw his first smile. Rocked him to sleep, fed him, nurtured him, took him to his doctor's appointments, watched him grow. We credit her for his being so pleasant when we first met him, so healthy and strong and fearless. She loved him, too, which we got to see in the heart-wrenching moments when she hugged him and kissed him goodbye. I wanted to promise her over and over that we already loved him and would take good care of him, but all I could say was "Thank you" and "God bless you" over and over. So now I'm the mother. I'm the Mommy. But I never forget that I'm Mommy because these women gave their love and time and hearts to my son.

Jami's Library Time Warp

This concerned me a little: My library is generally more up-to-date than this. I realize that "new" is a subjective term, but I'd have a hard time being convinced to consider this "new". The reason I'm holding it up is only so you can read the title - it was directly under the "new fiction" label. You can see the slot I slid it out of under my knuckle.

Jami Salutes A Soldier with Courage

Check out this picture/article of a young American soldier fighting in his pink boxers. Now that takes courage my friends. On a more serious note, over this long weekend, take time to remember that we aren't just having an extra day off, we have that time to remember the sacrifice so many men and women have made to protect and serve our country, and even to protect people in other countries. You may not be happy with everything that goes on in this country, but we are all better off for the freedoms they fought and died for.

Jami Loves a Good Warning Label

Yes, I know I'm not the first person to point out interesting or funny warning labels designed for consumers who apparently have the brain power of my sparkly pink flip-flops, but this one really gave me a moment of pause. I was reading the label on a container of eyebrow wax, my pregnancy hormones rendering plucking a pointless exercise, when I noticed the following statement: Do not use more than 3 or 4 times daily. Now, as mentioned, my eyebrows (and head hair and finger/toenails) are growing out of control thanks to my hormonal changes, however, I don't really need to wax my eyebrows 3 or more times per day. If you DO have to wax your eyebrows this often, I would suggest that you either need a doctor or perhaps a medicine man, as you may have become a werewolf. In fact, I think the label should read: If your hair has returned more than twice in the last 24 hour period, remain indoors during full moon.

Jami Speaks On Behalf of the Preggos

Part of my job as a doula is advocating for mommies-to-be. So, on behalf of every pregnant woman in the world, allow me offer the follow suggestions, by which I mean - learn these rules before we revolt and attack. 1. Stop telling pregnant women labor horror stories!!!! Long before I was all knocked up, this was still one of my pet peeves. "Oh, you're pregnant and happy about it? Let me tell you how horrible it's going to get . . ." Stop it right now!! I don't care if you died in childbirth and your dead grandpa and his 16 cousins told you to spread the word, don't you dare scare another woman in this condition. Just because it sucked for you doesn't mean it's going to be anything like that for anyone else, so keep your tales of terror to yourself. 2. Don't make fun, even gentle, loving teasing, of a pregnant woman's weight gain. The only exception to this rule is if you are saying something along the lines of "even pregnant, you're skinnier than me". I couldn't believe the number of women who have had a friend, relative or coworker call them "fatty", "tubby" or some sort of large animal. Even healthy, slender women get touchy about the pregnancy weight, and with the raging hormones, you don't want to risk causing one of us rhinos to charge. 3. Remember that the following things are none of your darn business.

• If the pregnancy was an "accident" - geez- why do you care, were you monitoring my sex life? Even if the woman is single, or has 5 kids already, or both don't assume she didn't mean to get into that situation.
• How much weight I've gained, see #2.
• How I'm going to deliver. I'm glad you loved your epidural, or went all-natural. It's great that you liked the tub or your doctor or whatever, and I don't mind your opinion, but if I'm doing it different, don't argue with me. I have plenty of strong opinions, but if you tell me that you're going to give birth in the middle of the highway on horseback, I'll wish you well.
• I can have an occasional small glass of wine. So if you see me sipping it, back off. You don't know if it's really wine, or if it's the one glass I'm having to celebrate my anniversary, or if my doctor told me to have a glass to calm braxton-hicks contractions so zip your lip and toast with me to the baby.

4. I know, so don't remind me. I mentioned this on Facebook, but if you missed it - pregnant women who will be pregnant over the summer are aware that they will be pregnant and that the weather will be hot. I am seriously shocked by the people who say something like "Did you realize you're going to be pregnant in the hottest part of the year?" No, really?? I mean, I knew I was due in September, but I had no idea that means I'll be pregnant from now until then! AND - people say things like "that was bad planning" as though the main reason to get pregnant is so that you'll be comfortable. Sigh. Also, I know I'm going to get bigger, have swollen ankle, and be tired. No need to let me know it's coming, believe me, all us preggos know that.

5. If you know me personally, then you may ask to touch my belly. AFTER I start showing. So, that means, - don't touch without asking, ever. Don't ask if I don't know your name. Don't ask when I'm 8 weeks along. Seriously, I had someone rub my belly at 12 weeks. At this point you're just squeezing my fat, and I don't need that.

Jami, Spock and the Husband

I remember my first crush, although looking back, I'd have to say that what I felt was more admiration than l-u-v. When the girls in our neighborhood played Barbies, we'd take turns naming our dolls and "calling" boyfriends. There was fierce competition for various soap stars and teen idols, but no one ever took my Barbie's true love - Spock. Doesn't every grade school girl love a science-geek alien? I didn't care about Spock's funny ears or green blood. I did like the eyebrow raise, and practiced it. Like future crushes, intelligence was the first thing I felt drawn toward. Spock outshone all the humans on that ship - he knew everything. He always had the answer. But he wasn't just some space nerd, Spock kept fit and held his own in a fight. Remember when he got all up in Kirk's grill?? Mmmm hmm - no bullies pushed around that computer geek. The other big factor was the whole emotion thing. I understood that Spock had emotions, but somehow he managed to control them, and no one ever knew what was going on in that pointy-eared head. This appealed to me on two levels: first, many more years would pass before I'd learn to do a decent job of keeping my emotions under wraps. A sensitive girl who wore them on my sleeve, I cried too much, in front of too many people, embarrassing myself too many times. Too many of my future crushes rejected me even while I thought I had been hiding my interest. Spock must have some sort of magic to have learned that skill, I thought. I wanted to be that, and he surely could teach me. Second, I imagined that if you could get a man (or, you know, Vulcan) like that to admit feelings for or to you - then you knew he loved you. Spock was no Kirk, pitching woo to every green-skinned hussie in the Universe. He didn't say things he didn't mean, and he didn't share his every passing thought with the entire crew. Yes, to be in his confidence, that made you special. Fast-forward a few decades to find me married to a smart, loyal, hard-working geek who shows almost no emotion, to the world. Did adoring Spock pave the way for me to marry my own Vulcan? I don't know that the Husband taught me to keep my emotions better under control, I still have far less grip on that than either Spock or the Husband, but I do feel special knowing that I am one of a select few who sees what lies beneath the calm exterior. I guess that's my "type". Spock. Live long, and prosper.

Jami, This is Your Life

There are times in my life when I simply stop and say to myself, "This is my life." Sometimes these are the moments when I need a break, as in "this is my life, doing this same pile of laundry every day (it seems) eternally. I am the Sisyphus of Laundry." It might the times I need to catch my breath, when I am so busy I feel guilty if I sit down: "this is my life, dropping off and picking up things in between cleaning, visiting friends, going to meetings, cleaning, eating and occasionally even sleeping." Now and then, it's those really rare occasions where the moment is beyond my dreams, like walking down the aisle toward the Husband. But today was the best kind, I think. Walking home from the park with Eddie, and again this evening. "This is my life, strolling with my son as he explains the wonders of the very special stick he found." "This is my life, sitting on the back porch with the Husband, blowing bubbles for Eddie to chase, chatting with the neighbors and admiring my garden" (except for the *&^$ basil which refuses to grow). This is my life, looking forward to Eddie being asleep, eating ice cream and cuddling with the Husband while we watch a movie and feel Gurgle moving. (Gurgle is what Eddie has named his future sibling). This is my life. Life is grand.

Jami Joins the Family

As previously mentioned, I'm all about the Facebook now. Okay, all about in that I check it about twice a day. However, I am hooked on the bizarrely pointless Mafia War game. Don't ask me how to play because I'll be honest with you, I am not totally sure. Several friends invited me to join, so I went over and checked it out. I committed a few crimes, made some money, started clicking on random buttons. And suddenly I'm hooked. Then, I start inexplicably losing money! Where is it going? I click around some more and discover that people are attacking me! And stealing my money! I love money!! I complain to the Husband, "Why are people attacking me???" The Husband, "Because you're in the mafia. Duh." Well sure. But I'm such a nice criminal. I was just out robbing places and the like and not fighting anyone. Then these mean gangstas come along and pick on little old me. I'm getting better, I think. I have lots of nice weapons, and a whole collection of diamond playing cards (don't ask, I don't know). I need one more person in "my mafia" to get a tattoo that apparently has defensive powers. I bought two Italian restaurants and two apartment buildings. And I still can't answer the question "What's the point?" As far as I can tell, it's Crime.

Jami Offers Quick Wedding Guest Advice

I'm back from a wedding, and perhaps I'll have more on that some time, it was lovely and we all know I dig weddings. However, I just wanted to say to all of you who plan to go to weddings: The receiving line, you know, the thing at the end of the wedding where you walk out and say hug or shake hands with the newlyweds? That is NOT a time for chit-chat. Don't start long and detailed stories. Don't plan to have a nice long conversation with the groom, the mother-of-the-bride or anyone else in the line. People are standing behind you, waiting. You're just not that important. So, just say any ONE of the following to each wedding party member: "It was a lovely service." "You look beautiful." "Congratulations." "Nice to meet you." (for wedding party members you don't know). "Way to go." Thanks.

Jami Gives Driving Instructions

For any who don't know, I live in Pittsburgh, and I love it here. Today, coming home from an appointment with a client, I was pondering some of the rules of driving in Pittsburgh, and wondering how confusing it would be to driving around here, especially if you come from somewhere non-hilly, where the roads are laid out in a sensible order, like a grid. Pittsburgh Driving Rules for Non-Pittsburghers. Just so you know: 1. If you are approaching the Squirrel Hill Tunnels, no matter the time of day, weather conditions or traffic, you must slow down and possibly even stop. No one knows why, though I've heard that this is where good Catholics (about 70% of Pittsburghers) genuflect for the saint of tunnels. There must always be a traffic slow down before this tunnel in both directions. 2. You never, for any reason, EVER change lanes in a tunnel. I've been in the car with other natives when someone has broken this cardinal rule (which, BTW, is also the posted law). This causes every Pittsburgher I know to scream "YOU DON'T CHANGE LANES IN THE TUNNEL!!!" at the top of their lungs, and usually add a few angry honks and/or expletives. Trust me, unless the lane you are in is on fire, you don't change lanes. 3. Give the courtesy "Thank you" wave. This probably is universal, but just in case - if someone lets you in at one of the bazillion merge points in and around the city, you hold your right hand up, and give a little "thanks!" wave to the car now behind you. If you neglect the wave and change lanes in a tunnel, you will probably be dragged from your car and beaten. 4. The Pittsburgh Left - Several people who have lived here and move elsewhere told me this is a Pittsburgh-Only thing. You're at a light and you are making a left turn. There's no left turn lane/signal. When the light turns green, the first car turning left goes, and opposing traffic knows he's going to and lets him. A former coworker told me that when living in another state, he almost got creamed twice making the Pgh Left, before deciding that he'd better not do that anymore. 5. Don't count on any road:

• staying the same name while you're on it
• going straight
• being the same number of lanes for any particular stretch
• always being a 2-way or 1-way.

These things change very quickly on Pittsburgh roads, you while you might be driving on a one way street called X, you might go 1 block and find yourself on a 2-way street with a new name, and you didn't even turn or anything.

But that's just part of our charm.

Jami Saw the (Latest) Final Frontier

It's true - we saw Star Trek tonight, the newest one. I have just these few, non-spoiler comments: 1. It totally rocked. Funny, smart, lots of good action. 2. There are a few things that are less suspenseful, since we are just going to assume that if you've seen the series, you know certain people are going to survive. 3. I love Simon Pegg. 4. Maybe it's me, but even though John Cho is a fine actor, his voice is wrong and IMO, he's obviously not Japanese. Also, Zachary Quinto, who gives great Spock, has noticeably different teeth than Leonard Nimoy, though the Husband assures me that I'm pretty much the only person on this or any other planet who noticed or would care. So go see it. You'll dig it. After everyone else who plans to see it has seen it, I'll talk about the rest of it. The Husband even liked it ALMOST as much as Wrath of Kahn.

Jami and the TechnoParanoia

You may have guessed, reading my posts about the robots and such, that while I dig awesome new technological advances, I also have a healthy suspicion about it. Don't get me wrong, you can keep making my fridge and washing machine smarter, my TV's bigger and my TiVo more super. But, I will worry when you put things in my car I don't control, when my cell phone can track my movements and when my toilet seat gets too clever. Now I have a new problem. My old beloved Lappie finally achieved hard drive nirvana, and while it technically still works in the sense that you can turn it on, it thinks every time it's booted up is the first time, sort of the Memento of laptops if you will. Therefore, we spent our tax refund to stimulate the economy of a large Big Box company and an electronics company by purchasing this fancy-schmancy (and as of yet unnamed) laptop. And it's great. It does, however, come with a built-in webcam. Handy for calling the fam on Skype, but worrisome in my belief that I can't ever be really, truly 100% sure that it's not being used to watch me. Not necessarily by Big Brother, who I assumed could hack into all my REALLY interesting data in about .00001 seconds, (you know, like my weight chart on my Wii, or my super secret emails to my BFF with devastating info like "I really hate blue cheese".) No, I worry about some pervert hacker watching me, or that somehow someone has turned it on without my knowledge and is broadcasting to my friends and family. It's not like I do a lot of nekkid computing, but, for example, right now I have my glasses on. I think the people who have seen in my in glasses is less than 1% of all the people I know. And then only in extreme circumstances like when I am on vacation and I am getting ready for bed and have to make one more bathroom trip. Or what if I am scratching (okay, rooting around in) my ear and the whole world is watching? "ewww!! Geez, Jami, don't you shower?" (yes I do, I just wear my iPod headphones a lot and that causes waxy build up, okay?" I am thinking I might just start putting a post-it over it. The question is - if I give into the urge to cover it, am I starting down (or going further down) the crazy path, or just being cautious?

Jami Joins the Pack (or should I say, book?)

Yes, it's true. I've joined Facebook, making me probably the last person in our generation to do so. My brother claims that he is actually the final holdout, but he might just be saying that so he doesn't have to add me as a friend. I have to say, it does seem easier to use than MySpace. It does have the same initial joy at new friends. Whoo hoo!! I have five whole friends. I rock!! I spent the afternoon doing that, updating my "linked in" page, and setting up my Skype. I feel so very hip and connected. Now when someone says "oh, you can Facebook me" I don't have to explain why I can't. I can now call someone to tell them that I'm going to call them on Skype. For this one moment, I am cool again. Soon I'll be behind the times again. But I hope to at least avoid being one of those people who is so clueless that they have to ask a 10-year-old to explain a story on the news. Here's hoping, anyway.

Jami Apologizes for the Weeds

Just wanted to say I'm sorry to everyone who has a yard along the route Eddie and I walked home. He's obsessed with dandelions, especially in the "puffball" form. As we walked back from dropping the car off with the Husband, Eddie grabbed up every puffball visible and proceded to happily shake, blow, and otherwise distribute the seeds the entire way home. We are now probably responsible for hundreds of news weeds that will spring up all through our community. Sorry.

Jami is Getting Top Heavy

So, my center of gravity has shifted, just a bit. Enough that I occasionally start to tip faster than expected when I'm leaning forward. My expanding belly? Partially, but more than that . . I'm going to stop here for a moment to recommend that my dad (and anyone else who doesn't want to hear about my expanding bra size) go read some other page. Might I suggest the News of the Weird? Back to our story. I'd lost some weight before getting myself into this predicament and had gone down a bra size as well. The first pregnancy symptom I had was the boob pain. Followed by the fact that I wasn't fitting in the smaller bras. A friend gave me some maternity bras in the next size up that she'd bought, but had been too small for her- still had the tags. They were fantastic - for about two weeks. Then I outgrew those. The discomfort got so intense I literally got to the point I couldn't take it, and said to the Husband, "Dinner will be late. I'm going out to by a new bra. Right now." And left. I considered asking someone if I could pay for them and then wear one home. I thought about trying to change in the parking lot, but they did have video surveillance ("Tonight, on Stupidest Customers, the Briefly Topless Pregnant Lady . . . ..") Arriving home from the store, I immediately changed and I am sure you heard the sigh of relief, wherever you live. It's probably what caused that weird shift in a weather a few weeks ago, remember? Yup. Life was grand . . . Except now I am already bursting outof the top of those. I'm about to run out of the sizes they sell in stores. I'm looking at two options 1. Mail Order or 2. Hire two midgets to walk around under them and hold them up. THEN a good friend of mine informs me that they really take off once you get your milk in. If that's true, at that point, I'm going to need an engineer to design a support, and some sort of government-funded program to help me stand up. Seriously. Even my MOM was laughing at me yesterday. Sigh. I promise, from here on out, no more discussions of my boobs. Unless something really funny happens. But let's hope not.

Jami's Suggestions for Donating Properly

I spent a good part of today and several hours on Tuesday sorting, carrying, cleaning and pricing items donated for my MOPS group's annual flea market. Let me first say how very appreciative we are of all the people who donate stuff. And then I am going to make a few polite suggestions for those considering donating stuff to anyone . . . 1. Don't donate stuff that is broken, missing pieces or not working. If it's really garbage, you're not helping by donating it. Today I saw a lamp with a broken stand, a toy race track missing parts of the track and an armless doll. Last year I opened a bag to find several toy trucks with 3 or less wheels. We got some large power tools marked "doesn't work". Who do you think is going to buy a broken power drill?? No one. Now you've wasted our time and space, and we have to get rid of your junk. 2. Donate relatively clean items. I don't expect you to scrub down each piece, and I don't mind if something has some serious dust on it, but we've gotten clothes with large, obvious stains (even, and I'm not making this up - underwear. Ick), hair implements with hair still stuck in them, dishes/cups that are sticky and more. Last year we got a water bottle with rotting "water" still in it. One woman reached into a box of linens and found a pile of dried, gross ramen noodles stuck to the linen. We don't mind wiping something down with a Lysol wipe, but if it takes more than that, you're pushing it. 3. If you're donating something relatively unusual, why not put a little note on it. We constantly get stuff where we're going "Anyone know what this is?? Anyone??" Would it kill you to put a post-it on it? "Pineapple Corer-Slicer" , "Motorized tie rack", "Hardware from my cabinets". If it's not something everyone has in their house, just go ahead and give us a heads up. 4. For most groups, especially one like ours where the flea market is in a church - DON'T DONATE YOUR PORN. Really. Just pitch it. It's okay. 5. Unless the group specifically says it's okay, don't donate food. There are places to do that. A charity flea market isn't it. 6. For crying out loud, use some common sense. No one wants a candle burned down to the nub, dried out markers, incomplete decks of cards, puzzles missing several pieces, cracked plates and bowls, your mug that has a relative's picture on it. We once got mugs that said "Ray and Jan, Cancun '99" They didn't sell. Apparently no other Ray and Jan were in Cancun the same year as you. Thank so much, keep donating!!