Jami Loves Breakfast by Any Other Name

Patrick's Facebook status this morning inspired me to write this blog, which is something I've been saying for years. What IS breakfast food and who voted on what is and isn't? For example, eggs and toast = breakfast, but grilled cheese can't. Why? One of my all time favorite quick breakfast back in my single and living alone days was a hot dog. Pop it in the pot while you shower, get out to hot breakfast you can eat with one hand while you get your stuff together to go. But if I told people that I had a hot dog for breakfast, that was considered odd. However, if I said I had some sausages and toast, you'd be fine with that - why?? What is the huge, quantifiable difference between a hot dog and a sausage? Bun and toast? You know you don't have a good answer. If I have waffles for dinner, why is that "breakfast for dinner"? Who decided that waffle are only good in the AM? Certainly not me. Eggs are an excellent source of protein and if I want an omelet for dinner, why shouldn't I have one? Cereal is a great quick lunch, especially in the summer when it's hot and you don't want hot food. Instant oatmeal makes a great evening before bed snack - throw in some raisins and it's almost as good as having a cookie (I eat mine fairly dry, so it's not liquidy). In this day and age, where we can store and cook foods at anytime, I say we throw off the bonds of traditionally scheduled foods and eat what's good whenever we have it. Why are there breakfast burritos but not tacos? I say if I want a steak-umm for breakfast, it's like steak and eggs, without the eggs! As we approach the Fourth of July, declare your independence from the shackles of "breakfast" foods and just have food. God bless America.

Jami and Music to Birth By

Okay, so I got the new laptop finally all synched up and happy with iTunes and Stanley. I've got a few months until this baby's lease is up and I'll have to evict him, so I'm thinking about a few playlists which I might enjoy while turning my body inside out. I'll accept suggestions for: 1. Faster paced, pep-me-up kind of songs for when I need a little motivation to keep moving 2. Soothing music for when I am resting, or need to be calmed. 3. Tunes with a nice steady beat for walking the halls. Thoughts?

Jami Has a Revelation

So this post started out about how I have watched Twilight twice on DVD, both times right before bed and had weird, but not scary, dreams. I was about to suggest it's the Buffy Effect when BAM! It all became so clear - it's not just coincidence. Why, you must ask yourself, are vampires suddenly so prevalent in pop culture? I mean, sure, the idea of vampires has been around for quite some time, but haven't you noticed that the vampires lately are just a bit different. Sure, they kill humans and drink blood, but it's not because they want to; it's a biological urge that they can learn to overcome. They don't want to be monsters and murders, at least not all of them, they just have to work on not killing people. Is this some sort of cosmic accident? Of course not. It's a vast conspiracy to increase our comfort level with vampires. What better way to find easier prey than convincing your lunch that you're deep down, a nice guy? You don't think the Volturi are smart enough to realize that if vampires are nice families of the undead who don't want to kill you, it's gonna be a lot easier to lure you to the house. And just look at Angel, Buffy, and Twilight (I haven't seen True Blood, so I can't speak to that). Not only are the vamps able to overcome being evil, they also are sexy, fun and cool. Insidious! Don't fall for it, friends. Or, don't say I didn't warn you! Joss Whedon, a vampire in disguise or just part of the conspiracy? Discuss.

Jami on Jacko

Any death is a tragedy. Some deaths are tragic because the person didn't get to live enough - a child or someone with a condition that prevented them from living in the way we consider normal. Sometimes the tragedy comes because the person is so deeply loved by friends and family and no matter how old or ill the person is, losing them leaves an irreparable hole in their loved ones lives. For some people, they have so much talent or skill or whatever to offer or they've already given so much joy that losing them means a loss to society. A sudden, unexpected death rips our hearts out, a long lingering illness wrenches our hearts daily. Every death is tragic. I've been thinking about Michael Jackson, not just because of his death but also because the media won't let you not think about him for more than 5 minutes. Farrah Fawcett's death the same day is sad, but certainly far less surprising after her illness. Of course, Jackson was instantly recognizable the world over, both for his talented contributions to the music world and his enduring oddness. When a celebrity dies, it reminds us that you can't be too rich or famous or talented or smart or funny or loved or anything for death. Completely non-discriminating, death comes for us all, regardless of our race,age, gender, status or skill and not caring if we understand or accept it or not. However, with Michael Jackson, part of the tragedy is that his life seemed somehow unreal and awkward. I think it must have been a very lonely life, because how could he have friends while being on tour and recording through his childhood? And then, by the time he's old enough to have control of his own life, he'd never learned to make friends. He'd been told all through his childhood, "you're different, you're special" but not like we tell our children that they are special because of who they are, he was special for what he could do and what he earned for others. He was a sex symbol probably before he could understand what that meant. By the time he could make friends, how could he have had a concept of who to trust or who liked him for himself and not his fame and money, or could he even conceive of that? He couldn't have found a friend close enough to him to say, "You can't do that" or "You need to do this" even when it's hard to say that. Then we witnessed the shockingly sad desperation of a man who never was a child trying to build a childhood for himself. Pedophile? I don't know. Definitely he made some inappropriate choices when it came to how he dealt with children, but I can't say that he molested anyone. He didn't have a friend to say "Michael, it doesn't look right to have 12 year old boys sleep over in your bed." Was he just recreating the slumber parties he missed out on? His years of plastic surgery a quest to be someone else, his bizarre behavior the desperate cries of someone fighting to get back that which had be lost and can never be regained. His music and videos changed the face of pop culture. Clearly he had talent, but in the end, I think that may have been his downfall, or a good part of it. Loved and valued for what he could do, he never got to become who he should have been. It's sad, his life, and his death. For someone who clearly brought entertainment and joy to a wide variety of people, I wonder how much joy he experienced.

Jami Vs. The Former Beauty Queen in the Convertible

I don't know if it's the heat, but there seem to be days designated as crazy/bad driver days, and somehow I never get the notices ahead of time. A few days ago was another one of those particular days, and it started when I almost got creamed by a former beauty queen. Pulling out of a parking lot, going left, I'm always super-careful. I actually HATE making lefts out of parking lots and I'm one of those people you get stuck behind when you're in a hurry and you're screaming "What are you waiting for? I could have fit a double eighteen wheeler in that opening? GO!!!!" I tell you this so that you understand that I don't just dart out. Anyway, I look both directions my normal 130 times, start to drift out, look again and make the turn - and flying around the corner comes a sleek little convertible with a deeply tanned woman driving. We both slam on the brakes (me now in traffic) and she takes the time to throw her hands up and give me a glare of death. And sits there, for a minute, just glaring at me while a minivan bears down on me from the other lane. Finally she goes, I pull the rest of the way out behind - a former Miss Pennsylvania! How do I know? Because her liscense plate had her title and year on it. I am not kidding. Out of respect for the pageant, I won't give you the year, but it was more than 10 years ago. At this point, you're just advertising that you're old and you used to be hot. Then I followed an otherwise fine driver, who drove the entire length of the Liberty Bridge with his hand inexplicibly sticking out of his sun roof. Maybe that hand was too warm. Maybe he was trying to drive his fingernail polish, on that hand only. Maybe he had a question. We'll never know. He pulled it back in before the tunnel, so perhaps he just needed some sun on that hand. Lastly, I again am trying to pull out of a parking lot, this time going right, of course. The car ahead of me is trying to go left, but that's fine. I never mind if you take your time. There's a light at the end of the next block, so I know that soon the traffic will stop, he'll go and I'll go when the light changes again. As the cars begin to line up, stopping at the light, a very large man stops his big red car completely blocking the exit for everyone. Why? Because he was apparently so distracted by waving his blue lollipop around in a very complex pattern. I am not making this up. The car behind him, realizing that a growing line of cars was being blocked in by Lollipop dancer, stopped waaaay far back, in case he noticed his disgression and cared to fix it. Finally, he realizes that his confectionary gyrations are being watched by several annoyed drivers. He looks around, drifts up about an inch, and gives us all a "sorry, what can I do?" shrug. Then he goes back to swinging the candy around. Do we have to pass a law about the use of stick-related treats while driving? If anyone gets a notice that it's crazy/bad driver day, would you just drop me a line? I've been out in the last several, and I'd like to miss at least one. Thanks!

Jami Goes On About Maternity Fashion

You know what I think? That when it's in the upper 80s or higher with approximately a bazillion percent humidity (or so it felt like yesterday, not being a meteorologist, I can't be sure), it should be socially acceptable and even considered attractive for pregnant women to wear whatever they want, wherever they want. And I mean anything. A headpiece with a working sprinkler system, a wet sheet, nothing but some slumber-party-style frozen underwear and a few ice packs, anything that is comfortable. To a grocery store, state of the union address, funeral, wherever. If it's not air-conditioned (and I guess most state of the union addresses are, but if not), you wear whatever keeps you from feeling like you're going to throw up and die from the heat. I have to say I have renewed respect for women in tropical climates who procreate. Sure, there are cultures where it's fine to be naked, but there are just as many places where you have to wear full body coverings, and in those places, you should get a medal for being pregnant and dressed.

Jami is Saddened

First, by the passing of Ed McMahon - he set the standard for wingmen, and if you didn't love Star Search in the 80s, you either weren't alive or are lying. This year's self-mocking Super Bowl commercial is one of the few I still remember a half-year later. Secondly, by the announcement that Jon and Kate Gosselein are beginning divorce proceedings. Any time a marriage ends, it is deeply sad, but Kate, Jon, listen up - you have EIGHT little lives you are destroying. And you can fix it. Yeah, it sucks and things are ugly now, but look at all you've made it through. This part's just for Kate. I like you, I do. I've been one of your biggest advocates when people say snarky things about you, because I get it. You had a bazillion high-maintenance infants and you had to deal however you could, but listen to me- if you love your kids, and I know you do, and you want the very best for them: You are the one with the power to fix this, so do it. I almost cried when I read the quote that "the show must go on." That's bull and you know it. F**k the show, sister, and save your family! Pull the plug, take the hit and make it work. Get Dr. Laura's Proper Care and Feeding books and read them today. And do it. You were a wife before you were a mom and we've all been at that place where we forgot that for a bit, but now it's time to remember. I don't know and I don't care what Jon did - watch the first few seasons of the show and ask yourself if how you treated him made him want to be around, be loving, be helpful and be married to you - would YOU want to come home to that? Honesty time here, one bitch to another, I'm telling you this because I caught myself headed down that path and thank the good Lord I realized it and let me tell you - we have the power, we wives. I believe Jon's a good man. A good man who feels loved, valued and appreciated isn't going anywhere, toots. So both of you - get jobs (one full time, one while the kiddies are in school since they're all going now), get off the air, and get back to being a family. This is your chance to really show the world that no marriage is easy, but it is worthwhile. I'll be praying for you and your kids.

Jami and Father's Day

First let me say that while I am using the apparently traditional "Father's Day" (apostrophe after the r) I still maintain that since we are celebrating more than one father, it should be "Fathers' Day" but maybe that is just me. As you might be aware, I am not a father. I do have a great father, father-in-law and husband who is father to my 1 1/2 children. And for them I am eternally grateful. I am the person, wife and mother I am in part due to my dad. My father-in-law helped raise the wonderful man I married. I can't say enough about how much I appreciate the Husband and love to see him Daddying - he's great at it. But I don't mean to post about me and my fantastic life. I want to remind us that fathers are important. It really frustrates me to see so many children without fathers in their homes and lives. "I don't need a man" - no, but your children do. And not just the next random guy you shack up with, have a baby by and dump. Children need daddies. I'm not going to go get all the studies that show the harm children who don't have a close relationship with their dad get into. And yeah, I know, some people have crappy dads who stay in the house, and abuse them or ignore them or whatever, but all you women out there, let me just say, if you picked a crappy guy to father your kid, that's still at least partially your fault. If you don't want to keep him for at least the next 18-19 years, don't have his baby. Please. I worked with a woman who was talking about her granddaughter - the fifth generation in their family to be an unwed mother. Read that again. Fifth generation. I said I was sorry that she had to go through that, but she got defensive. She wasn't upset. She was bragging. Five generations and they didn't need men and they were all just fine. I asked her, did she have sons and grandsons? Yes, she had a son and two grandsons. "So what you tell them is that women don't need them? That they can go out and impregnate women and walk away?" She said that she'd taught her children responsibility. "But they've heard you say their whole lives that strong women don't need men to raise their babies. I wonder how many grandchildren out there you have that you've never met, because their moms don't need a man." She looked shocked and didn't have reply. I also wonder if her family would have had five generations of good dads if that first woman hadn't chosen a loser and raised her kids without one. Maybe her 19 year old granddaughter would have gone to school, gotten a career and had her first child with a husband when they were in their late 20s, living in their own home, instead of living with her mother, grandmother and other siblings and a couple of their children, all trying to get on their feet? Dads are important.

Jami Vs. The Frills

I'm pretty much in maternity clothes at this point. Sure, I can still wear a few of my bigger t-shirts, and two pair of PJ pants where the elastic had already been wearing out, but in general, I'm in the Mommy-to-be-wear. I didn't want to go buying a whole new wardrobe for the next few months, being that I'm poor and all, so I begged, borrowed and FreeCycled as much as I could get. This means that I mostly didn't pick out my own stuff. And I've noticed a disturbing trend in the tops - frills around the collar. I cannot for the life of me figure out why so many maternity clothes insist on putting a big bow or hunk of lace or perky ruffle right on top, especially for us big girls. My chest is already preceding me into rooms and other zip codes, I don't need to add a big flounce to it. If you somehow missed my huge boobs riding this big ol' belly, is the frou-frou somehow going to clarify it for you? Maybe the thinking is that you're heavier than usual and you want to look feminine. Let me tell you, bub, ain't nothing MORE feminine that being with child. In fact, that's pretty much the definition of "female" - the one that pops out the kids. I assume this is also why so many of the clothes are or include pink. If I'm pregnant, I'm a girl. And I happen to be a girl who isn't crazy about pink. I can't really complain, because I've spent less than $30 total on maternity wear. Maybe if I'd put the money and effort into searching out and buying my own stuff, I'd find plenty of un-frilly, non-pink clothes. But still - hey designers -less frills. Less pink. And how about a maternity bra with built-in air conditioner? Just saying.

Jami Presents: Motherhood, a Tour of Public Restrooms, in Three Acts

One of the parts of motherhood that I don't recall anyone mentioning to me in advance is the extensive knowledge of local restrooms one gains. This happens in three stages: Stage 1: Preggo Mommy Must Pee Now - here I am 6 months into this fantastic adventure called pregnancy and one of the fun little side effects is that I have to pee approximately every 17 minutes, or more if I've been anywhere near any beverage in the past day. This means, that when running errands, I get to go at every single establishment I visit, sometimes more than once. Friends' houses, church, WalMart, library, port-a-john at the park, you name it. If I've been there in the last two months, I can tell you where the ladies' room is. Stage 2: If You're Away From Home, Your Infant Will Poo - the second exciting part of this tour of the loos in the one in which you discover which establishments provide changing tables with bad planning (I'm talking to you, Olive Garden where putting down the table blocks the main door), which has nice ones, which has icky, broken or scary ones, and which has no changing place at all, not counting the floor. Your diaper-wearing angel possesses an innate sense of when is least convenient for changes and chooses those moments to explode. You think I'm joking. Just wait. You'll also learn that you should have packed one more diaper, and forgetting the wipes is more terrifying and disgusting than any horror movie you've ever seen. Stage 3: Potting Training Means Lurking - finally, you think you're through the horrors of extended potty time. You are wrong. Now, you have several new fun activities. Some children refuse to use any unfamiliar potty, meaning that you'll end up with about a bazillion accidents or not leaving the house. Others insist on trying every possible toilet existing in the universe, so you'll be back to the "If I've been there, I know where the bathroom is" Added to these are the exiting additions of Fear of the Self Flusher (these terrify toddlers more than Santa, Costumed Characters and the Boogie Man combined), I Can't Reach the Sink (trying holding a kid and the kind of faucets that have to be held to be on, and using soap, and actually washing), Lurking While He/She Poops (because nothing makes you feel more like a criminal than standing around outside a stall saying "are you done now? Can Mommy PLEASE come in?"), Stalls Are Too Little for Two, and my personal favorite, Announcing to Strangers ("I'm pooping! There's two poops! Mommy is going to pee pee after we flush . . AAHHHHHH IT'S FLUSHING BY ITSELF!!!!!" ) My son also has wandered out of the bathrooms with his behind hanging out of the back of his pants, because he pulled up the front and that's good enough for him. At Giant Eagle, he ran out of the bathroom, pants down, screaming the first time that the autoflusher caught him off guard. Ah motherhood. Nothing like it.

Jami Shows No Weakness

I recently realized how hard it is for me to ask for what I really need, or talk about when things are bad for me. I'd say that I always ask for help and delegate, and that's true - for things that aren't personal. I ask for prayer when we're taking prayer requests - for other people. I'll tell you how really, truly awful my day was - in a humorous story-telling way. I tried, last week, to share a bad day I'd had with friends. But I couldn't do it in the way I had in my head. I'd planned to say "I really hated today and I could use some sympathy and hugs, since I can't drink right now." But instead, I made it story, with each "and then . . .." as the next punchline. I entertained. Because if you can laugh about it, it didn't really bother you, right? You're stronger than it. Wrong. I didn't tell them about how I sat and sobbed and couldn't answer the phone because I was crying too hard. I told them what happened, but not how bad it hurt. I couldn't. I realized, I don't. Not anymore. Yes, I can point to the times I've shared and been shot down, or put down, or ignored, but shouldn't that just mean that I should be more judicious in who I share with? If I know that if I go to Joe when I need a shoulder to cry on and he just always one-ups me, that I should go to someone else? Instead, I seemed to have internalized that it means I can't go to anyone. Or if I find one person, I could overwhelm him/her. Who wants to be the only person I can dump on? That's not going to last. I used to cry all the time, in front of whoever happened to be around. When I stopped that, I think I over-corrected. I can't show that side of me outside my house, anymore. I prove to myself over and over that I am stronger than that. That I don't need to share or ask for help. The rare times I break down I am mortified, and will do whatever I can to recover as fast as I can, trying to make it a joke as fast as I can. Laughing trumps crying. And at that point, I don't want you to give me sympathy, because then it all comes pouring out and I can't hold it back and then I see that pathetic girl I used to be, crying in front of everyone in third grade. I don't know what the point of this post is, except that sometimes I really do need help. And sometimes when I'm laughing, it's so I don't cry.

Jami Holds On

As I mentioned previously, I've been cleaning out the attic. I got stuck, though, on two boxes of memorabilia, for lack of a better word. Just plain old stuff, really, from my life that I couldn't bear to throw away. When we moved here (11 years ago) I had gone through the boxes and pitched a lot of it, and now I'm looking again. Intellectually it's easy for me to say that this is trash. But emotionally, I can't pitch it. And I should, I think The first thing I pulled out was a Christmas card from the girl that used to be my best friend. Or maybe more accurately I should say that I believed her to be my best friend. I haven't got up the courage to blog about her yet, it's just too personal, even for me. But I held this card and smiled, because I remember how I felt about her when she gave it to me. I remember the late night giggles and the secrets shared. I recall adventures and inside jokes and feeling like the most important person in someone's world. But that also leads me to the great betrayal, and the day I learned how little she cared about me. The heart-break of losing a childhood best friend. So why do I keep this card? I can remember all that without it. My sons won't cherish this card as a family keepsake, most likely, they'll never even hear her name. But I slid it back in the box, I glanced it and the few other items I could see, and I know I can't throw them out. I can't blame pregnancy hormones (though that doesn't help, I'm sure) because I couldn't throw these things away last decade either. Will I part with them in another 10 years, or will they still be in the box, in tact when my relatives clean out my things when I'm gone? When is it the right time to say goodbye to these things of yesterday?

Jami Says "So What?"

Really, what's the problem with this funeral director taking a bit off the bottom so the guy fits? Seems like the most logical solution to me. We had to pay extra for a larger casket for an overweight relative, and I think we'd have been better off (especially the pall bearers) if this sort of option had been available. And it's his FEET for crying out loud, not like he's using them now. Or that you check them out at the viewing - "hey, did you see the shoes Bob was wearing in his casket? Whew - those are some sweet kicks." Just sayin' - you already fined him, give the guy back his license and make him get family consent before trimming the customers.

Jami Nests

I definitely am feeling the nesting urge now. You may remember a few months ago when I attempted to permanently injure myself and trap Eddie and me upstairs by moving a computer desk. Lately, I've been itching to finish switching Eddie's room and the play room. To do that, I have to move the file cabinet in Eddie's room anywhere else. (By that I mean, the Husband has to move it). But to where? Well, the best option seems to be into one of our large closets, which would be fine, except that they are filled with the stuff I haven't put in the attic. Which is there because for the last 11 years, I've been pretty much randomly tossing things into the attic with the idea that we would never fill this giant open space. But, as of about a year ago, it was so stuffed with junk that going up there required a map, machete and Sherpa. So I spent this morning reorganizing the attic. I've thrown out: - computer box from the computer that died about 5 years ago. -all the boxes from the shower gifts from Eddie's baby shower. (My original plan had been to store all the things he grew out of in their original boxes. This is like trying to store Jello in the original envelope after you've made it.) -my text books from college classes that I no longer remember taking. -an estimated 5 million amazon.com boxes. -a box of Christmas cards, unused, with no envelopes. -10ish ripped, dirty or otherwise unusable gift-bags -5 cords from unknown appliances. -instruction books to 3 things we no longer have. I brought down from the attic: - a cute pair of sandals put there for no apparent reason -a small box of McDonalds toys that kept Eddie quiet for over an hour ("Look, Eddie! New toys!") -three giant garbage bags of stuffed animals, mine from my childhood. I had always planned to use them to decorate my kids' nursery. Then, I worried they'd be too dirty for a baby, now I realize the last thing we need is more toys. They are going to FreeCycle. -a box of seashell, starfish and sand dollars collected over many trips to Florida, also being FreeCycled -My last unopened wedding shower gift!!! Only 14 years after the shower . . . a box of tupperware knock-offs I put away for when my original set wore out/got lost. And forgot. But now, I have all bowls, no lids, so I'll be pitching them and using my wedding tupperware. Still quite a bit to go, but man, you can see the back of the attic there.

Jami in the Garden

Most people who have known me well, or for a long time are probably surprised by my love and devotion to my cute little garden. As most of you may know I am not generally fond of: 1. Getting dirty 2. Physical labor 3. Raw veggies So a vegetable garden doesn't seem to be the sort of thing one would expect to light my fire. But somewhere along the way, that happened. For those who don't recall, last year I had a teeny-tiny garden. It covered less than 4 square feet and held: 3 monster zucchini "plants" which were actually 12 separate plants which had bonded to form large zucchini conglomerates, several snap pea vines, which I discovered too late were supposed to have something to climb and several random pepper plants. I had approached the whole thing with some apprehension, but when things started sprouting, I was beside myself. When I harvested, cooked and ate my first zucchini, I felt like calling friends over to celebrate (of course, then I'd've had to share my zucchini.) This year, I requested a larger garden for Mothers Day. The Husband and Eddie built me a larger garden. I currently have growing: lettuce, onions, garlic, tomatoes, zucchini, snap peas (with climbing apparatus), corn, carrots and possibly some broccoli. The chives and basil refused to grow. And, even a raspberry bush, thanks to my dad. I find peace weeding my garden. Because I followed the plans in Square Foot Gardening, weeding is ridiculously easy and I do it almost every morning. Work out, then stroll out to the garden to remove the offending interlopers. I love to water the garden: Here my little loves, have a drink. I thrill to watch the first little green pokes out of the soil, then each new development. It's almost like having pets who don't move much and that you will someday eat. This year I started composting, to feed my little guys. I bought some vegetable food to encourage them to make lots of yummy things for me. I can't wait to see my crops. Oh - and why do I grow veggies and not flowers, which I love? Because I'm not putting this much time and effort into something I can't eat. Weird, I suppose. But that's me.