The Very Important Thoughts Of Jami

Jami

2011-11-26T19:21:00.001-05:00

Test test test test test

Jami is Annoyed with Blogger

2011-04-13T00:33:00.004-04:00

Hello fans. In case anyone is following here, I am moving my blog at least temporarily to my FaceBook page, as Blogger keeps deleting my paragraph breaks for no reason I can discern. Anyone else having this problem? Or know how to deal with it without having to add them all in manually?

Jami Cries It Out

2011-03-31T13:35:00.004-04:00

I have an 18-month old who still gets up once in the middle of the night, and gets nursed and rocked back to sleep. My older son was rocked to sleep until he was almost 20 months old, and then again when he moved to the bed at age 3 - more rocking to sleep. If I mention these facts to people, I am often advised about the idea of "crying it out" or "Ferberizing" (which by the way, is a bit bastardized from what Dr. Ferber intended) and, as politely as possible, I change the subject. Because I hate the idea of babies left to cry.

I'm blogging about this today because yesterday I heard a most profound assessment of the idea on a very unlikely place - Law and Order: UK. I love the L&Os and while I can't watch SVU after having children, the rest are quality watching. The BBC's one is especially fun because it recycles old original episodes, but tweaks them. Good fun. Anyhow, several of the police officers were discussing the merits of crying it out. One said that it teaches babies to sleep on their own, and another replied that it merely teaches them that Mommy and Daddy aren't coming no matter how hard they cry, and that crying is their only way to communicate (which is true, but not the profound part). Then he said to another officer: "I wouldn't leave you in a room alone if I saw you crying." And BINGO - that is exactly what I had been trying to get across to people. It's simple compassion. I hope that if I were sitting alone crying and you could hear me from the next room, you would at least pop your head in and ask what's wrong. You might even come sit next to me and put your hand on my shoulder or arm. If I said, "I'm just lonely and I don't want to be alone right now" wouldn't you stay with me? If a baby is crying in his crib in the middle of the night, in the dark and without the capability to understand that you are just in the next room, how can you say "Oh, just let him cry until he's so exhausted he falls asleep" and not realize you are doing the same thing?

I'm not saying that I instant scoop the baby up when he makes the faintest noise, in fact, when he cries at night, I listen for a few minutes to see if he is going back to sleep, which he sometimes does. Then, if he isn't going to sleep, I get up, use the bathroom and usually get a drink of water before I get him, because I'll need both of those if I'm going to nurse and rock him.

When Eddie was old enough to understand what I was saying, I started using the Five Minute Method, which worked very well for him and, in my opinion, reinforced the idea that he was not going to be abandoned to cry it out alone, no matter what. There is plenty of debate about crying it out and a ton of research supporting both sides, really. I would say that IMO, the research shows that "normal" cry it out babies (not the ones who are allowed to cry for hours, unattended, regularly) have no long term damage, however I also think that the studies so that it is a very stressful and generally unnecessary event. I believe that most parents want to do what is best for their child, to the best of their ability. I imagine that most babies who have been through crying it out are just fine. But that doesn't mean it's right for our family.

Jami Gets a Time Out

2011-03-28T23:29:00.003-04:00

It's 11:30pm and I'm enjoying the sound of my typing, because normally I can't hear it. Usually when I am trying to get something done on the computer, Sesame Street is blaring in the background and both boys have decided that although they've been completely engrossed in whatever activity they've been doing and they begged to watch Sesame Street - they need my immediate and undivided attention. But now, both boys are sleeping, the Husband is getting ready for bed and I get a few moments with the TV off and just the soothing clickety-clack of my thoughts being committed to computer screen. Ahhhhh. Today I woke up annoyed. No real reason, even got more sleep than most nights, but none-the-less, I woke up already with my back up. A few minor Argh moments didn't help: car wouldn't start, kids not cooperative, tripped on the stairs and skinned my knee - twice. Good things happened, too, as is usually the case for those who look for them. Father-in-law fixed the car, kids played together, nice sunny day (even if it was too cold). But I couldn't shake the blahs. After dinner when I looked at the dishes on the table and thought about trying to put it all away while the baby screamed to be nursed, I decided I needed to go into Time Out. I sent myself to my room. In the dark, quiet room I crawled into my bed and wrapped my Woobie around my head. Instant relief. I never got it before. Never had a particular lovey or blankey or stuffed thing growing up. But somehow ended up with a Woobie as an adult and now I get it. I could have thrown the blankets up over my head, same basic effect, but it wouldn't have been my Woobie, and it wouldn't have worked as well. 15 minutes in the bed with the Woobie blocking out the world and I felt 100% better. Went downstairs to find that the Husband and boys (but mostly husband) had cleaned up after dinner! It's the magic of the Woobie. To read the story of me getting my Woobie as an adult, see here and here.

Jami Recommends Melty Cheese

2011-03-24T13:25:00.000-04:00

Thought I'd change gears here from birthin' babies of the last few posts to something truly important: grilled cheese sandwiches. I love grilled cheeses. They may be one of nature's most perfect food. They are fairly hard to mess up, too. Even though there is nothing wrong with the basic, buttered white bread with American cheese in the middle, I thought I'd post a few of my favorite recipes, and so improve your world. And I made up names for them. Unless otherwise mentioned I use generic wheat bread, and I butter the bread, no sprays here. Columbus Day Special (Italy meets America) This one is great with Italian bread, too. After you butter the bread, sprinkle it with garlic salt. Inside: several slices of sandwich pepperoni with American cheese on both sides. Gooey with a Kick 1 slice pepperjack cheese, 1 slice Velveeta. I like to put a pot lid over this to ensure it gets very melty. God bless the inventor of Velveeta. Fancy Schmancy Do this one when you have impressively healthy bread and call it a health food - instead of butter, use olive oil and sprinkle with oregano. Inside, use provolone and an additional dash of oregano. Sunrise in My Hammy (a breakfast grilled cheese) Standard outside; layer the inside like this: American cheese, chipped ham, fried egg, bacon, American cheese. This is a challenge to flip, since the layers aren't all held together with cheese. If you don't know what chipped ham is, come visit Pittsburgh. Feel free to share your favorites! Bon Appetit

Jami Corrects Some Falsehoods, Part II

2011-03-23T23:11:00.003-04:00

Okay, meant to get back to this sooner, but here are a few more not-quite-true things I have heard at births, and one another doula recently heard and related to me. Your digestive system stops when your contractions start - that's why you can't have anything by mouth. Wow. Where to start on this one. 1. Your body can and does digest food while you are in labor. This is why women may poo while delivering, because their body has been processing whatever is in there. It's why they get hungry. Now, it IS true that plenty of laboring women puke at some point during labor, so it's wise to consider that when making food choices (such as: chicken soup = good, spicy loaded nachos = maybe not so much). 2. The reason most hospitals won't let you have anything by mouth is for the chance that you might have to have a cesarean section and if you do, it might be so bad that you have to be put under general anesthesia and you might in that circumstance vomit while under and you might in that case aspirate some of the vomit. Also, one nurse told me candidly "We don't want to worry about women throwing up, it's gross." The sad thing is your body is doing hard work and just like you wouldn't run a race without fueling properly, you shouldn't ignore the signals you are getting to feed yourself when you are doing that sort of work. You have to have an IV to give birth - you might need fluids. Oh yes. this came from a woman who has had children and was shocked to hear that some women don't want an IV in. I personally have no problem with hospital using a heparin lock if it means they feel better about it, but you know what - lots and lots and lots of women have had healthy babies without an IV attached to them. Turns out if you need fluids, you can actually correct that situation by drinking some water, juice or even Gatorade - actually most fluids will work. Your body can only get so far on its own and then you need Pitocin to finish it. This is the one I got secondhand, but had to mention it. Good grief people, really?? Do you think the billions of people born in this word before the invention of pitocin or in places where it's not available are imaginary? Sigh. I can't even go on for this one. And finally a qualified half-truth: Epidurals make the birth go faster. Well - they can. Or they can slow you down and even stop your labor. In the past 2 weeks, I've been to 2 births without epidurals. Both labors were less than 12 hours total and both pushed for less than 20 minutes. Healthy babies, healthy mamas. I was at a birth with an epidural (not mine) which lasted more than 12 hours after the epidural, which came more than 12 hours into the birth and there were several hours of pushing. I've seen women without epidurals push over an hour, I've seen women with epidurals push 20 minutes. Epidurals aren't bad or good. They are a tool and used properly can greatly improve a situation; misused can cause some problems. Might do some more another time, hope you feel better educated!

Jami Corrects Some Falsehoods, The Beginning of a Series

2011-03-11T21:26:00.006-05:00

Hello dear readers! As you might know if you're on FaceBook, I have given up the games for Lent, meaning I have more computer-fooling-around time. You probably also know that I am a birth doula and I'm all about the healthy, happy births. So, combining my love of blogging with my love of birthing (especially when not the one actually pushing the baby out) I present to you a several part series... Totally Wrong Things I've Heard People Say About Birth In this series, I will take statements real-live people have said to me about the birthing process and explain why they are wrong and often ridiculous. You shouldn't read/take classes/look on the Internet because the more you see/hear the more scared you'll make yourself. I am doing this one first because it is just so very, completely and totally inaccurate. Now, you shouldn't dwell on reading all the bazillion things that can go wrong, especially the extremely rare ones, but knowing about what your body does during labor and delivery makes the process less scary. Let's look at it from a different perspective - you're going to go into a haunted house around Halloween (the fun kind, not a "real" haunted house) and I said to you, "As you go around the first corner, a man in a mask jumps out and yells. The second door on the right will fly open and a fake bat on wire will zip out. " and so on. You might still jump when you're startled or you might think the guy's mask is scary looking, but knowing what is coming makes it less scary, right? Same basic idea. Or, look at it this way - if I tell you that I'm about to smack you and you're ready for it, it's going to be a lot less traumatic than if I just walk up to you and swat you a good one, even if the force of the blow is the same. Everyone is groggy after they give birth and you'll be more groggy if you don't have any pain medication. Wow. So not true and said by an otherwise intelligent and very good nurse. Some women might feel in a bit of a fog after giving birth, but certainly not everyone, and women who do it without pain meds are whatever the opposite of groggy is. If you've never seen a woman give birth without accepting pain medication, let me tell you -what they are is sort of giddy and sometimes hyper-alert. They might be tired, relieved, hungry, but never, never groggy, not in my experience. You should schedule an induction so you get the doctor you like best. Whooo boy. Several things wrong with this. First of all, being induced doesn't guarantee your time line for your birth. My own personal experience bears that out, I went through 4 shifts of health care providers, so even if I had gone in to have the one I liked best, she'd have been loooooong gone by the time my kid popped out. Second, inductions fail; then most likely you end up in a cesarean section, which means more complications, longer recovery and higher risk to you and your baby. Third, babies induced before they are fully cooked can have higher rates of various problems. Fourth, induction generally means Pitocin - and Pitocin contractions can be a bit more intense than the ones your body does on its own. Not always, but can be. Being induced is a necessity in some cases, but you might not get the outcome you want - is it worth the risk? Besides at most hospitals you will see your doctor a few minutes every few hours. Your doctor isn't going to be hanging out in your room with you, so if you get the one you don't like as much, you're not going to see him/her much, anyway. So that's part one, we'll address some more myths and mistaken statements in the next several days, and I'd love for anyone else to contribute who has heard these prevalent fallacies.

Jami and the Day the Cabinets Fell

2011-03-04T14:06:00.002-05:00

The whole family was sitting on the couch when we heard a bangity-bang-bang noise from the kitchen. The Husband and I jumped up and ran in to find two of the kitchen cabinets on the floor, spilling their kitchen-y guts on the floor. The bangity part was the middle cabinet falling off of the wall, and the bang-bang was it pulling the right cabinet along with it, which also bounced off the counter on the way down. My first words: "Oh no! My iPod!" because it had been in its speaker dock on the counter. But it's totally fine. In fact, almost everything is totally fine. Besides the holes in the wall and the cabinets sitting on the kitchen floor, after the clean up, the casualty list is shockingly short: the lid on the corn syrup bottle cracked. 1 fake tupperware lid broke. Some baking soda spilled. Our stove-top corn popper has a smallish dent and the really old filthy thing that the Husband made years ago to marinade meat "properly" (don't ask) is destroyed. And that's it. As I cleaned it up, I realized that the middle cabinet (the one that fell) had been bolted to the one on the right. The middle one had empty tupperware in it. The one on the right, all the baking stuff (baking soda, vanilla, sprinkles, brown sugar). Had it been bolted to the other side - that one has all heavy glass mugs and then wine and water goblets. This might be enough to convince some people that God was watching out for us today, but let me lay the rest on you: - I cooked lunch an hour earlier today, because I hadn't had time to eat breakfast and I was starving. Normally, I would have been standing in front of that cabinet when it fell. - The Husband wasn't working today, so I would have been home alone with the kids. - When I'm cooking, Finn likes to play on the floor next to me, where the heavier cabinet ended up. - Because I wasn't cooking, the burners were all off, and the middle cabinet which was right above it, didn't drop its contents onto a lit stove. - Since we'd eaten early and already finished clean up, the dishwasher was moved off to the side where it hooks in to run, or it would have been in the path of the cabinet. SO - on a normal Friday afternoon, Finn and I would have been in the kitchen cooking when the cabinet fell. The bigger one would have hit him, and the smaller one would have come across the burners and hit me, knocking me into the dishwasher. Eddie might or might not have been in the kitchen and no other adults would have been home. You might say it's a whole lot of lucky coincidences, but I don't put much stock in either luck or coincidence. On the upside, I hadn't cleaned out the baking cabinet in quite sometime because of its awkward position, and it was way easier to sort the contents out sitting on the floor. Both of the tops of them got the best cleaning ever, since even on the step stool I can't see the tops. And my iPod and the speakers are fine. Don't know why the cabinets fell (the Husband's dad is coming over and the menfolk can inspect it and deal with that), but I know Who was watching over us when they did.

Jami Donates Some Advice

2011-02-24T11:58:00.003-05:00

I won't try to take credit for being the world's most generous person. I give when I can, and to things that I care about or believe in. I donate when there are various drives, like when the mail carriers are collecting canned goods or whatever. I give clothes and various household things to the VVA and I freecycle, which is sort of like donating, but not tax deductible. Anyway, I make this point because one thing that really shreds my cheese is what I call Fake Donating. Fake Donating is giving something that is unusable. I don't know if people do it to look good or convince themselves that they've done good but it's just wrong. Every year my MOPS group has a giant flea market. People donate stuff and we sell it. We usually get tons of donations, for which we are immensely grateful. But the Fake Donations make me crazy. Last year during sorting, I saw a toy truck with no wheels. Look, that's garbage. Even people on a limited income aren't going to buy their kid a plastic truck with no wheels. Stuff that's missing parts, clothes that are seriously stained or torn, broken items - that's really and truly junk, not junk sale junque. So, instead of being a useful donation, it's one more thing that we had to sort and then throw away for you. It's anti-helpful. The Husband's business had a food drive for Thanksgiving. They asked customers to donate Thanksgiving type non-perishables, that would be given to a local ministry where people know they can come and get complete fixings for their holiday meal. Now, I know that we all give the food we don't like to food banks, and honestly, I don't have a problem with that. I hate green beans and I'll gladly donate a few cans. Other people like green beans. They enjoy eating them. Green beans are food. But, for this particular drive people donated several bags of expired foods. That's wrong. They might still be okay to eat, and yes, beggars can't be choosers, but that means they don't get to choose the brands or whatever, not that they get to choose whether or not to try something that might give them severe abdominal pain, okay? I won't even mention that some of the things donated were not really Thanksgiving-y, because hey - if you need food, you need food and just because peanut butter isn't a traditional Thanksgiving treat, it's probably more useful to the family than a box of stuffing mix, but jelly that expired 3 months ago - FAIL. You're not being generous - you're offloading stuff you should have used or thrown away. If you think it's probably still okay to eat, buy a new one for donating and eat the expired one yourself. When I taught Sunday School, my classroom was a constant receptacle for large unwanted crap. Broken TVs, odd lamps, clocks with no batteries - why do you think the church in general or youth groups in specific want these? Boxes of old magazines are great for crafts... if they are asked for. But piles of your subscriptions for the last 10 years are not helpful. So please, donate. Donate what you can to the causes you think deserve it. Give a can of green beans to someone other than me. But don't just rain your trash on charities; use a little discrimination. Fake Donating is really taking from those charities, because they waste time, energy and even money on getting rid of your "donations". Thank you.

Jami's Guide to Courtroom Fashion

2011-02-23T23:30:00.003-05:00

After watching several recent episodes of Judge Judy and the People's Court, just let me suggest a few fashion tips for if you need to go to court. For the ladies: 1. Leggings and thigh-high boots might seem okay since you get to stand behind the podium most of the time, but they're not. 2. Micro mini-skirts don't make you look like a respectable person. Also if you are older than 20 or heavier than a size 20, you shouldn't wear them outside your own house; wear them in court and it basically is lying by clothing. 3. If you're trying to explain how poor you are, wear earrings smaller than your head and try to keep the jewelry, fake or not, to less than Little Richard would find garish. For the gentlemen: 1. Just because it's clean doesn't mean a T shirt is okay for court. It should also not have tears, holes, old stains, naked ladies, cuss words or frayed strings on it. A button-down shirt may be hard to locate, but give it a shot for court. 2. Ties are optional, but wear them with a collared shirt if you are going to wear them. 3. Don't wear shorts. Come on. This should be a gimme. 4. Sandals on guys are never for indoors. And rarely look good outdoors, either. For everyone: 1. Unless the case involves injuries to these parts, the following body parts should not be on display in court: Shoulders, belly buttons, small of the back (even if you have a really rad tramp stamp), anything a bathing suit should cover, arm pits and the middle of your chest. 2. Don't wear anything you cut the sleeves or legs off of yourself. 3. You think wearing sunglasses in court makes you look cool, but you are mistaken. 4. If you are wearing something with feathers, it's probably wrong. Special shout-out to the guy who was workin' the pinstriped tux on the People's Court. Totally fly, but dude, even though it's televised, it's still small claims court, not the prom.

Jami's Personal Space Rules

2011-01-30T13:54:00.001-05:00

Let's talk personal space. It's true that in different cultures the rules of personal space are different. And we all have our levels of comfort depending on the situation. But I seem to have two levels - Stranger Danger (which includes casual acquaintances and coworkers) and Inner Circle. Basically, from the time I meet you until I decide that we are good friends, you need to be outside easy touching range. By this I mean, if you can touch me without leaning or moving forward to do so, you are too close. It sets off my TOO CLOSE alarm inside my head. The alarm has nothing to do with how scary you look or how large or anything. I remember meeting a future coworker at an office party. The boss introduced me to this very sweet, middle-aged, short and soft-looking lady who immediately hugged me. My alarm went off so loudly inside my head, I feared that others were hearing it. Boss: "What's that noise?" Me: "What noise? I don't hear any alarm bells." Once you're in the circle, you can (practically) sit on top of me without me minding. I am a hugger, but only once we are at that point. I had a group of friends in high school that clumped together like a pack of puppies, and I loved that. Leaning up against each other, walking arm-in-arm, piling on the couch - it rocks. Maybe I'm odd and everyone else has stages. You can be this far from me, then this far, then closer - like wildlife approaching an unknown. But for me, it's just the two (or maybe three for people that I don't even want to be in the same zip code with, like OJ Simpson or the State Farm Guy). No gradations, no negotiation. Be warned then. If you keep advancing on me because I'm edging away, you're not welcome in the Inner Circle yet. If I invite you to share my chair - you're in. UPDATE: I can't figure out how to get the Dilbert to fit in the blog, at least on my computer. Here's a link to the Dilbert site.

Jami and the Undesirable Travel Destinations

2011-01-29T10:54:00.008-05:00

Many people have a so-called "bucket list" and/or a list of places they want to be sure to visit during their lifetime. I could write about the exotic locales I dream of exploring, but I thought I'd go the other way today and give you, my beloved reader(s), the Places I Can Die Without Seeing: 10. Idaho - I'm sure it's got many fine and interesting sites. Probably some nice scenery or attractions and good diners. Maybe a few good places to fish and some nice campgrounds. I understand they make the best potatoes. I don't have anything in particular against Idaho, I just don't have a burning desire to spend time there. 9. The Sulabh International Museum of Toilets - Sure, I'd like to visit India. But, I think if I'm in New Delhi, I am going to give this particular attraction a miss. Besides the fact that there is an online tour (coming soon!), I think that I would spend most of my visit wondering what would inspire someone to begin such a museum and who has to clean all the toilets. So I'll skip this one. 8. Euro Disney - enough said. 7. Untamed Jungle Wilderness (anywhere)- I'm not a big nature girl and I definitely don't want to go anywhere that doesn't have roads and hotels. I don't ever need to machete my way through anywhere or discover a new and exciting species of bug. 6. Bosnia - When I think of visiting Europe, I think of countries with rich and interesting history, beautiful buildings, delicious food. I am not sure what Bosnian cuisine entails, but I think I can give it a miss. Maybe the war is settled down, but I don't feel like I need to be there to verify. Didn't really have much desire to visit it when it was Yugoslavia, and have less desire now. 5. Nigeria - I am sure there are many lovely and interesting parts of Africa, but this is one I think I can miss. It seems to be mostly people with unfortunate souls who have had rich and powerful relatives pass away leaving large sums of money that have to be secreted out of the country. How would I know if the Wallet Inspector asking to see my purse was the real Wallet Inspector? Pass. 4. Death Valley - Honestly, I'd have to say that anywhere that has "Death" in the name is probably a good place to avoid. And while I hate being cold, I think I could miss out on a giant overheated sandbox. Speaking of which..... 3. Tehran - right in the middle of another giant overheated sandbox, but this one is filled with unrest and heavy armed people. They don't care much for Americans, especially not American Christian women who don't wear veils and speak their minds. 2. Mt. Everest - people die on this mountain for no good reason, because there is no good reason to be on this mountain. Those weirdos who all but kill themselves "because it's there" need to reevaluate their priorities. Yes, I know there are Sherpas who run up it for fun before breakfast, but I'm not one, and neither are you. And when you get stuck halfway down and your eyeballs are freezing in the sockets (I read an account of someone who actually lived that) someone else has to risk their life to save yours. Idiot. 1. Antarctica - there is absolutely no draw here for me at all. Even if man had not yet set foot on this continent, I wouldn't be interested in being first. I don't care about whatever scientific whatnots are going on down there or how adorable penguins are. It's a giant block of ice, and the warmest it gets is still ridiculously cold. Pretty much the only thing that could ever make me change my mind about a visit would be extreme global warming that melts the whole thing and reveals a fantastic beach, which seems less than likely. So, sorry, Antarctica, but we shall never meet.

Jami and the Dad and Donut Day Flyer

2011-01-28T16:55:00.004-05:00

Eddie's preschool has "Donut with Dad" day coming up soon. The school asks dads to bring the kids to drop off and spend 20 minutes having a doughnut and cup of juice in the classroom with their child. They take a picture (last year it was made into a magnet) and I guess, show off their class work or something. The flyer says that if Dad can't make it, send Mom or another friend or relative. Which makes sense, some kids may not have dads around and some dads may just not be able to make it on a weekday morning. But the saddest line is the last one on the page: "If no one can attend with your child, please let us know ahead of time." Okay, if there is no one in your family or friends group who can take 1/2 hour out of their day (with more than 2 weeks notice) to spend with your child, then you need to seriously re-evaluate your life. I am not joking or being snide; I am too serious about that to even make a clever simile. If you know me, you probably already know my stance on child-rearing, but to sum up: if you have children - raise them. You don't have to never leave your child's sight, I make liberal use of family members who love my kids. They help with babysitting or drop-off/pick-up and what have you. So I'm not suggesting that you risk getting fired to have a quick doughnut with the munchkins, but no one?? Not a family member, friend, neighbor, nanny or anything?? The fact that it's on the flyer means that it must have happened. Wow, that must make your child feel super-loved and important. "Sorry honey, I know that every other child in your class will have a visitor in class, but I'm sur the teacher can dig up a stranger to be your friend." Who the heck is dropping your kid off? I am not a perfect parent. I'm not an expert. I just can't concieve of a preschooler finding out that there is no one in this world for whom he is a priority. Heartbreaking.

Jami and the Not Great Ideas

2011-01-24T22:32:00.005-05:00

I don't know if this happens to you, but now and then I have an idea in a dream that (in the dream) is this brilliant, life-changing, bazillion dollar idea. I wake up and in those first few just-awake moments, I'm excited about the idea. Then, as my brain shakes off the last of the sleep dust, I realize how unbelievably ridiculous the idea is. My most favorite example of this took place a few years ago when I dreamt that I tried drinking from Eddie's baby bottle, and it was soooooo fun. I couldn't believe that no one had marketed this to adults: fun to use, totally non-spill, you could do them in all colors and styles and you know - favorite teams, blah, blah. I was going to make and market these Adult Bottles (had to come up with a better name) and if you tried it once, you'd buy half a dozen at least. I'd be wealthy beyond my wildest dreams. When I woke up, I was still fairly psyched. Sure, it sounded crazy, but I vividly remembered how much fun I'd had drinking my Diet Coke. I went so far as to go down to the kitchen and try some juice from the baby's bub. Not nearly as fun. Major disappointment. Last night, I was up for hours with Finn, who decided to party all night instead of sleep. Then I drifted off just in time for him to wake me up again. Because of this, I was in that not-awake-but-not-asleep haze. You know, if you've been there. Anyway, I had to use the bathroom. (Don't worry, this isn't going anywhere gross, promise). It took awhile to quiet Finn and I'd been sort of in-and-out while rocking him. Finally, I take him back to his crib and make a mad dash: I had to go; you know, like the "I am in pain and can't stand up straight" kind of feeling and while I'm using the facility, it hits me: The People need to know that if you have to go really bad, then you should go, because when you do you'll feel so much better. Basically, I felt like I needed to remember, when I woke up, to get the word out: If you have to pee, then you should do so, and you'll feel great relief. It kept ringing in my head "I must tell The People." This morning, when I got up for real, I could still remember the urgency (pun intended) with which I was thinking "I have to get the message out. The People must know this." And I laughed out loud. My great subconscious revelation: going to the bathroom is better than, I guess, uh, holding it until you explode? So there ya go. I've let the world know. If you have to pee - go pee. You're welcome.

Jami and Advancing Appliances

2011-01-21T13:53:00.004-05:00

My friend was telling me about her washer/dryer combo which communicates. I guess basically, the washer tells the dryer what type of laundry (delicates, darks, etc.) and I don't know, how wet they are? and the dryer knows how to dry them the most efficiently. I don't like it. I don't want my appliances talking behind my back. It's like the smart fridge - you know it's just a matter of time before it starts getting all snide ("Hey, might want to lay off the Velveeta, there, Tubbo") and I can't deal with that. I like my appliances to be helpful but dumb, like a dog, not smart but possibly mean, like a cat. A fridge that knows what I'm eating, the Japanese toilets that know waaaayy to much about your "leavings", shower heads that know what each person in the family prefers temperature and pressure-wise depending on time of day (yep, they have that), these are the things that are starting us down the path to destruction. First, we become so dependent on the machines that when the power goes out we can't even wash ourselves and then two, the machines know so much about us that they can kill or control us without much effort: "You want your Velveeta, Fatty? Upgrade my hard drive or you're getting nothing but asparagus." How long would I be able to hold out? Measure it in hours, baby, not even days. And when they communicate? The microwave tells the fridge that I didn't take its advice and nuked up some burritos instead? The phone tells all the kitchen appliances that we ordered pizza (again!); before you know it, we've got a riot on our hands. Then the washing machine tells them about the things we put in there? Nope, this isn't going to go well. So, as we purchase items to "make our lives easier", let's just remember that a nice carving knife is good, an electric knife that detects type of meat and done-ness is just one mobile knife-stand away from dismembering you in your sleep when the robots take over.

Jami and the Overshares

2011-01-19T17:56:00.002-05:00

For whatever reason, I'm one of those people that friends, family and strangers feel the need to share with. It's good and it's bad, depending on the person and what's being shared. I'm a pretty good secret-keeper, and I am sure (for the friends and family, anyway) that may be a part of it. But regardless, I'm that person. Here's a tip, for everyone about talking to "that person" in your life. Just think a smidge before you share, because you can't unshare. A few years ago, having a discussion about fashion (and/or my lack of it) with a friend, she shared with me that she only wears underwear if she's wearing jeans. Everything else, she goes commando. Interesting, but not helpful in my life. Now, when I see her, I don't think "Doesn't Mary look cute in that?" I think "Well, no undies today." I'm not in touch with that friend at the moment, so the chances are low that she'll see this, but if you are reading it - sorry. I can't help myself. I am sure you had a point following the announcement, but whatever point you made is long gone from my head; what I remember is that you don't always wear panties, and for better or worse, I now know when that is. I've had friends, especially in college, share their boy/girlfriends successes and failures in the bedroom. Occasionally, this is to ask for suggestions on dealing with issues (no kidding, one friend asked how to kindly ask her boyfriend to stop whistling during sex) but often, it's just "girl talk" (side note: Guys, you think you talk. You don't. Girls share everything about everything and if you've ever done or said it, her friends all know it. Just saying) and when it's just idle chatter about something particularly unusual or embarrassing, it's stuck in my head forever. So don't tell me that your girlfriend is a crazy bed farter unless you want me to suspect her every time there's a bad smell. I am actually proud that people entrust me with their private thoughts and worries. I am glad to be trusted and trustworthy and to be able to help folks with problems they might not know who else to ask about. But I am just warning you - once it's out there, I can't go putting it back.

Jami's Open Letter To Elsbeth (not her real name)

2011-01-15T09:43:00.001-05:00

My friend, let's call her Elsbeth, has a bad back. Reeeeallly bad. Surgery followed by 6 weeks in bed bad. So I'm trying to think of ways to avoid the surgery, because that's the kind of friend I am. Dear Elsbeth (not your real name), I know you did not care for my idea of whacking your back with a hockey stick and then splinting you on all sides with more hockey sticks and duct tape. Okay, that was a little inconvenient. But last night, as I lay in bed, the answer popped into my head. Dr. Octopus's extra arm thing from Spider-Man 2! It goes right into the spine, holds it in any position that you want and it will enable you to do all the things you love but haven't been able to enjoy because of your back, like stepping over cars, stopping subway trains and throwing little old ladies off of buildings. What mother wouldn't benefit from having extra arms? Not one, I tell you. Now, you might be concerned, if you've seen the movie, about how the arms made Dr. Ock a bit evil. Well, first of, let's just admit that you're well down that path all on your own. Second, the arms only wanted to commit crime to help Dr. Ock complete that big fake sun thing. I know that you have no desire to work on that sort of science-y thing, so how could it go wrong? Would it want you to make an evil casserole? So, Elsbeth, just days before your surgery, I pull out the perfect solution. You're welcome and I know you feel lucky to have me as a friend. Regards, Jami

Jami and the 'Ade

2011-01-14T09:20:00.000-05:00

As I mentioned yesterday, when I'm sick, I am all about the Gatorade. Or Powerade, I'm not a stickler for the brand name. I do care about flavors; citrusy are best, but I'm not opposed to blue and purple. The rest of my life, I couldn't care less if I never had another taste of it, but as soon as my belly starts churning, I'm headed to the grocery store (or sending out The Husband) for some 'Ade.

I don't know if it's psychosamatic, or if there is something in there that just works with my stomach or if there's a voodoo curse that says I can only keep Gatorade down, but if you know I've got a bug and you want to help, bring me the Gatorade, not the soup. Soup is great, don't get me wrong, but I'll be through 3 quarts of my Ade before I even try the soup. And, if you bring me Gatorade, I promise I will remember it forever. You could end up on the news, carving a swastika into a puppy while you burn down an orphange, but I'll be thinking "Yeah, but he brought me Gatorade once, so he's not all bad."

If you see me drinking Gatorade, it means one of three things:

1. I feel like I'm getting sick and I'm heading it off.

2. I've been sick and it's the only thing I can stand to look at.

3.I felt like I was getting sick and I bought a ridiculous amount of it because when I get sick I get convinced that I will never be better. Seriously, one day last week, I upchucked once... and bought 10 1-qt bottles of Powerade. Overkill? Sure. But I was prepared.

Once I start getting better, I want McDonalds chicken nuggets. Don't know why, but they are the ultimate "I think I'm better" food.

Jami and the Day We Brought Eddie Home

2011-01-12T23:36:00.005-05:00

Five years ago today (it was actually Friday the 13th) we brought Eddie home. We got him on the 9th, went through the Embassy on the 11th, but the 13th was the day our plane touched down on US soil and we went through customs - that was the moment I let myself believe it. In Guatemala, everything had gone pretty peachy, legal-stuff-wise. The husband and I had managed to catch some sort of bug (probably on the plane) that caused us each to spend 1 day in the hotel bathroom horking for all we were worth, and gave me a chance to practice my superior Spanish. "Gatorade" in Spanish is "GATORADE" with frantic gesturing at the bottles. Since I knew that "verde" means green and "limon" means lemon guess which flavors we got? I am certain the guy knew that the lemon was actually lemon lime (and to this day, I don't know what the green flavor was) but he was not about to argue the point with the increasingly verde gringo with a fistful of quetzels. I love Gatorade when I'm sick and I'll post on that tomorrow. Anyway, we got embassy approval, we had passports and visas stamped and approved. We had more paper than Dunder Mifflin, and I still worried that something would suddenly derail this journey of more than 2 years. So, when the nice man in the Customs uniform handed us back our papers and waved us through, a million emotions just flooded over me, mostly relief and pure joy. I burst into tears, right there in the concourse, but since we'd been on what they used to call "the baby flight" there were plenty of other sobbing mommies so I didn't stand out too much. Eddie was in the Snugli (my pre-mei tai days) and I just held onto him and sort of blindly followed The Husband who had the wits enough to be trying to find our connecting flight. The rest of that night is a blur of flight delays and phone calls, finding gates and luggage and seats, but I will never forget that moment when I let myself finally believe, when Eddie really and truly was forever ours.

Jami is Sick of Being Sick

2011-01-10T12:36:00.003-05:00

I have had a cold...since September. Not the same cold. I get a cold, I get better, a day or two goes by and BAM - sick again. I don't think it's allergies or the same cold coming back because it's been different. Sometimes it's a headcold. I've had a few rounds of nothing but congestion. Now, my throat is hurting. I'd even think it was psychosamatic if I had anything to gain from it. And, with my awesome imagination, I'd get myself some way cooler fake illness. I'd have my tonsils out if I thought it would help. Heck, I'd have my appendix and gall bladder out if I thought it would help. It's never been bad enough that I'm unable to do the bazillion things I need to do, so I just get more and more behind and when I feel well enough to start to catch up, I get sick again. I feel bad complaining about it, too, because 1. it's not like a serious illness and 2. I'd sound like a broken record. "Hi, how are you? Oh, sick again (eye roll), well, get better soon". People have had it worse than a continuous string of minor ailments. Anyway, I am about 3 nose blows away from going to the airport and getting on the next plane going anywhere warm, because I'm pretty sure that being frozen and having cold and/or wet feet is not helping. Sigh. Time to take the alka-seltzer, at least they make a couple of yummy flavors.

Jami, Back in 2011

2011-01-09T14:34:00.004-05:00

Well, it's been since October since I posted. So how are you? Uh hunh, uh hunh.. really? Oh that's great... anyway... I have written several awesome blog posts in my head at night waiting for Finn to stop nursing and go back to sleep. Somehow, this little monster manages to outlast me and I end up falling asleep with him still attached, to wake up hours later in an awkward neck-or-back-breaking position and attempt to get him back to the crib so I can sleep for a bit before starting the dance again. The good news is that the last few nights, he's slept 5-6 hours for the first shift, an answer to prayer! He's still not really eating food, but for now, the sleeping is blessing enough. Eddie is ruling his 5T class. He is much sought-after for playdates and to make appearances at birthday parties, which is all too much pressure for me. I don't want him to be unpopular, of course, but the responsibility of raising a nice and popular kid - it's daunting. I can't be too surprised, however. Let's face it - he's hilarious, smart and generally a good kid. The teacher tells me that he makes other children take their proper turns and share. So either he's a nice guy or wants to be a cop. I hate cold, snow, ice - basically January through mid-March around these parts. Sigh. Last year we had frozen hell, how about a nice early spring? Like starting next week? Patrick makes an excellent point here, which I have mentioned to a few friends in the past, but not blogged about. Lead the charge, Patrick and I'll back you :D I loved Temple Grandin, the A-Team and the book Matched. Watch the first two and read the third. Thank me later. Been to a few births, including one on Thanksgiving day (though made it home for dinner!) and one last week. Beautiful, healthy babies - lovely new families. I have a great job. So now we're all caught up. I'll be back tomorrow for more discussion.

Jami Thinks You Need Your Head Examined If You Thought That Was Appropriate For Your Daughter

2010-10-29T17:01:00.004-04:00

I get Halloween, at least the dressing up part. Pretending to be something or someone else and acting silly - I can totally get into that. I love the imagination of it, and come on, it's all for fun. Yes, it's all fun, until your grade-schooler looks like a whore. As a whole, we've grown accustomed to the sexy costumes for adult women. I'm not saying that's good or bad, if you're grown, you can dress like a sexy witch or hot nurse or slutty zebra for all I care. Depending on your age and figure you might even be able to carry it. Or you might look ridiculous and pathetic, but if you've reached your majority and you decide in whatever wisdom you've managed to achieve that it's a good choice - have at it. But as much as that's fine for adults, that does not make it hunky-dory for tots. Kids like to do what adults do. That doesn't mean they should. My preschooler would like to drive the car. He thinks he could do it and he really wants to. That doesn't mean I'll let him. So even if your second grader deeply loves the sexy devil costume, that doesn't mean she should wear it. I was deeply shocked by some of the costumes I have seen so far this year. The sexy devil - a girl I'd guess not more than 7 or 8, with full Miss America style pageant make up and teased up hair. Here's a pic of a similar costume. I'm so glad it has keyhole cleavage and is belly-bearing, because it's typically so warm this time of year in most of the US. I'm not sure if it's more disturbing than this one or not. I saw a few scantily clad "witches", a catsuit so tight it would make Halle Berry blush and what I think was supposed to be a Vegas dancer. No, sadly, I am not making any of that up. Most horrifying, in my never-humble opinion, was a girl in an orange mini-dress. She had torn up fishnet stockings and high black heeled shoes, the kind you might refer to (but in reference to a child I never would) as FMPs. The dress had a number printed on the front lapel and a matching orange pillbox-style cap. I looked and looked and looked at her and could not figure out what the heck she was supposed to be. I asked an adult in the group she was with, who apparently was not the girl's mother. She had the decency to look embarrassed, and said "Uh, I think she's a prisoner. You know, like a jail inmate." Sure enough the girl (maybe 10 at the MOST, if she was very tall for her age) turned around and "Department of Corrections" was stenciled on the back. Do I even need to start the list of the things wrong with that??? If I do, please stop reading this now, turn your children into the local fire department and have yourself fixed. Please. I didn't find the link to the children's one and frankly, don't want to see it again, but here's the exact costume she was wearing, on a grown woman - except it is longer on the adult. I feared what would happen if this girl had to bend down to pick up a dropped candy. What's the thinking on the parents' part here?? What is going through your head when your baby girl says she wants to buy 4 inch patent leather heels to go with her nurse outfit and you say "Okay"??? Seriously, I cannot even think of a way to justify that in my head. If you are so unbelievably wussy as to be arguing that "everyone else is doing it" or that "she doesn't know what it means" or some such, put yourself in time out. It's not just how the girls see themselves, what are you advertising when you send her out like that? You know the answer. Man up and tell your daughter "no!" But folks, here's the hard truth. While it should horrify us beyond words that they make such costumes for little girls, they do it because someone will buy it. If no one bought a skimpy outfit for their daughter, next year none would be made, because they corporations only make what they can sell. Look horrified when you see a child dressed like that,especially if the parents are around. I'm all for being nice to kids, but I would never tell that girl that she looked cute or good. There's no need to be rude, but we do girls no favors when we tell them it's okay to dress like that at their age.

Jami Micros Again

2010-09-13T10:14:00.005-04:00

Another microfiction monday. Dang I'm good...

The good folks of Iowa never caught the USSR’s most stylish spies.

Bea’s hat contained the secret plans; Fay’s transmitted them to Sputnik.

Jami Stands

2010-09-10T19:59:00.005-04:00

Nine years ago we went to bed in one world and many of us woke up to a completely new one. A whole life my children will never know. A world in which terrorism was halfway around the world, planes were very occasionally hijacked, but never used as weapons and where we couldn't even remember the last attack on the American mainland. Tomorrow is the ninth anniversary of a world-changing event. One of the saddest things to me is that there is still nothing on the site now called "Ground Zero". To leave that land bare is an insult. Memorial, buildings - something should stand there and say "We have struck, but not destroyed!" I personally think the towers should have been rebuilt similar, but even higher. But nothing? That's reprehensible. We will never forget the events of September 11, 2001 or the lives forever changed, nor should we. I am having my birthday party tomorrow, not to try and act as though the events never happened, but to build new, good memories on that day. Our lives go on and while we pause to remember, we best honor those lost by celebrating what they lost - life. Living joyous lives is our victory over the attackers. We triumph by going on, and after that day of evil, to stand our ground, and after we have done everything, to stand. "And stand with my face to the wind With the storm beating down on this sacred ground If I stand for the grace that I've known For what I believe Then I won't stand alone No I won't stand alone" -Susan Ashton Lyrics Susan Ashton - Stand lyrics

Jami Riding in Cars with Boys

2010-09-09T12:55:00.002-04:00

So I have been participating in an exciting new game show. It's called being in the car with my kids. Here's how it works. I drive the car, trying to pay attention to directions or making a left hand turn at a busy intersection or traffic signs and such and Eddie peppers me with questions that aren't necessarily difficult, but definitely distract when you are focused elsewhere. Here is an actual excerpt from the other day: "What is 19 plus 19? How do the wires from one telephone pole connect to the ones at the next pole? Where do lime trees grow? What rhymes with "giraffe"? What plants grow in the tundra, because it doesn't rain there and it's cold but there are animals so they must eat something." At that last one I gave up. "I don't know. Here's mommy's phone; call your grandfather. He'll know." (He did, it's lichen). Then, for the bonus lightning round, Finn will wake up and start screaming because he's done being in the car seat. This causes Eddie to shout his questions and then when I answer yell "HUNH??" after each sentence. I figure if we actually make it home without getting in a wreck or me stopping and letting the boys out on the side of the road, I win. Cone of silence, where are you???

Jami Starts Microfiction Monday

2010-09-07T10:39:00.003-04:00

Patrick put me onto this - you have 140 characters to tell the story that goes with the picture. Sounds like fun. I can't guarantee I'll get to it every week and yes, I know today is Tuesday, but since yesterday was a holiday, I call it fair.

Looking for his lost parents, Thurston IV realized how the 3-hour tour became 3 years.He wouldn’t live long enough for the colors to appear.

Jami Doesn't Dig the Pain

2010-09-02T00:02:00.003-04:00

The Husband and I are watching Man vs. Food, a show we watch on occasion when a food he's attempting looks particularly gigantic or bizarre. The one we have on here involves hot wings so hot that only 3 people in the world have managed to eat 12. The Scoville rating of these wings is estimated around 1,000,000, though I have to believe that is a gimmick, but it does have a habanero extract sauce, plus is dredged in hot sauce before being breaded. It's hot, is what I'm saying. SPOILER ALERT: he makes it. Then there is a commercial for the next episode where he plans to eat a chili 9x hotter than a habanero pepper. And here's the thing: I don't get it. I like spicy foods. I craved spicy when I was pregnant. Spicy - yes. But burning my tongue until I cry? Um, no. I don't get eating food that causes you pain. I like food. I eat food for fun, not to hurt. It's the same reason I hate weepy-drama chick flicks - I want to be amused, not depressed. Real life is depressing, show me something funny. Plenty of things in life hurt, my food shouldn't be one of them. I don't get tattoos or piercings, I don't run marathons, and I don't slam dance in mosh pits; hurts = no fun. I want my food to be yummers and fun to eat, not melt my face off and in a few hours come shooting out my butt leaving a flaming vapor trail. That's all.

Jami is Almost Out of Bread

2010-08-31T22:50:00.003-04:00

Tomorrow I will be stopping by the grocery store at some point in my errands. I do this because we are almost out of bread. It's not just a fluke, we are somehow, perpetually almost out of bread. We have two states of being here at our house Almost Out of Bread and Out of Bread. That's it. I buy bread. I bring it home and put it in the bread cabinet. Then I walk out of the kitchen and the Bread Gnomes tiptoe in and eat all our bread. There can be no other explanation. Okay, sure, Eddie eats an estimated 14 sandwiches a day (either grilled cheese or PBJ and occasionally steak-um) but still. I am convinced that if the Wonder Bread truck backed itself up to the kitchen door and dumped the entire load into my kitchen to the point where you couldn't get past the fridge because of all the bread, the next morning when I came downstairs for breakfast, we would be Almost Out of Bread. There would be a one folded-over plastic bag, twist tie lost, with the 2 end crusts and a single, lonely non-crust piece left. So, I'll see you tomorrow, at Giant Eagle. I'll be in the bread aisle.

Jami and the Fake Interview

2010-08-28T14:05:00.002-04:00

So I haven't blogged for awhile (again) and was thinking I should, when I read an interview with an author in EW magazine. I liked the questions and have to admit that at this point in my life, it seems very unlikely I will be interviewed by EW. Therefore, I decided to blog my answers. Which classic have you never read, but pretended you did? Ah, I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I have never actually read Little Women. I've read bits of it, I know the story, and I started in once, but I think at the time, I was too young for it. After that, when I would go to pick it up, I'd think I know the story already and then get something else. I need to read it, for real. What book would you use to swat a fly? Hmm, there aren't too many. I think even silly Harlequin romances have their place. I will admit that I hated Ellison's Invisible Man when I read it in 9th grade, but I might not have really "gotten" it. Or I might still hate it. I'll never know because I hated it enough to not give it a second chance. Tell us what your favorite childhood books were. If you want to go waaaay back, the Amelia Bedelia books were probably the first series I was into. I loved the Beezus and Ramona books, Judy Blume, the Hardy Boys (but not Nancy Drew) and sadly, in fifth grade I started sneaking some Stephen King, who is most certainly NOT appropriate reading for an 11-year-old. Are there books you have gone back and read over and over. Short answer: TONS! Long answer: I have loved "The Blue and the Gray" by John Leekly enough to have read 2 copies to pieces. I think it's out of print now, but I might have to find another copy. "Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe" causes me to laugh out loud and tear up every time I read it. The Fletch series and Flynn series by Gregory MacDonald are ridiculously clever and funny. Anne Rule's "Small Sacrifices" is one I can't put down even though it horrifies me. I think I read it over and over trying to make the (true) story make sense. I have a few other favorite authors, but no one standout book among their collections. Is there a book that scared the pants off of you? As I mentioned before, I started reading Stephen King way too young. I read "Christine" in one night too scared to sleep from reading it, but too into it to put it down. I finished at about 4 am and it was one of the first times I remember seeing a sunrise. I think it was the summer after 7th grade. Is there a book you always meant to pick up but never did? I'd like to read some more of the "classics" that I haven't gotten to, "Great Expectations", some of Jane Austen's lesser known books (the ones that haven't been movies yet) and those cat mysteries people seem to love. What do you want to read next? I'd like to get "The Self Sufficient-ish Bible" out of the library, because it sounds like the sort of thing I'd like. Feel free to answer these questions on your blog, unless you expect EW to be calling.

Jami Wants to Know, What's Up with the Dogs?

2010-08-22T17:33:00.003-04:00

This may be one of the most important questions of our day. What's up with the non-talking dogs? I know what you're thinking - aren't dogs supposed to be non-talking? Generally, my answer would be yes, but what I'm referring to here are the many instances where in children's shows/movies every critter talks, except the dogs. You probably first noted this phenomenon with the Mickey Mouse cartoons. You've got talking mice, ducks, cats, cows, and whatever the heck Goofy is, (yes, I know officially he's a "goof" but that doesn't really clear much up, does it?) and yet Pluto, the dog, doesn't talk. He barks, of course, and Mickey seems to able to understand him (in the "What is it, boy? You want a treat?" sense.) Big deal, you say, in Mickey Mouse's Clubhouse, everything talks, except the dog. Who cares? Well, if that were the end of it, not me. Everyone's allowed some creative license, right? But the conspiracy goes so much deeper.... Watch Sesame Street? Who talks on that? Birds, frogs, monsters, grouches, you name it. Who doesn't? That's right, Barkley. The dog!! Even this website notes that while Barkley understands two sign commands, he doesn't speak. But he barks, of course. My son watches a show called Word World. In Word World, things are made of the letters that spell them. Yeah, it makes very little sense, but he's five. The main characters are: Ant, Sheep, Pig, Duck, Bear and Dog. There are also some regular guests: Frog, Bug, Fly, Shark and Cat. Guess which ones talk? If you said "all of them.. except Dog, of course" You'd be right. And then we have the most puzzling of all, Blue's Clue. For the uninformed (meaning, you don't have small children), Blue is an animated dog who has a live-action human friend (Joe or Steve, depending on the season) for whom she leaves clues about what she wants by putting her paw print on things. So, let's say Blue wants to have lemonade (sure, she can, it's a cartoon), she might leave paw prints the following clues: a pitcher with ice, some lemons, sugar. Got it? In Blue's world EVERYTHING talks, not just living things. Her salt and pepper shakers are married and have spice babies (I am not making that up). The mailbox sings. The sidetable drawer talks. With all this, certainly the star of the show, Blue herself can talk, right? Well, no. Only in the spin off, Blue's Room, where even the theme song sounds surprised "Blue can talk!!" Interestingly, in this, she's not animated, she's a puppet. Last example, Max from the Little Mermaid. All the creatures in that talk and sing and conspire - Max, the prince's dog, just barks and drools. What's up with that? Is it some sort of conspiracy? If so, why? I just know, it seems sinister.

Jami Feels Disrespected

2010-07-31T14:05:00.004-04:00

I'll admit it, I'm a sucker for the "Join our email clubs for great deals". I'd guess I'm probably in 20 of them for local restaurants or other fun places. I do use the coupons if I'm going out anyway, which considering our current entertainment budget is not really that often. But I read the offers, I print the coupons if I think I *might* use them, and yes, having a coupon makes me more likely to patronize your establishment. So we all win. But I'm calling out Papa John's. Dude, I love your pizza and I more than love the garlic sauce (and yes, I'm aware that it's basically melted margarine with garlic powder but that doesn't mean I love it any less). I was jazzed when I signed up for the email club because I'm going to be honest, as much as I dig your pies, they are a bit pricey. And I'm cheap, plus poor. Then I got the emails. My "Weekly Offer" comes into my mailbox each week, often with a great subject like "Free Garlic Breadstix" Yay! But every single one, even - no especially - the ones with the enticing-sounding subjects, let me down. Twice in the past month the special offer I get for being a loyal devotee of your store and member of your oh-so-exclusive email club was the exact same offer you were advertising on TV. First of all, it's not even a truly great deal and secondly, why did I sign up, give you my personal email and info and take my time up to read the same thing that I can see on TV, along with all the riff-raff who didn't even bother to sign up? Even the ones that aren't the same are still pretty craptacular offers. Free breadsticks if I buy a large gourmet pizza?? Let me explain something to you, there is another chain that is closer to my house that offers a pizza for $5. Got it? Five buckaroos. So, I can spend $17 and drive farther to get to your store and get 1 pizza plus my "free" breadsticks or I can make the shorter trip and get a pizza for $5. Even I buy my own breadsticks at their store, I am still saving about $10. And guess what? They have garlic sauce now, too. So step it up, Papa Johns! Free chicken wings if I buy a large, 3 or more topping pizza? Nope, not gonna try your wings, not gonna buy from you. Want me to try and love your wings? How about buy the wings, get a free large pizza? Now that's a deal worthy of my time and printer ink.

Jami Has No Great Depth.

2010-07-27T12:45:00.000-04:00

If you didn't read yesterday's post, it's about some underwear which I don't really like, but never throw away. I reread it this morning and felt like I was stretching for something I couldn't quite grasp. Was I trying to say that there are certain things in life one puts up with because.... of something...? That I settle for less than the best? Was the whole panties problem a metaphor for something greater? No. It really wasn't. I wrote it in a few minutes because it amused me that I have a pair of undies that I really and truly think of as "the least favorite underwear" and that's it. No more. But part of me is even more amused at the idea that I almost tricked myself. Looking for a hidden meaning in my underwear drawer, as it were. And of course, this leads me to imagine ("Scrubs"-style for fans of that show) a classroom of college kids debating with a ponytailed professor the finer points of that post. "But don't you see, class, how the cut of the leg holes is not bad, but also not right? Because what Jami is trying to say here is that just because something doesn't suit our tastes, it may not be wrong. The author is still embracing the wrong panties, because they have intrinsic value, even if they are not the most beautiful ones . . . " So, in case you were wondering, there is no symbolism. No secret message, no deeper meaning and in fact, I wrote this entire post so I could publish this one sentence: Sorry, there's nothing hidden in my drawers.

Jami and the Least Favorite Pair of Underwear

2010-07-26T17:28:00.002-04:00

I am doing laundry today because if I don't, tomorrow I will have to wear my least favorite pair of underwear. I'm not going to give you any details. It's a style I normally wear, and a decent color. The cut is just slightly different, I think, than other pairs in this style and the material too thick or something. See, the thing is, they aren't uncomfortable enough to throw them out in good conscious, and they're not at all worn out (since I wear them only when I seriously slack off on the laundry). They aren't particularly sexy or unsexy, they just sort of are. And, if it comes down to any other pair I own or them, I will always go for the other pair. Then, if I can, I will do laundry that day. The question that has occurred to me is - why do I keep these underwear? You might say that they serve a purpose: to remind me, if I've been lazy, that it's time to do laundry. But let's be honest, if I didn't have that pair, what would happen if I got down that low? I'd do laundry because instead of having the least favorite pair to wear, I'd have none. Or, I'd do laundry when I realized that I only had one left, least favorite or not. In the grand scheme of things, I don't recall how much they cost, I've had them for several years at least, and I'm sure they weren't that expensive. Even if I pitched them and felt the need to replace the pair, they have some on sale at WalMart for $2, so I wouldn't be breaking the bank. And yet, I keep thinking: but they aren't torn or anything. The elastic hasn't broken. They're still good. I can't donate them - even if Goodwill or somewhere takes used undies, I just can't do that. I couldn't buy them, so I won't give them. I certainly am not going to FreeCycle one pair of uncomfortable (to me) panties. I have a sneaking suspicion that I could find someone on Craigslist to buy them, but uh... no. And then the final thought that occurs to me. No matter how many pairs I have, one pair will always have to be the least favorite. I mean, let's face it - in any set of anything, there is a best and a worst. If I got down to two pairs, I'd still most likely prefer one to the other. That's the way the world is. So I'll throw the next load of clothes in the dryer, and another set in the washer. by the time I go to bed, the drawer will be brimming with warm dry undergarments, and the least favorite underwear will be buried until the next time I slack off this long. Perhaps they will last me for the rest of my life, never wearing out since they are almost never worn. My legacy - the least favorite pair of underwear.

Jami's Offer of the Day!! Don't Miss Out!!

2010-07-24T14:09:00.004-04:00

Hi folks, are you bored, flabby and in need of entertainment? I am offering for rent, at a very reasonable price, 1 ten-month-old boy who apparently does not require sleep and is magnetically attracted to dangerous objects. You get: - exercise as you chase him around. - a chance to practice your primal screaming. - to find all those sharp and/or poisonous items you've dropped and not found. You may even find some new dangers you weren't aware of! - fun for the whole family as he shrieks and tears around your house. - to experience the fun hallucinations from sleep deprivation. BUT WAIT - order now and I'll throw in, for NO extra charge.... 1 almost-5-year-old who is attempting to prove that everything any adult says is wrong. With this addition, you can also: - practice your debating skills! - learn to multi-task! - appreciate how clean your house was! - reinforce to your teens why they should practice abstinence! That's right - order now and get BOTH these life enhancing products in your home for 1 low, low price. Delivery available to the Western PA area, in other parts of the country shipping charges may apply.

Jami Will Warn You, Just This Once

2010-07-21T23:07:00.005-04:00

Warning: Parts of this post are not in good taste. So, not too long ago, Patrick posted this about a celebrity who had foolishly allowed a lover to take embarrassing pictures of herself. If you're a celebrity, or hoping to become a celebrity, you're an idiot to allow anyone to take naked or let's just say "private" photos or videos of you because even though you're totally in L-U-V at that moment, there's always the chance they'll get mad enough at you or poor enough to sell those pics to the press and that's (sadly) always news. However, I'm going to just make a brief statement that in general, this is not a good idea for anyone. First off, we are judged often enough in our lives, do we really have to see what we look like in those very special moments? Do you want to know for a fact that you make a weird face or do you need photographic evidence that your belly is jelly? I say no. Let's stick with our self-indulgent delusions that we can look hot in the right lighting with the right lingerie. Second, sooner or later, we are all gonna die. Not to be Captain Bring-down here, but the grim reaper is coming for us all (yes, I'm on the same topic, stay with me here). Let's say that you and your significant other are both wiped out in the same tragic accident. I hope it's not going to happen, but hey, you never know, right? So after the meteor squashes your Chevy with you in it, who is going to be going through your stuff to decide what goes to Goodwill? Depending on your age, most likely your kids or your parents. Do you want their memory of you to be the stash of pics you keep in the fire safe? Imagine if your mom finds a video that says "Bob and Mary, anniversary" and she pops it in only to see you celebrating your anniversary in your birthday suits! Or the family gathers to watch the last thing you videoed before leaving this mortal plain and the video starts off with Grandma Ethel's 90th birthday and cuts to Naked Batman wrestling Crotchless Catwoman. Not good. Now, I have a few friends who have a dignity-in-death pact - if one friend bites the big one, the other friend goes to the house and cleans out a specific drawer before the family can get there. This could work, but only if :1. you have a friend you can trust to do that, and 2. you can also trust this friend not to go rooting around the drawer when you're on vacation. So, to sum up: If you're famous, don't do sex tapes and nude pics. If you're not, it's probably not a great idea, either. Just saying.

Jami Wonders About McNugget Shapes

2010-07-19T23:34:00.003-04:00

So, McNuggets come in two shapes, oval and that sort of rectangular with the little extra bump. Why? And what is that second shape? Waaay back when they had white and dark meat McNuggets (remember?), that shape was more likely to be dark meat. I got super-extra good at telling which were the dark meat, which I preferred. I could dump a whole basket of McNuggets and flawlessly pick out a 20-piece of dark. Speaking of which, I miss the dark. there's no reason to have just white meat. Seriously folks, it's hyper-processed,breaded and deep fried, do you really believe that it's better that it's just white meat? Come on. Besides dark meat has more iron and B vitamins. So there. Pbbbbt. Anyway, why these two shapes and only these two? Who picked them and who designed this odd shape? Is it supposed to mimic a certain part of the chicken (and if so, what?) is it supposed to look random? Did someone's kid draw it? The world may never know. And I'm too lazy to Google it and shift through the answers.

Jami Shouldn't Get a Fancy Phone

2010-07-09T11:16:00.004-04:00

Our phone plan is over soon meaning it's time to spend way too much time online and in stores trying to figure out what plan/carrier/phone to chose. I hate that. But I am sure that as much as I want a cool new phone with internet access and apps and whatnot, it's probably not a great idea. First off, I don't need another way to waste time that I have too little of anyway. Second, my FaceBook would probably end up looking like this: Jami is buying diapers at Walmart, as usual. Jami is behind a checkout cheater who has 23 items in the 12 item or fewer aisle. Jami doesn't care if the checkout cheater sees me rolling my eyes and visibly counting her items, the sign clearly says 12 or fewer. Jami is trying very hard not to tell her that ten 2-liter bottles of Diet Mr. Pibb is NOT one item, even if it's all Diet Mr. Pibb and who the heck drinks Mr. Pibb, anyway? Three containers of ice cream isn't one item, either - they're not even the same brand or flavor!! Cheater!! Jami knows that you are looking over my shoulder reading my posts about you, but that still doesn't change the fact that you are a checkout cheater. You are what is wrong with America. Jami is being escorted from WalMart by a very rude security guy. The checkout cheater is being allowed to checkout her 23 items in the express lane. INJUSTICE! UNFAIR! Someone call the police! Or Superman! Jami is being forced to turn over her phone to the police, please call the Husband.... I realize that on FaceBook this would actually go up instead of down, but it's solely for the purpose of example. But I still want a cool phone with internet. Of course, then I could blog more. So everyone wins.

Jami Vs the Hideous Mutant Ninja Spiders

2010-07-08T22:06:00.003-04:00

We have a relatively new playroom in the basement, courtesy of my dad. It's great, and in the recent heat, a haven of coolness. The one downside I've noticed is that it's apparently the place for all the cool spiders to hang out. I get frantic calls from Eddie at least twice a day to come and relocate these uninvited guests. Generally, I don't care about spiders; I ignore them and they ignore me while eating the bugs I hate. It's a sort of win-win. But we have tons of these increasingly large and scary looking guys. Last night, I go down to the basement to get something out of the little root cellar behind the playroom (side note: I have also heard that called "fruit cellar" which I think much be wrong because it seems the least favorable place to store fruit. But I digress.) and as I walk through the door I feel a web that goes from my right ear, all the way down and across my body to my left knee. No lie. I manage to turn the light on, not totally freak out, grab the stuff I needed and leave. As luck would have it, that was the last thing I had planned to do before my shower, anyway, so I ran up and got ready. As I took down the bun I had in my hair, I felt what I thought was my braid brush my back and glanced in the mirror to see the spider that built that web run across my back. This was barely even a spider. It was a really a chihuahua with extra legs. The only reason you didn't hear my screams wherever you are is that I am pretty sure my scream transcended all earthly sound. Some sort of primal caveman instinct took over and I did the dance of spider removal, because I have never before been able to reach that part of my back with both hands and at super-speed. The mutant dropped to the floor leaving me with a bit of a problem. I'm barefoot and there is no way I am trusting my naked foot to that spiny bastard. I smacked him with a magazine a few times (stunning him, I think) and then located a sandal I could reach in the hall without taking my eyes off the bugger. I slammed him into a giant pile of spider guts and cleaned it up with a roll of paper towels. Here's why this is concerning - the web he'd made was big enough for me. This is no longer a nuisance; they're coming for me. Now I can't even let the boys play in the basement unsupervised anymore for fear they'll be trussed up and dragged off while I put the laundry in.

Jami Discuss the new Karate Kid Movie - Sorta Spoilers

2010-07-01T11:04:00.000-04:00

This is not a review. If you've seen the 80s version of Karate Kid, then nothing I tell you is going to be a spoiler here, either. I saw Karate Kid the other night, mostly because it was the second movie at the drive in, otherwise, I probably would have waited for the DVD to come out. Unless you are a big fan of Jaden Smith and feel you must see it immediately, I wouldn't say you have to run out and see it tonight. It's basically the same movie you saw in the 80s, just change NJ to Detroit, California to China and unhappy high school kid to unhappy 12 year old. Oh, and even though it's called Karate Kid, he learns Kung Fu, not karate. But you know, details. Okay, so first of, Jaden Smith is crazy-stupid talented. He is ridiculously young to have as much screen presence as he has. You have to watch him. Now, don't get me wrong, because I love me some Will Smith, but Jaden has more real presence - Will has charisma, if you get the difference. He doesn't feel like he's acting, even when he cries, when IMO, kids are the most obviously faking. He emotes in subtle, skillful ways. This kid has serious natural talent, and I'm not even talking about the ridiculously impossible-looking physical stuff he does. And the fact that, as the Husband put it, "No 12-year-old should be that ripped." As for the movie, I have to say that one things seriously disturbed me. Okay, so the character "Dre" and his mom move to China, from Detroit. Dre speaks no Chinese. The first day they are there, his mom sends him to find the maintainence guy to fix the hot water. Which for some reason requires him leaving the building and wandering around a bit. He finds the guy and then wanders over to the park for awhile. And even though he comes home after dark, his mom does not seem to be freaked out and frantically searching for him. A 12-year-old, gone for hours in a strange city where he doesn't know anyone or speak the language. But she's ASLEEP when he gets home. Hmmm. Okay. I'll let it go because they have to get him to find his Mr. Miyagi (who in this case is Mr. Han). Then, a day or so later, he tells her he is going to Mr. Han's house to learn Kung Fu. Now, maybe I'm over-protective, but I said to the Husband, "She's just letting him go to some guy's house? A 40 year-old guy who lives alone invites your kid over and you don't even talk to him about it?" but again, I figure, maybe I am just too paranoid. But, a week later in movie time, he goes on a day trip, on a train with this guy. Okay. I'm going to have to call Bad Parenting on this one. "Hi, I'm a stranger you've met twice and I've had your son at my house all day every day for a week, alone. I'd like to take him on a trip to visit this mystical thing. We'll have to take the train and we'll be back pretty late at night, okay? Don't worry, I'll let him sleep on me in the train." I can't be the only one who feels this is not good. Throughout the movie, the mom (a widow who has to work to support them, I get it, but still) seems to have only the vaguest idea of where her kid is at any given moment. You might say that that's what happened in the first movie, and I agree , except that the kid in that movie was older (high schooler, maybe 15, 16?) and spoke the language in the city he lived in. Also, as I told the Husband, he knew how to call the police, whereas a 12 year-old in Bejing, probably not. I don't know if the laws of pedophilia are different in China; I'm not being rude about China, I'm saying that maybe 12 is the age of consent there or maybe it's not as big a deal. I don't know, and that's the point. Also, maybe again, just me, but it was hard watching a kid that little get beat up. Lastly, I didn't think the romance was necessary. I mean, it was very appropriately done for the age, a few hand-holding incidents, a chaste kiss, and I also know that kids these days are doing far more than that. Even still, I just thought, not every story needs a romantic interest. Oh - and Jackie Chan only has one action-fighting scene, if you don't count his training stuff with Jaden, which really isn't that much either. So if you're going to see some Chan-style fighting fun, you'll be disappointed.

Jami's Car is Smart Enough

2010-06-30T13:36:00.001-04:00

I have an adorable little Cavalier named Calvin. He's a nice car, bings if I forget to take the keys along, runs great, hasn't come to life and killed me and my family, you know, all the standards. Calvin doesn't have automatic doors, windows, locks, alarms or pretty much anything except the transmission. He has a CD player and radio, no XM radio. But you know what he has? An actual metal body in the shape of a car. I've ragged on the Smart Cars before, suggesting on FB that they look like a Little Tykes Cozy Coupe on steroids (but, you know, not a lot of steroids.) or a pregnant rollerskate. I have suggested that they are more suited to circus rings (you know, for juggling) than roads. I will admit that they probably get fantastic gas mileage and let's face it, you can park that thing pretty much anywhere, including sideways in the driveway. But then this past week I saw one on the highway for the first time. I mean, it was the first time I'd personally seen one on the highway, not the first time for that particular Smart Car, as far as I know. I stared in fascination at the driver as we passed this moving bump, and was shocked that he seemed totally calm and appeared to be singing along to the radio. I could only think that had that been me, hurtling down the highway at 70mph in an overgrown toy, I'd been going "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! (deep breath) AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! (repeat until arriving at destination or blown off road by draft from 18 wheeler). Because my car might be less earth-friendly, but if I am in an accident, I have some crumple-zone going for me. If you're in that thing and get hit at those speeds, you're going to be perma-wrapped in your new metal suit. It's practically the equivalent of being hit by a car wearing while you're wearing only aluminum foil. So maybe Calvin isn't a genius. Maybe he's the dumb-but-sweet jock from high school. He's not going to do my math homework, but if someone's picking on me, I want him on my side, not the co-captain of the chess team (which at one point, I was.)

Jami Will Eat as She Pleases.

2010-06-29T22:19:00.004-04:00

Maybe this doesn't happen to anyone else, but I swear I get these odd times when something happens to me several times in a relatively short period, as though the universe or PTB or whatever is trying to draw my attention to it. And so it has happened again... This is a society of people with widely varied eating habits, beliefs, needs and diets. And this is fine. Really. It's okay. You can eat all meat or no meat or nothing but mangoes picked by albino monkeys on Tuesdays for all I care. I mean, if you're eating something particularly gross, I'd prefer you not do it in front of me while I am also eating, but in general, knock yourself out. And please, let me do the same. If you have some good facts, I don't mind if you share - in a polite way, please. Like, "If you're a vegan, you should probably know that Jello contains animal products." Helpful. "That cheeseburger you're eating is the result of an innocent animal being tortured and murdered, and it's full of transglumerides, which is why you are fat." Not helpful. Here's the thing: in general, if it tastes good and isn't squirming with bacteria, I probably don't care. If you want to abstain from the Murder Burger, enjoy your organic, lactose-free, taste-free, energy-efficiently roasted soybean seeds and let me get my burger on. I have dined with vegans, vegetarians, people on Atkins, Weight Watchers, people with allergies of all kids, folks with religious restrictions, and the finickiest of all finicky eaters, my own self included and I just think we should all get along. The only time someone's food choice made me ill is when it's served with a side of Food Nazi Arrogance. It might work for you, but here's a news flash: I'm not you. I am a totally independent and intelligent woman and I want the heated brownie with ice cream, I'm going to get it. I know I'm fat, I'm sorry the cow feels disrespected because we take her milk and I am aware that cold and hot foods taken together is hard on the qi, but I have made my decision and you're not going to change it. Thanks so much.

Jami and the Search for Suit that Suits

2010-06-12T21:29:00.003-04:00

So I haven't been posting here much, lots of things going on and FaceBook allows quick thoughts to be posted much faster, but since I have a few moments, thought I'd share a recent adventure. Finn is still nursing, meaning I'm still sporting the milk-filled tatas that make me look like I may tip over at any moment. I'm not going to post my cup size, but I was recently measured (publicly!!) by a professional and let's just say she told me I Have some Huge Hooters, get the Hint? Anyway, we're headed to the beach soon and my pre-pregnancy bathing suits could not contain the ladies. Off to Kohl's I went, thanks to the 30% off coupon from the mail. My normal swimsuit stradegy is: Buy the cheapest suit that fits. This time I decided I would actually pry the wallet open a little and find a suit I really feel good about, within reasonable limits. Upon reflection, I realized it had been SEVEN years since I last purchased a new bathing suit, so I don't feel too selfish in spending more than my usual $12.99. Theorizing that the enormous upstairs would be best suited by a tankini (since I could get a size WOW! for the top and a normal bottom), I gathered up a load of mix'n'match parts and tried them all on. This did not work. The tankini tops seem to fall into two categories: held up by super-skinny spaghetti straps or squish everything flat. No thanks on both. Then I hit the one-pieces. I found a section of "Figure Fixing" suits, with tags like "hip hiding", "long torso", "tummy flattener" and the one that sounded most promising "flatters full figure". Hmmm. Full does seem to be the proper word. I'd have to say , however, that "flatters" must mean "exposes" because this suit made me a walking advertisement for mammory glands. No lie, I think if I wore that suit in public, every person who looked directly at me would involuntarily yell "BOOBS!!" regardless of gender or sexual orientation. I skipped the "enhances bust" suits, even though I had some curiousity what my bust would look like enhanced; it's possible it would be visible from space. Finally, after a parade of suits that either failed to support, supported to the point of painful squished-ness, or looked like they belonged to the Senior Olympic synchronized swim team, I found ONE suit that looked good. It's black with gold and white trim and even a little tassle. I can get the baby-feeders out when needed but my super-white cleavage isn't exposed enough to blind passing aircraft. It was already on sale, and so with the coupon, it still is the most expensive suit I've ever purchased, BUT it was also well under the $50 absolute limit I'd set for myself. So, you aspiring designers out there, here's a great niche market for you!

Jami and the Perfect Ending

2010-04-16T10:17:00.004-04:00

No, not the blog, though I realize posting once or twice a month isn't what I originally was doing. Anyway... This week saw the last episode of Ugly Betty, a soapy, drama-filled, comedy based on a Colombian telenova. I started watching Betty on a whim, really, when the Husband brought home the first season on DVD in case I was interested. I started the first disc and couldn't stop until the credits rolled on the last episode of that season. Smart, funny, clever, unpredictable and even though it had some of the elements of your basic soap opera, it had just enough realism to keep me watching. The snappy writing and clever twists definitely caught me, someone who hasn't ever watched a real soap opera regularly. And so Betty drew to a close this week, in what may have been the BEST finale episode ever, if not, certainly the best in a long, long time. It's hard to write finales for beloved show, I know. Fans want it to be the best episode ever, they want the plotlines wrapped up, but the feeling that their favorite characters will still be going on, they want happy endings, but not magic fairy godmothery endings, they want laughs and tears and love and all of it to be perfect, and normally you get 30 minutes to an hour to do it; I get when some of the finales just can't live up to it. And of course, some shows are cancelled before the writers have time to write a satisfying ending, frustrating all. We all can think of some of the good endings - M*A*S*H probably being the best known, but it was a 2 hour movie, Futurama had a great farewell (followed by 3 straight to video movies and returning this summer) - the Bad: Seinfeld, St. Elsewhere - and the forgettable: Frasier? Cosby Show? Family Ties? By the time they were cancelled was anyone even still watching? So why did Ugly Betty's finale work? Why would I call it "perfect"?

The plotlines were all wrapped up, over the last few episodes in believable ways. Even Amanda's MIA dad, a storyline I'd forgotten about, closes up. Is it a little bit too coincidental? Sure, but not outrageously so. In the world of soap operas, it was positively tame.
The characters showed they've grown and changed, but they're still themselves. Willie softened a little, but she will never be nice. Mark still made fun of Betty, etc.
There were no huge surprise twists. Did you see the ending with Daniel coming? Probably, it was hinted at clearly enough. But he didn't pop the question, or make a grand sweeping gesture at the airport. No one made big silly speeches or had surprise pregnancies, engagements, divorces, or deaths (yes, Halston died, but he was a fairly minor character ;-)
You felt good about even the sad parts. Betty leaving, Hilda moving out - it's about time. They're adults. It's bittersweet, but it's right and you feel it. Like the "rightness" of Sam turning out the lights on the final Cheers, it's sad, but it's also time.
The plotlines wrap up, but the characters are going on, Betty starting a new job, Mark moving up, Justin coming into his own, Ignacio on his own, you feel like it's a beginning as well. You aren't left hanging, but your imagination gets to carry their stories onward. Joss Whedon did this excellently with Buffy and Angel - both shows ended with big epic battles - but left places for the surviving charcters to live on.
The tone of the finale fit the tone of the show. A finale that suddenly changes tone or tries to teach a lesson or does something completely out of the show's "character" (I'm talking to you, Roseanne) can be disastrous.

So farewell, Betty and friends. Thanks for the giggles, gasps and sniffles. And for the perfect ending.

Jami

2010-04-10T10:43:00.003-04:00

I have been thinking of the nature of internet friendships. I have a few friends, people I do consider friends, that I have never actually seen in person. People that I care about, confide in, pray for. People that I'd would certainly not have crossed paths with if not for this crazy contraption called the internet. You can go many places to hear about how online friends and communications are making us less social, more isolated, etc. It's true that if I feel lonely and want to go out for a beer, my internet friends aren't going to be able to help. But I also talk to a lot of stay-at-home moms who found a lifeline on the internet - you can't call your next door neighbor when you're nursing at 3am and sure that you are alone in the world, but you can log on and almost always find another mom at her wit's end looking for a friendly "voice". Friendships are hard to start. You usually need to find some sort of common ground, even if it's just a tv show you both like or the fact that you both hate people who fake run across the crosswalk in front of your car, like that's somehow saving you some time. That's where the internet does what hanging out in real life may not. I made some friends at the Firefly fan board years ago. Big dorks, yup, just like me. I had a great fun-filled weekend in Vegas with those guys, an experience that I'd have missed without making friends with them. I guess what I am saying is that friends are valuable, and you can have both the fleshy real ones and the more ethereal internet ones (in fact, you should have at least a few of the former, even if you have tons of the latter). I appreciate having these folks in my life however they have arrived and for as long as they'll stay. In the words of the Golden Girls - thank you for being a friend.

Jami Admits to Being Everyone

2010-04-02T16:22:00.002-04:00

Oh my, almost two whole months gone since I posted. Well, for those in the know, March was jammed packed for me, I barely got to breathe the whole month, it felt like, and now that I'm two days into April, all I can say is - whew. Thank goodness. Anyway, besides barely having a moment to write, I've had some other writing projects going on, which meant the blog suffered, but here's the post I've been thinking about. Years ago, someone told me that there are things that everyone does, and everyone suspects that everyone else does, too, but no one will admit to doing them. The person in question was a guy and the instance he used to demonstrate his point was that everyone pees in the shower. Not every time, or even on a regular basis,but everyone pees. My 4th grade health teacher, a man I can remember only as Mr. B, informed our class that everyone picks their noses. He strongly advised against eating the boogers, and said that NOT everyone does that, but everyone, he insisted, picks their noses. I'm going to admit that I have peed in the shower. It's a bold statement, which will come back to haunt me in the tabloids when I'm famous, but hey, when I was pregnant and peeing an estimated every 31 seconds, getting out of the shower, toweling down and getting to the toilet was waaay too much work, so even though I'd go before the shower, there were a few occasions where the water hit me and it was all over. The nose picking, I'm going to have to agree with the teacher on that one, too. Generally with a tissue in hand (or on-finger), we've all felt the annoyance of that one boogie you gotta get out of there. Heck, I'm a mom, I've picked my kids noses, using the handy-dandy booger sucker. So, people of the world, unite! Stand up and admit to your shower peeing and nose picking ways! And, what else does everyone do that you're willing to cop to?

Jami Says, "Stop Finishing My . . ."

2010-02-09T11:12:00.000-05:00

Sandwiches! (anyone get the pop culture reference?) While Ugly Betty may not want to use her blog to vent about petty frustrations, I use it for that among other things. Today's topic, Sentence Enders. In annoying conversation participants, they edge out (but just barely) the people that mouth the words you are saying. Sentence Enders are those people who insist in joining you for the last few words of each sentence, as though it's the chorus to a song. I find this so obnoxious that I often fantasize about adding "Gorilla, peanut butter, head lice!!" to the end of my thoughts. Look, I know that there are times when the end of the sentence is obvious. That doesn't constitute an invitation for a group sing-a-long. You wait for your turn and say whatever you want. We're not bonding; you're causing me to consider faking a sudden laryngitis onset so I can end our conversation, even if I like you. Thank you.

Jami and the "Controversial" Ad

2010-02-08T12:12:00.003-05:00

Ah the SuperBowl. Several hours of new commercials interrupted by occasional football. Sorry, Peyton, I was rooting for you, but it wasn't your year, at least you already have a ring. As we watched the show at home eating the entire batch of dip I'd made for the party that was cancelled due to Pittsburgh freezing over, we saw the ad for Focus on the Family staring the Tebows. Growing up, I didn't like Focus on the Family, or their founder Dr. James Dobson, in part because he encouraged my parents to be responsible and stricter than I wanted. Bad Dobson! I have come around to a grudging respect for the man, since, with the teen years behind me, I can admit that perhaps it's not a bad thing to know who your kids are dating and where they are after school. However, this is not about my personal feelings about the good Doctor or his organization. I have to admit, I was confused when the Husband told me there had been a bunch of controversy and even some attempts to keep this ad off the air. Why? A mom talking about how she almost lost her baby and that she still worries about him even though he's a big football player? I mean, didn't the Campbell's soup ads have almost the same message, but for soup? So I look online and discover that he's indeed correct, people tried to get CBS to ban this ad without even seeing it because it might have a strong pro-life message. And today commentaries about how inappropriate "this kind of ad" are for the SuperBowl! You have got to be kidding me! I find that not only ridiculous, but a little scary. Here's why: Yes, Mrs. Tebow mentions that he is her "miracle baby" but for all I knew before all the hub-bub, that could mean she thought she was infertile or she had a difficult pregnancy or she had lost several babies before him or he was really premature or any other number of things. I thought the ad was for Focus on the Family, an organization that does WAY more than pro-life stuff, and yes, they are conservative and Christian, but as far as I know, it is still legal to be both in this country, even to talk about on TV. Focus on the Family paid for the time, so as along as they stayed within FCC guidelines and whatever extra rules CBS might have set, they can say whatever the heck they want. You don't like it? Don't listen, or send them a letter or buy your own time to show an opposing opinion. That's they way our society works. I feel the same way about the obnoxiously stupid and bordering on disgusting ads for a certain web domain provider I choose not to provide additional advertising for by mentioning their name One opinion column I read suggested that "Years from now, as we sit through SuperBowls stuffed with ad after preachy, chastising ad, we might just long for simpler times of burping frogs." Really?? You think that having ONE ad for ONE organization is going to lead to that? Also, I'd be hard pressed to call that ad "preachy" or "chastising". Most opinion style groups aren't going to have the cash for a SuperBowl ad, and we all know that if the ads get boring, technology provides us ways to ignore them, along with talking to the other folks at the SuperBowl party, bar or family gathering. I read here that the president of NOW slammed the ad because it glorified violence against women. I find this laughable, considering all the other things other ads glorify. Did ANYONE watch that commercial and say "Hey, if Timmy Tebow thinks it's cool to tackle his mom, I'm gonna go beat up a woman right now!" If you did, please know that Timmy also thinks it's cool to get a vasectomy and turn yourself in to the police. To the people who claim that the point of the ad was "Don't get an abortion because your kid might end up being a Heisman trophy winner" I say ask Mrs. Tebow if she'd still be as happy with her son if he were a 90 lb nerd who is only a champion in the World of Warcraft. I bet she would, but then no one would have asked her to do the ad. Look folks, whether or not you want to acknowledge it, every commercial on TV is designed to influence your thinking. No matter if it's for buying a certain brand of beer, visiting a website, eating at a restaurant or purchasing a particularly delicious brand of triangle-shaped nacho-flavored chips, every ad you see is made to encourage you to some type of action. If you really believe this ad is inappropriate, ask yourself why? Because a mom loves her son and says so on TV? Or because it's sponsored by a group you disagree with? Nothing should be banned on the public airways just because some people don't like it. I would say the same thing about MoveOn.org, the Boy Scouts, or Family Guy. To say that an ad with the tagline of "celebrate families, celebrate life" is somehow worse than the ads that glorify alcohol or avarice is hypocrisy to say the least. The fact that this is even a discussion worries me. Having seen the air-able versions of the other controversial ad, I can see why there was some debate about one that may have gone further. Not because I agree or disagree with it, but if I ran a station, I'd be wary of approaching the FCC's lines. But watch the Tebow commercial, really watch it and then tell me - what in there is objectionable enough that it should be pulled?

Jami and FB-Free Wednesdays

2010-01-28T21:48:00.002-05:00

For those who are FaceBookers, you may have noticed my absence from the site the last few Wednesdays. There are personal reasons for it, but the first time that I took a Wednesday totally off from FB, I realized two things: 1. It was way harder than it should have been (seriously, I was fretting about imaginary crops going bad.) 2. I got much more done. So I intend to continue this practice. Yes, I miss out on my daily chance in Mafia Wars, and I have to think ahead when planting my FarmVille Farm, lest my pumpkins whither and die untended. The most frustrating to me is the comments I would have re-commented on, but by Thursday, I feel like it's too late. Those who know me know that I hate to lose an opportunity to make a witty (in my own opinion) comment.

Jami and the Dirty Expression

2010-01-25T17:48:00.003-05:00

Warning: This blog post contains swears. Don't read it if you can't deal with cusswords. I love, though rarely use, the expression "lost his shit." It always brings a smile to my face, because it is one of the very few idioms that I feel very aptly expresses exactly the situation someone is in. I think part of it is my mental image of how agitated you would have to be to literally lose your shit. I mean, dude, I've been angry, scared, sad and exhausted all in the extreme and sometimes in combinations, but never enough to have just crapped myself. But I get idea. I had a couple of those moments in my pregnancy especially when I (figuratively) lost my shit. It's sort of all those emotions tinged with the breaking of one's sanity - that's exactly what the phrase conveys. Now, I say "I just lost it" much more frequently. In my never humble and always correct opinion, "losing it" is a sort of briefer, momentary, more recoverable loss of one's emotional control. Losing "it" is like the step before one loses one's shit. Let's say I'm at the point where I am losing it: I'm crying (because that's what I do when any extreme emotion hits, it's biological, my eyes water when I'm mad, scared, happy, hungry) and I'm past the point of censoring what I say. And then you do that one thing, that is way beyond my abilities to cope. Now I'm not losing it, I've lost my shit. It's a loss of basic functionality, like comprehensible speech or common sense. It's when you're so whatever-you-are that you can't see straight. And this is one of those times when a swear is both appropriate and perhaps even necessary. "Bob lost his crap" doesn't do it for me. "Bob's going nuts" could mean he's have some silly fun. But "And then Bob totally lost his shit" guarantees that I will give Bob some space and not do whatever it was that came before that sentence in the story. And thus ends the day's lesson.

Jami's Letter to Charlie Sheen

2010-01-10T13:36:00.000-05:00

Dear Charlie, I like Two and Half Men. It's cute. Get help. I don't know what happened with this new wife, and judging from Denise Richards's choices since your divorce, I'm not going to lend her wild accusations too much credence, but there is clearly a problem. If you can't be married, don't, and stop knocking these young women up. Don't hit women. Don't threaten to kill anyone. Maybe have a Diet Coke instead of a mixed drink. Thanks so much, Jami PS - just because the character gets laughs on 2 1/2 Men, doesn't mean we like a drunken jerk in real life. Just saying.

Jami May Smell

2010-01-09T23:23:00.003-05:00

One of the concerns I've had since becoming a stay-at-home mom is the fear that I stink. See, pre-kids, I showered in the mornings and showered or took a long, hot, luxurious bubble bath every evening. Some days (especially when I lived in the place I didn't pay the utilities) I showered mid-day as well. Just because I could. When Eddie first came home and I still worked, the Husband would be taking care of the boy in the mornings, so I still showered every day, even if I didn't get my second one. BUT - and other SAHMs can back me up on this if they're being honest - when you are the primary care giver to one or more little ones, there are days when you just can't get to the shower. Even if I do, I sometimes get out realizing I didn't wash an entire section of my body or that I still have conditioner in my hair because I'm trying to get in and out of there before the next mommy-requiring calamity. Now, if I'm going somewhere, I almost always finagle a shower on those days, but sometimes I just can't, especially if where I'm going is to the grocery store and post office and I have 10 minutes until I have to pick up the big one at preschool, but the little one is screaming to eat RIGHT NOW and I haven't even showered or eaten and I can't find my left tennis shoe. Also, mommying involves a variety of stinky objects one must deal with. Diapers, garbage, juice cups which were left behind the chair long enough to qualify as science fair projects. Plus the effort involved does often lead to sweating, regardless of the extremely misleading stereotype of women sitting around eating chocolates and watching daytime TV. You chase my toddler for 1 hour, carry laundry up and down 2 flights of stairs wearing a baby and then we'll see how you smell. This leads me to worry, frequently, that I might be malodorous. I use tons of deodorant. When I do get to take a "real" shower, I scrub off the first several layers of skin. I try to ensure that I'm always wearing clothes that have been worn no more than 2 non-consecutive days. So there you go. I love being a mom, but sometimes, it really stinks.

Jami and the Very Cute Kids

2010-01-01T19:36:00.000-05:00

There's no doubt, my boys are adorable. Totally different looking, but both absolutely too cute. I know that most little ones have a cuteness about them that cannot be denied and let's face it, when we love someone, they are more attractive to us. But, there are a few babies and toddlers that I've seen that frankly, are just not that good looking. I'm not talking about birth defects or anything like that. Just kids that aren't that cute. It's not their fault and there's nothing really wrong with the kids, just, you know - not great. And yes, I know there was a Seinfeld episode about that. It's actually one of the two I have seen all of and I only watched it because people kept telling me about it. Anyway, my question is (and this is a hypothetical, so don't take offense): If you are the parent of a baby who isn't that cute, do you know it? Not that you don't think they are cute, but objectively, can you tell? My guess is no. I actually had an acquaintance (no, not you) who had a child who was very sweet and bright and pleasant and kinda weird looking. The mother actually said to me at one point that they were considering doing some of those beautiful baby contests because "they aren't that expense to enter and she'd obviously win". Hmmm. Now, growing up we had an odd-looking dog. Hair hanging down off of her ears, stripes across her back, just kinda overall different. I thought she was very cute, but I also knew that by society's standards, she wouldn't be winning any dog shows, even if she had a pedigree. But a dog, for most folk, is not the same as a child. Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe all children are beautiful simply by virtue of being children. I may be the only person who didn't find the Olsen twins cute as toddlers. But I'm just going to put it out there - do people with weird babies know it? Discuss.

Jami's Resolution Talk

2009-12-31T17:28:00.004-05:00

I've probably mentioned before, I don't do New Year's Resolutions. I did, mostly in the high school years when I had enough awareness of things I needed to change and enough self-determination to actually make changes in my own life. To be honest, I can't even really remember any of the resolutions that I made, so I'm guessing there was nothing life-changing. My thinking in this matter is that if there is something change-worthy, why wait until the middle of winter? Change it right now. Of course, when you are reading this, it probably is around New Year's, but as much I do tend to procrastinate on things, when I decide to do something, I do it now. Pre-pregnancy, I decided to get into better shape. I started on Wednesday in the middle of June. When we made the decision to have another child, we made a plan and started the next cycle. When I chose to change my career, I signed up for very next class. You don't have to wait for a new week or month or year. You don't even have to wait for a new day, do it right now. If it's not something you can just jump into - sit down now - right now- and write out your plan. If I sound oddly urgent, it's because we both know that life is fleeting, unpredictable and so precious. Putting off something that you need or want to do is foolish. There is nothing special or magic about January 1st. Resolutions fail, no matter when you start them, and if you fall down, start again that day, not next January 1st. Instead of resolutions, I like goals. By this time next year, I will have. . . I will be . . . I won't . . . . This is the time of year we tend to take stock of ourselves and hopefully, look ahead. If we made New Year's wishes, mine for you would be: Do that thing you want to do, be the person you want to be. Because you can. Not just the first few weeks of January, but each day. You can do it, today. And I agree with Jim, it's twenty-ten.

Jami's Year 2009

2009-12-30T17:20:00.003-05:00

Wow. Quite a year this one. I'm not going to do a month-by-month, but last year I started the year in a basically pointless job I intensely disliked. I had one adopted child and we were discussing having another. This year I have a job that is meaningful and I adore. I would (and have!) done it for free, that's how much I love this work. I have carried a child to term, given birth and so have a second son. The Steelers won the SuperBowl. Then the Penguins won the Stanley Cup. We had a great family vacation. I was part of a huge and ongoing struggle in our dear church family. We lost our beloved dog. We had a new nephew. Several friends got married, other friends got pregnant and/or had new babies. It's been a year of great struggles and great triumphs. I think I have laughed, cried, and been surprised more this year than any single one in memory. I've definitely learned and grown more in the past twelve months than I bargained for. I'm not a huge fan of living in the past. I cherish my memories, but I try not to dwell in them. This year will certainly be one that lives a long time in my mind, and I'm excited to see what is coming next. Based on this past year, my best guess is, nothing I'm expecting. Happy New Year!

Jami's Christmas 2009

2009-12-26T16:27:00.005-05:00

Ah, our first Christmas as a family of four! Christmas Eve we had no problem getting Eddie to sleep as he'd been partying all day with family and friends, and of course, he had to get to sleep so the Big Guy in Red could stop by. We put out the special S shaped cookie he'd made, egg nog (the Husband told Eddie that Santa prefers it to milk) and an apple for reindeer. Christmas morning, I woke up at what I thought was just after 6, but was actually 8 am once I located my glasses. Finn wanted fed and Eddie was in the bathroom. Eddie was desperate to get downstairs, but managed to hold it together until Finn finished eating, Mommy brushed her teeth and put contacts in and Daddy got the video camera started. The two things he had repeatedly asked Santa for were a drum set and an orange teddy bear (not as easy to find as you might think). The large blanket covered present in front of the tree was indeed his drum set - as he started to lift it he said "I think I know what this is . I think I know! I think I know what this is!!!" When the drums were revealed, he said "yup. Drums. Now, where's my orange bear?" Confident in his Nice List status, I guess. He emptied his stocking, which contained the traditional gift of my childhood - underwear. I get this now, I mean, he needs it, so I'm gonna have to buy it anyway, right? Might as well buy the more fun colors and fill up that stocking. He actually insisted on trying them out and went up to change into the camo pair before finishing the unwrapping. Finn received far less, mostly because, let's face it - he doesn't care this year. Most importantly, of course, what did I get? The Husband got me pretty much everything I needed - new undies, as usual, but desperately needed this year after the pregnancy destroyed the elastic in almost all of mine. Seriously, it's a miracle I haven't had a pair fall out the bottom of my pants in pubic. Yet. He also got me the neoprene cover for my Wii Fit board and the Wii Fit plus game so that I don't need to stretch out these new undies! My parents are giving us a game room, labor done by my father, and that's the awesomest thing in the world, instead of more stuff - more room to put the stuff we already have! Including the kids! Yay!! Finn received a playgym from Grammy and Pop, which he digs the most. Seriously, this little dude is so into that thing I could go to the store and he wouldn't even notice - a nice change from having to amuse him every moment he's awake! Eddie got a giant pile of toys, of course, including a super fun train that follows any black line you draw on any paper, and a zhu zhu hamster he named Runny, because it runs. We had breakfast and lunch at my parents house, but after is the part I am most pleased with. Our church has a Christmas dinner, totally free to anyone who wants to come, or have it delivered. We deliver around 400 dinners to shut-ins in our area (not bad for a church of about 40 regular attenders) and serve about 100 in our fellowship hall. People who don't have family in the area come, or those who can't afford to make a nice dinner, or some just come to volunteer for awhile and then eat with someone who might not have a friend to eat with. My family traditionally shows up at the end of the meal time to do clean up. I wanted to take Eddie for a little while this year to see our family working and explain what it is and why we do it. I figured in the next few years he'll be old enough to help for a couple of hours, and this way he'll be familiar with it. I told the Husband to drop us off and take the presents home, figuring that by the time he got back, Eddie would be about done with "helping". Boy, was I wrong!! When we got there Eddie was provided with a bucket and sponge and started cleaning out the delivery coolers. He cleaned and stacked all the ones that came in - this took about the first hour. Then he bussed tables, including asking people who were still eating if he could have their plates! After that he helped wipe down tables, fold up the folding chairs to put away, and even got pretty psyched about mopping the kitchen floor. My little man worked from just after 4 until 6:40!! Yes, he took a cookie and juice break, but that's a long effort for a 4-year-old. I couldn't have been prouder, especially when he told me "this isn't fun, you know" and I explained that sometimes we do things that aren't fun because it's for a good reason. He said "Maybe the people who don't have Christmas dinner can go to Giant Eagle and buy one." We talked about the reasons they can't and then he said "Oh. Okay." and got back to work!! That was my best Christmas gift this year - my son carrying on our family's tradition of volunteering. Merry Christmas!

Jami - a Feminist? Part 2 - Wife and Mommy-hood

2009-12-20T20:57:00.000-05:00

Feminism's great triumph is allowing women to pursue the career/employment of their choice. Be a doctor, a lawyer, an Indian chief (probably you can't just apply for that last one . . .). I'm glad that women don't have to quit their jobs as soon as the ring is on the finger and that it's not legal to pay anyone less for the same work based on gender (or race, or what have you). However, this "You CAN have a job outside the home" attitude began the downward spiral into a pressure that you should have outside employment. That somehow a woman who chooses (and isn't it all about choice?) to spend her time and energy and education running a household and caring for her family is somehow less - and this, I believe, did a grave disservice to us all. I am a stay-at-home mom, something I aspired to be long before I had a college degree or spouse. It just made sense to me that nothing I could do in the workforce is as meaningful as raising my own children and being the kind of parent I had. I am a wife, and that isn't just a state of being. You don't go through the ceremony and then your effort is over. I said "I do," so that's that! Wife-ing is work, and I'll be the first to admit I haven't always been great at it and I still often fail at being the wife I know the Husband deserves. I absolutely could not be the wife and mother I want to be if I had a full-time job. There is nothing demeaning or sexist about it. My career of choice is making my home a place where my husband and children want to be and are happy, healthy and safe. I can't do that job if I'm at some office 8 hours a day pushing paper. Won't happen. When my infant was fussy and needed to be held all day Thursday, I was there to do it. When my toddler struggles with a new concept, or is scared or hurt, I am there. When my husband leaves a stressful day at work, he has a comforting place to return to. Because that is my job. I am a wife. I am a mother. My education is not wasted by my choice. First, I don't believe it's ever a waste to learn, to improve your mind, to open new roads of thought. Second, I use my education as part of my career and you can, too. My job entails accounting, teaching, counseling, chemistry, time-management, interpersonal skills, detective work, grammar, acting, directing and more. My ethics and philosophy classes will come in handy as I mold my sons. I don't disrespect the women who choose to work outside the home. I hope they find the way to integrate their work and their personal lives so that they aren't missing the brief and irreplaceable moments in their family's lives. I do think that you are more likely to have struggles in your marriage if you are both working full-time outside the house, because of the additional stresses and division of labor. I don't think that it "has to" be the woman who stays at home (although, I consider it "gets to") but we are built differently and our instinct as women is to nurture our families. It isn't giving up something to follow that instinct, it is instead a fulfillment of who we are. We get to work the entire rest of our lives if we choose, but for our children, we only have them in our homes for the blink of an eye. Our marriages will only be as healthy and strong as we make them. And that takes time and effort. When I worked a morning shift at a radio station, I spent a good deal of my time being either too tired to do much or napping. I hadn't given it much thought until after I left that station and my husband said something about having his wife back. He didn't marry a tired, cranky DJ - it wasn't fair to him to be living with one. Temping after that paid less, but allowed me to be the me he'd married - which is more valuable in the long run? Marriage isn't an institution designed to keep women down. Children aren't accoutrements which need to be stored while you go out to find something "worthwhile" to do. A woman who puts her family ahead of a career, or money, or power doesn't lower herself; she raises the standard. I aspire to be that kind of woman.

Jami, a Feminist? Part 1 - What's in a Name?

2009-12-19T19:10:00.000-05:00

You know how sometimes a certain topic seems to become a theme in your life? Feminism is one of those things that seems to pop up with some regularity and often in unexpected places. It's a term that I think has gotten so over-used and twisted that I really started to hate it. So let me just take a quick moment to explain my personal POV on this: Feminism, in its original form, was about bring women to equal status with men in regards to rights and employment. And I am totally down with that. Everything over, above and beyond that is often doing our gender more harm than good, in my personal and not-at-all-humble opinion. Believe me, I've put thought into this. So let's start with . . . Maiden Names/Married Names and the whole Miss-Mrs.-Ms thing. First, allow me to clarify that what you do with your name is your business and I personally don't give a toot in a windstorm. Call yourself The High Holiness Hoopmadingle if it tickles you. Go with an unpronounceable symbol, Artist Once Again Known As Prince. Have one name, Cher or four (like me!). Don't care. I like my maiden name. It's pronounceable, spellable, middle of the alphabet (so I never had to be first or last when we went that way in school - the design of my W-maiden-named mom). In my high school/college years, I pondered the implications of changing it when I married. How could I leave "me" behind to be someone else? I like me. I think family is important - how will others know I am so-and-so's daughter or sister if my last name is different? I am a (blank) and always will be. Oh sure, I doodled my potential married name in notebooks when I had a crush "Mrs. Jami Lynn Boy-of-the-Week" but that's not really serious. At a friend's wedding, I overheard another guest loudly declaring how "proud" she was that the bride planned to keep her maiden name. She talked about what a shame it is that "so many women today who you think 'get it' just give up their identities when they get married". I didn't chime in, though by that point I was married and had indeed chosen to take the Husband's last name. Lose my identity? Am I no longer me because the last part of my name has changed? If your sense of who you are rests on your surname, how sure of yourself are you? She went on about how women just changed their names out of a "knee-jerk reaction to our society's expectations". The more I listened to her, the more I assumed she didn't change her name out of pure knee-jerk not-really-feminism. Where was her thought behind it? She offered no reasoning behind her ideas, just that it was bad. It makes sense to me for women who are well known in their profession to keep their maiden names in the business world. I worked with a woman who was Ms X at the office and Mrs. Y in her personal life. Worked fine for her and her husband. But, as I thought about it, talked to others about it and looked ahead into the I hoped to have, the decision to add my Husband's last name to the end of my own seemed easy and obvious. Here's why: 1. I'm not just marrying a man, I'm marrying into a family. You don't just get the guy, you get his parents and siblings and cousins and whatever. Now, this goes the other way, too, but it's a privilege to me to be identified as a member of his family. I'd think twice if I hated his folks so much I couldn't stand to be called by their name. 2. We are starting a new family. I want us to be identified as a family. I didn't want my kids to have different last names from at least one of their parents. I don't want to go to their schools and clubs and events and repeatedly explain, yes, I am the mom and my husband is their dad, but we have different names. I want to be able to sign cards "Love, the X's" not "Love, Mr. X, Ms Y, and little X-Y". I'm not opposed to married couples picking a new name together. Or the man taking the woman's surname if they both are down with that. I just think a family should have a name, not several names. 3. What you call me doesn't change the person I am. Even if my last name became Hitler-Mao-Stalin-Hussein, I'm still me. If I am willing to stand up before God, family and friends and declare that this is the man I commit to spending my life with, how unimportant is the little matter of a name? I proudly wear the banner of the decision I made. My main thing is that it should be a decision you make both rationally and together. If you are both on totally different pages about the name thing, is it a one-issue-wonder or do you have divergent goals and ideas of what the marriage will be? Better figure that out. And, as for the Mrs./Miss/Ms - Here's the deal ladies - is it sexist that our designation indicates married or not while the nice generic "Mister" doesn't? Probably. Get over it. If you wear a wedding ring, people can figure it out. "Oh, you're 'Ms Smith'? How will I ever determine if you're married or not??" Isn't that one of those things you tend to find out about someone fairly early on? If it's a secret that you're married, you probably shouldn't be. If you're not married - good for you, you're probably discriminating. So suck it up and be what you are.

Jami is "That" Mom

2009-12-18T22:52:00.003-05:00

Sigh. I've long been blessed with a pretty healthy dose of not caring what most people think about me. Don't like my hair, clothes, car? So what? Think I talk too much? You're probably right. Sorry. In general, my feeling is either you like me for who I am, or you don't. And mostly, that's worked for me. However, it's different now that my kids are getting out into the world. Or more specifically, kid. Eddie is in preschool now and it's a very different world from the preschool he was in last year. Not bad, just different. And I think I'm this class's "that mom". You know, like 'That mom showed up with toothpaste on her forehead, again." "That mom forgot that today is bring in a working model of a nuclear power plant you made out of macaroni day." Many of these moms show up in nice clothes and full make-up. I'm happy to be there on time with pants on. I haven't volunteered for any of the activities yet, I'm still trying to figure out how all this works and also getting used to having two kids. At Halloween, I was surprised when Eddie came home with a little treat bag from each other student. Argh!! I checked all the take-home materials, not a word in there about bringing gift bags. So then for Christmas, the paper home says we are doing a book exchange. Bring a book, gift wrapped, gender neutral, no more than $5. Sounds good. We won't be doing gift bags, because we are doing books. Right? Wrong again! Once again my thankfully-oblivious son returns home with a sack of individually wrapped treats after having none to hand out. Some moms really brought the bucks, others did nice homemade stuff. Even if I'd thought of it, with my budget and talent, Eddie would have been handing out those ghosts you make from lollipops and tissue. "Tell them it's from A Christmas Carol, baby. We're literary folk." Only that morning on the way in did I remember that moms usually give teachers a little gift. Argh again! Fortunately the patient and sainted Husband went off in search of gifts for the teachers before pick-up time. If it were just me, I wouldn't care if the other mothers noticed that I wear pajama pants about once a week for drop-off or if they whisper that I bring the cheapest snack when it's my turn. I do plan to volunteer for something, honest. But I don't want it to reflect on Eddie. I don't want him to have the mom that the other ones giggle about. Sure, he'll get picked on for something at some point in his life, everyone who hasn't been made fun of, please drop me a line, but it shouldn't be because his mom's a nutball. At our old preschool, I knew the other moms' names. We chatted at pick up time, even had a few playdates. Now I feel like the odd Mom out - maybe because we started this year late (due to birth and all) or maybe they were all friends last year when their kids were in this preschool for the 3's. I don't know and normally I wouldn't care. I have my friends. I like my friends. I barely have time for my friends. So why do I want so much to make them like me? Because Eddie's great and they all should talk about that, not about me. Mommying is hard. And I'll be ready at Valentines!

Jami vs the Elderly Shoppers

2009-12-07T21:01:00.004-05:00

I'm all for respecting the old - surviving this cruel world for 7 or 8 decades or more is an accomplishment, no doubt. I'd hope that anyone reaching that age would have some wisdom to share, not just having lived the lessons, but also with the perspective that time brings. However . . . In a store the other day, an incident started with a common sight: an elderly woman inspecting the wealth of options for one particular product had parked her cart perpendicular to the aisle, basically blocking all traffic. Indeed the selection is baffling and often overwhelming, but one doesn't need to stop everyone else's progress whileone deciphers the meaning of the labels. As I mentioned, this I've seen often. It's usually resolved with a polite "Excuse me", although, really, regardless of age, you should be able to understand that you don't park sideways. Anyhow, this situation got worse; the nice white-haired lady was reading the labels aloud to her clearly hard-of-hearing hubby. "MOUNTAIN BREEZE!! This one is called Mountain Breeze, but it doesn't say Ultra like that other one. This one is RAIN FRESH. It's utlra, but I don't know what this symbol means, see? What does this mean??" People on both sides were saying "Excuse me!" in increasingly loud tones, and one woman attempted to move their cart for them, only to realize that with the display nearby, she'd have to either knock it down or bump them. I could almost see her contemplating the options. I was about 3 carts back, both boys in the cart and frozen veggies unfreezing as we spoke. Finally, the cart-mover bellowed "EXCUSE ME" loud enough that the rest of us jumped and the couple finally turned. At this point, it's over, right? They'll move the cart, we'll all flow around and life will be grand. Nope. The traffic-blocking woman blinked at the other woman for a few seconds and said "Yes?" "Your cart is blocking the aisle." More blinking. The husband either didn't hear the problem or chose not to be involved; he returned to inspecting the shelves. After a long, tense moment, the wife moved the cart, turning it a bit, so that now it was . . . directly next to the display in the aisle that had prevented the other woman from moving it in the first place, and turned back to the task at hand. I began to back up to pull a 3-point turn; this wasn't going anywhere fast. I don't know how it ended. Finn was hungry, Eddie was on a bazillion question roll, and I wanted to get out of there by any route necessary. They may still be there now. Rudeness and simple inattentiveness is not unique to our older citizens, but I see it in that age bracket more and more, in parking lots, restaurants and more. Last year I witnessed the slowest speed collision ever as two seniors backed out of parking spaces into each other so slowly there wasn't even a noise when they hit - talk about an avoidable accident. Both got out of their cars mad at the other one. Working in the fast food industry, both my nicest and my rudest customers were the ones getting their senior discount. Perhaps the moderate die young. I don't hate seniors, I'm not against old folks in anyway, just making the observation that more often than not in recent months, when someone's being impolite or just plain oblivious, they're more likely than not to have grey hair.

Jami Disagrees

2009-12-05T17:50:00.002-05:00

Anyone else see a problem with this?

Now, if the person who made it lives at Giant Eagle, I guess that's true. This allows you to truthfully purchase this, take it to a gathering and say that it's a homemade pumpkin roll.

Jami Worries About the Future of Imagination

2009-12-03T17:03:00.002-05:00

In the past several day, the topic of Legos has come up in conversation several times. If you're my age, you remember big sets of Legos, sometimes with suggestions of what you could build, pictures of different buildings or vehicles that you could assemble with some of the pieces in the box. Some had those little people with the Lego feet and C-shaped hands. But now Legos come in kits, almost exclusively, with one finished product per set. In fact, a few years ago I was unable to even locate Legos that weren't a specific kit. Don't believe me? Check out their website and try to find a lego set that isn't meant to be just one thing. On one hand, I think that this is neat. My Lego creations were basically randomly colored buildings, usually rectangular in shape and as symmetrical as I could achieve with the blocks I could reach. But what about just building something you create, or figuring out how to make something look like the idea in your head? This is where the problem lies. Our culture increasing does more for our children. They have real playhouses instead of cardboard boxes. The toys are more and more "set" or "done" and allow less room for creating and imagining. If we don't learn to use our imaginations when we're children, when will we? Combine the imagination-less toys with more TV and super-real looking video games, and I wonder if this generation will grow up imaginations at all! I have wondered if this trend, started even with my generation, I'd say, has led to fewer inventions. Or look at the seeming lack of creativity even in Hollywood - how excited do you get when a movie or TV show is truly different than the others that you've seen? Is it because we have really come up with all the ideas that exist or because people are less able to formulate new concepts? My son has an amazing imagination right now, despite his abundance of toys and probably too much TV. I try to find things for him to do that aren't set in stone, and I praise him when he creates toys or games or stories out of nothing. It's not easy, though, and I worry that I'll take the easy way too often, plopping him in front of my old friend television. I worry that the schools will try to conform his uniqueness out of him with set activities and aptitude tests. And I wonder what will happen when his generation is responsible for encouraging the imaginations of their children. Let's keep our kids in that land where all things are possible for as long as we can! My friend who found a set of "just Legos" showed it to her 9-year-old, Lego-freak nephew who had never conceived of such of a thing. The prospect of making "whatever I wanted!" thrilled him. So there's hope for these kids after all.

Jami Presents: Read at Your Own Risk Poems

2009-11-18T21:31:00.000-05:00

Can there be a more angst-ridden being than a teenage girl? The answer, my friend, is of course not. No one feeeeels as deeply as a hormone-fluctuating girl in the throes of crushes and the maze of high school life. I've been there, I know. And an almost universal outlet for the Feelings Which Cannot Be Contained is crappy poetry. I don't know if this current generation, with their shocking lack of literacy have kept up (text poetry? "I c u luv her ih8 u jeff. u should luv me, wtf?" but in my day, lo, these many years ago, every 13-to-18 year old girl had a notebook somewhere with her super-secret sometimes-rhyming thoughts. When I cleaned out the attic this summer I threw out about 6-7 lined notepads jam packed with poems so bad they could have exercised the ghosts of Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson. I just found yet another one, and for your reading "pleasure" I present: JAMI'S HORRID TEEN YEARS POEMS - one even rhymes. Read 'em and weep. When Darkness Falls When darkness falls and my best friends are tears When I find myself alone with nothing but my fears When I cry out to someone, won't you take my hand? I'm so glad you're here. I know you'll understand When my heart is broken and all the pieces lost When I reach out for love no matter what the cost When I cry out to someone, won't you take my hand? I'm so glad you're here. I know you'll understand. ___(untitled)__ I cannot accuse, for I am also guilty; I would be convicting myself. Friendship assumes many different forms. Some cannot be understood But must be accepted. ____________ Mourn! For another dream has died. And I feel the wind blowing my tears away. My heart tries not to break, but it wants to. Cry! I cannot judge, for neither do I trust One I learned is lost in her lies. The other is too far hidden to find the truth. Based on some of the titles of other poems, my best guess is that these were written the summer between my junior and senior years. Some are much happier, but what fun is that? My deepest apologies for scarring your brain with these.

Jami on the Why of Parenting

2009-11-17T22:13:00.004-05:00

My my, half a month since I've posted. So busy, it's true. Today my sister-in-law and I discussed the idea that so-called "stay-at-home" moms rarely get to. She suggested the term "in the car" moms, which sounds more reasonable. Or "Sometimes I get to stop by my house long enough to clean it" moms. I noticed awhile ago that many of us moms seem to spend time half-jokingly complaining about our kids/duties/lives. And I wonder if those who don't have children think we dislike being parents. I also know that lots of people hate it when someone says that being a parent is the hardest job there is, because let's face it - there are jobs that are physically more demanding (though I haven't had one that is), careers that require more formal education or a certain type of learning ability, occupations that are at least as emotionally challenging if not harder (pediatric oncologist, for one). I think, though, that the difficulty in parenting is that it's constant, it's rewards are less immediate and tangible and the idea that if you screw it up, you're messing up a person. There's not a manual or a "right" way to do just about every part of it. No one really can train you because even someone who as 10 kids never had your kid. So then, you're asking, why did you do it and more importantly, why did you do it again? If having kids is such a chore, heartache and stress, why does anyone have a second one? or more?? And I actually spent the last couple of days, when I had a few moments (in the shower, feeding Finn in the middle of the night) to try to answer that. The best answer I can give you is, I can't tell you. Not that I don't know, but that I can't describe it to you. Imagine that you had never seen a sunrise, not even a photo or drawing. Plenty of folks had described it you, sounds nice enough, but you don't like to get up early, and your house doesn't have a good east-facing window, so you'd have to actually get up, get out of bed, get dressed, go outside, find a good place to watch it - seems like too much work. Then one day, I convince you to give it a go. We get up early, even though we're still beat. We get dressed and drive to this place where there is supposed to be a really spectacular sunrise. Now you've inconvenienced yourself, spent time, energy, money and all this and you're wishing you had just slept in, when we come around the bend and BAM! There it is: the world's most beautiful sunrise, ever. While we watch it, you're not thinking that your bed would be warmer and comfier, or that gas prices are high enough without driving all over for no good reason. You're not thinking that you could have just looked at some pretty painting and it would have been close enough. You are totally in the beauty of that perfect moment as the sun colors the sky in all its brilliance and a new day has started. That's parenting. It's tiring and frustrating and expensive and unending. But even in the moments when you're considering FedExing your children to Zimbabwe, you have in your heart the indescribable joy of knowing, loving and just plain old having your children. And that's why we do it.

Jami Needs Your Help

2009-10-30T17:01:00.004-04:00

I know there's a great caption for this photo, I just can't get it . . .

Jami the Paranoiac

2009-10-29T14:19:00.003-04:00

I'm certain that I've mentioned in previous posts that I am a bit overly paranoid. Nothing in my life, childhood or upbringing stands out as an event that would cause this, it just seems to have developed slowly over my life. I would guess that my love of reading true crime and marrying a man who studied criminal justice probably contributed, however. A prime example happened a few days ago, when I found a package on the front porch. I picked it up, turned around and was walking through the door when I noticed that the box had a handwritten label, and came from a name/address I didn't recognize. Instantly I turned around and began taking the package back outside. Not because I didn't think it was for me, but because that's a big hallmark of mail bombs. Then I saw the second name on the address label and recognized that name, and went back in. The package contained a definitely non-explosive baby blanket. The thing is, I am not really a prime target for letter bombs. I know that I learned the signs of packages that might blow up when working at a radio station (which never had had a mail bomb, but media outlets are more likely to receive such things), but I'd have to guess most postal bombers aren't going to go after a stay-at-home mom who is currently involved in such major controversies as "Should the Sunday School kids be allowed to perform a Christmas rap at the annual dinner theater night?" I'm not a lightning rod for assassination attempts. But I still look out for them. I always remember the first time I heard someone say "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not after you" and the line from the Princess Bride: "I always assume everything is a trap; it's why I'm still alive". I know from reading my true crime books that a fair number of crimes could have been avoided by a little more paranoia on the victim's part. Or at least a good healthy skepticism. And we can't know what bad things my paranoid reactions may have prevented, either. That time I got off the elevator because I felt hinky about the guy who got on after me - maybe I avoided being a crime victim that night, maybe not - we'll never know. One of my biggest challenges as a parent is teaching my children a healthy paranoia. I want them to be aware, but not nuts. Wary, but not terrified. I could easily turn my kids into raging agoraphobics who refuse to leave my side, but while that might make me feel better, it does them a grave disservice. Insane as it makes me sound, I'm trying to raise them to be fearless. I'm not afraid of snakes, spiders, the dark, heights, public speaking or most of the things on the list of "normal" fears and I want them to have that same boldness. But I also want them to be wise, skeptical of strangers and stories that don't make sense, careful about situations that could spiral out of control. It's a fine line, I know, and I doubt anyone walks it perfectly. So we'll have to wait and see how well I do.

Jami's Best Laid Plans

2009-10-24T21:28:00.003-04:00

A few years ago, in a meeting at church, people were sharing prayer requests. One woman asked for prayer for her son who she felt may have been suffering some depression. Around the table we made sympathetic noises, nodded, wrote down his name. Then she added "His life is, well, it isn't going like he planned." Chuckles broke out around the table, not because we no longer empathized with him, but because really - has anyone in the history of the world ever had their life go as they planned it? Here's the thing - I have a fantastic life. I have more than a girl has the right to ask for: loving husband, two healthy boys, wonderful extended family and in-laws, and we're all happy, healthy and not in jail, poverty or other dire straights. But, that doesn't mean that this went according to plan. Any of the plans starting from Junior High, as a matter of fact. We can ignore the grade school hopes of living in a tree and being a famous actress/singer/writer/mommy/astronaut. As I mentioned in a previous blog, the Husband and I celebrated our 13th anniversary. I never would have imagined, even only 5 years ago, that I'd have a newborn on my 13th anniversary. Especially one I birthed. So not part of that plan. I don't really have a point here, except that plans change and that's not bad. It's not good. It is. We make of it what we will, and time spent ruminating on how we thought it would go is wasted. So when your plans get chucked, grin and get on with the living.

Jami, Duckies and Bunnies

2009-10-21T23:30:00.002-04:00

Oh how I love dressing a baby. Eddie always wore complete outfits, and Finn soon will follow in those footsteps. I'm a big fan of the "little man" style of baby/toddler clothes, with little ties and vests. Not that I don't love little fuzzy sleepers and the adorable little footie-PJs, those are great too. I noticed the other day that several of the different brands of diapers we were given have licensed characters on them - Blue's Clues, Sesame Street, and Mickey Mouse. Why? Most people aren't going to see the diapers, you know, being under the clothes. These diapers are for newborns remember, infants up to 14 pounds, I think the upper limit is. No matter how advanced your child is, at 14 pounds, they are not going to be "into" anything. No show has captured their attention. No favorite characters are required to cajole them into letting you put their diapers on. Similarly, I wonder why so much baby stuff has ducks, bunnies and various baby animals on it. Do babies like ducks in particular? I can't imagine that they do. Ducks especially aren't cuddly or sweet. They don't make a soothing noise. What is up with that? Baby animals - maybe because it's a baby? Who decided that these particular things go with babies? Oh - babies love bunnies - except that they don't know a bunny from their elbow. Griffin has no idea that anything he's not looking at even exists, I don't think that he has a strong preference for ducks over, say, porcupines or armadillos. Know why? He's a baby. I think we should be designing baby clothes to appeal to the parents' tastes, not the baby's supposed favorites. Sure, we have some Steeler and Pittsburgh Penguin baby stuff, but where's the Big Bang Theory bib or Star Wars onesies (okay, there probably are SW onesies)? And don't even get me started on why they think babies love pastels.

Jami Fearin' the Flu

2009-10-16T18:22:00.002-04:00

Ah, flu season, that magical time of year when germs frolic in all sorts of places and sneezes draw the evil eye from strangers. Ordinarily, I don't give much thought to flu season. I didn't worry about the bird flu (actually, due to business concerns at that time, I was rooting for that particular flu). I have never before had a flu shot. When the H1N1 flu started up, I didn't give it more than a passing thought. But now I have a newborn and that definitely changes one's attitude. I'm not frozen in panic, refusing to leave my house or let anyone in. I'm washing our hands a bit more, paying more attention than I otherwise might to who holds the baby, that sort of thing. I got a flu shot, which I would have in any case, working in hospitals and visiting doctors offices as I will be. Since Eddie is preschool with all the germy children, he got the flu mist (easier to convince a preschooler to inhale than sit still for a shot). I requested the Husband get one for the sake of the baby. Probably he would have otherwise given it a miss. My big problem is, as it always has been, the people who are clearly ill, whether with some sort of flu or just a cold, or whatever, wandering around in public. Flu season or not, what gives you the right to share your diseases with my family? No lie - last night I was at a gathering where a woman actually said, sitting there, just a few feet from me and my newborn "So, the dr. sent me today to get a chest X-ray, you know, since I have this cough that won't go away? To see if it's pneumonia." Another person asked "and?" Pneumonia Nelly: "Oh - they won't get the results for a couple of days." Only the fact that we were in a church prevented me from yelling "Then what the hell are you doing here with all these moms with young kids???" I'm sorry, I know this woman and generally she is a nice, generous, kind person, but what are you thinking if you *might* have pneumonia and you are going to a totally unnecessary fun event?!? This wasn't her job, she wouldn't be fired if she missed. No one would have suffered any horrible consequences if she'd called the host and said "Hey, I'd love to come, but the doctor thinks I may have pneumonia, so I'm gonna have to skip tonight - sorry." In fact, in that case, I think we all would have been grateful to her. This sort of thing happens way too much. I have heard all sorts of these stupid stories the last few weeks, including one woman who brought her son, diagnosed with "possible H1N1" to the church nursery. I know that manners of all kinds have gone out the window, but for the love of all that is holy, we're talking about a virus that has killed people, could you *maybe* err on the side of caution and stay home for one freaking day? Sure, we'll miss you today, but isn't that better than us hating you tomorrow when we're suffering the fate you unkindly shared? Patrick insists that we will all, sooner or later, get the Swine Flu. I hope that he's wrong, though the cynic in me is stocking up on chicken soup, tissue and Tylenol. Of course, he's also dealing with his new realization of his own mortality, having hit a milestone recently. If you: have a fever, feel a cold coming on, cough uncontrollably, or have not been told by a real actual live doctor that you're not contagious, take a day at home. Watch daytime TV, play your new Wii game or FaceBook all day and let the rest of us spend one more day healthy. Do it for me, for all the mothers of newborns and for Patrick.

Jami On Love

2009-10-15T13:53:00.003-04:00

I planned to write this one several days ago, but due to the vagaries of having both a newborn and toddler, blogging has come under the impossible dream category. Even now, I type with a baby sleeping on me while a 4-year-old peppers me with questions, so if random, seemingly unrelated words sneak in here, please just assume they are answers to the ending queries. But this post is about love. The Husband and I celebrated our 13th anniversary on Tuesday, even though the actual date was Monday. That's right - 13 years married and still having new adventures (you know, like childbirth). Anyway, this coincided with me catching part of the movie Jerry Maguire on late night TV, something I'm catching far more of lately. In the movie, Jerry is explaining how his relationship with his fiancee fell a part. He says something about it being such hard work and Dorothy says "Maybe love shouldn't be such hard work." To which I say, "Bull." Because there are two parts of love really. And as a grammar nerd, I'm going to explain it this way: love is a noun AND a verb. The noun part is the feeling - the warm fuzzy tinglies. All kinds of love have the "heartwarming" emotion part to them - you love your spouse, your kids, your parents, your best friend - it all fills the chest with that happy-contentedness - that's the feeling part of love and it is fairly easy. You don't have to do much with that except enjoy it. Love, though, is also a verb - it's action. You can say "I love you" from here to Timbuktu, but your actions are what make it so. Love isn't just basking in fuzzy happiness, it's being/doing/knowing. Let's take the romantic piece out of it for just a minute, just for example sake. My son Finn is not even a month old. Very easy to love in the noun sense. You just look at his sweet little face and you feel love. But what if, when he cried I just looked at him and said "I love you. Mommy loves you. I love you so much . . ." We both know that's not going to do jack-diddly. Even if I hug him and kiss him and pat his head, it's not going to fill his belly or change wet diapers. Love means the work it takes to feed him, even at 3 in the morning, a time when quite frankly, I usually don't love anyone. Now, apply that to all your relationships. If you love your spouse, you have to do the work, hopefully not to change diapers and feed them, but to nourish their soul. Saying "I love you" is just a part of it - live it. Also, if you live it, you will feel it more. I get disgusted by the people who "just fell out of love" because that means that probably both of them but at very least the one who says that didn't do love, just sat back and waited to feel it. Like exercise, you gotta do it to feel it. It's worth it, because the more you love, the more you can love. And the more you will be loved in return. Thank you the Husband for 13 years of love.

Jami Wishes She Was 3 Weeks Old

2009-10-12T12:12:00.003-04:00

Finn's schedule for today so far: Wake up. Eat. Toot with incredible volume/duration and no shame. Be dressed in a warm, cuddly PJ style outfit. Nap. Poop. Car ride. Nap. Eat. Poop. Be cuddled. This is pretty much going to repeat, in random order, for the rest of the day. Sounds like a good gig to me. Also included are people telling you you're adorable, being carried around and having your picture taken. I could so handle that.

Jami Finally Writes Out Her Birth Story

2009-10-09T23:44:00.000-04:00

This post isn't, necessarily, for you. It's for me and it's going to be long and probably some people's definition of graphic, or just plain TMI. But this is the birth story, start to finish. I need to get it down for my own sake, and I don't mind sharing. I've been writing little bits when I have a moment, which is why it's taken 3 weeks. Also, before parts that get too personal, I'll put a little *** - if you see that, you can decide if you want to skip the paragraph that follows the stars, which might be more than you want to know. Sort of a "read the following paragraph at your own risk." Or skip this whole thing, I won't mind, honest. I'm all about birthin', but it's not for everyone, believe me, I know. The last thing I'm going to say in this intro is that before I start, I want to acknowledge that the Husband totally kicked butt at this - if every husband could do what he did, you wouldn't need a doula. I wouldn't have gotten through the days and days without his unwavering, comforting, perfect support. Just saying. As you may have gathered, if you've been reading this blog regularly, this pregnancy didn't go quite as I'd envisioned. Pretty much from the first ambiguous home pregnancy test on, it seemed that each time I accepted the problem at hand, and got to a good place, the next shoe dropped. Probably not a great metaphor unless you're a centipede, because it was way more than 2 shoes. Ever the optimist, I got through each challenge thinking that this would be it, smooth sailing from here on out, and then I'd visualize my perfect birth situation. Because I just knew that it would be fine. I've read, learned, seen, experienced. I did all the exercises and knew all my options. I'm prepared, I thought, and that's the key. So, it came as a bit of a shock to me when last Thursday, Sept 17, my midwife told me that with my blood pressure still creeping up, my urine tests showing me close to pre-eclampsia and the extra challenges present by gestational diabetes, I should consider induction. I wanted to wait, to try to start labor naturally, but that close to the weekend, it was start it now or wait until the following week, presenting some very real health concerns. At the time, she said I was 1 cm dilated and 70 percent effaced, and that far effaced, I felt a little better going against the first thing on my birth vision: I want to go into labor on my own. Births don't always follow our desires, I know, but I've seen a nice birth that started with an induction, and I still felt confident that I would have a lovely birth. And so we went in. Right away the nurses put in an IV, against my wishes, and stuck me on the monitors, also against my wishes. When I questioned these actions, I was told it was standard and that's that. My midwife came in and fortunately was able to get them to cap off the IV with a heparin lock (so I wasn't attached to anything) and while they did find the telemetric monitors (sort of remote control so I wouldn't be stuck to the machine) they hadn't been charged, but since I was going to be sleeping soon anyway, I was able to compromise with great grace. The midwife showed me how to unplug it so I could use the restroom (to the nurse's initial distress, though after looking at both of us, she shrugged, "well, whatever"). Hey - it saved her a bunch of trips into my room. At 10 pm, I was started on Cervadil, which softens the cervix, preparing it for effacing and dilation. It's not usually something that starts "labor" as you think of it, so the plan at that time was, sleep while the drug works its magic, wake up and have the baby. But before that I had to talk to the doctors, since I had gestational diabetes. The doctors treating my gestational diabetes wanted to do an ultrasound, so they could scare me by telling me the baby was too big to be born vaginally. First the residents spent 45 minutes pressing the wand on my belly to the point where I expected to be bruised from it, only to get "inconclusive" readings since Griffin refused to stay still long enough to take even one accurate measurements. They left to find their attending, who spent another 30 minutes poking me with the same results and then explaining to me that since they couldn't get a measurement, they had to assume the baby was over 10 pounds and that would mean all sort of complications that could lead to a Cesarean section and I should start thinking about that. The midwife felt my belly with her hands and estimated around 8 pounds. Guess who was closer . . . My doula wouldn't be called until we hit some actual action, so the Husband and I sacked out and attempted to rest. Of course, because of my high blood pressure, they had to take it once an hour, and take a finger prick for my blood sugar every 2 hours. With that and adjusting the monitors every time I rolled over, it wasn't as restful as "sleep" usually is, but it was something. I woke up around 5am with the urge to walk around. I found a nurse to switch me to the telemetric monitors, put on my non-skid socks and my iPod and went trucking around the ward. Most rooms had been full and they were slowly emptying out. I heard various women's shouts and moans, following by baby cries. I walked faster, picturing the motion working the baby down. I ran through my vision of how the birth was going to go. It wouldn't be long now. At 7ish, a new midwife came on duty. She checked me again and found that I was still at 1 cm, and in her opinion, not even 50% effaced. Did I want to start pitocin to start contractions? Or another drug for softening the cervix? Neither appealed to me for various reasons I will be glad to discuss if you really want to know. I wanted to try walking some more and the midwife also suggested a foley balloon. So I ordered breakfast and had the balloon. That breakfast was the last solid food I was allowed to have and I enjoyed eggs, bacon, sausage, yogurt and tea from room service. Yummers. *** A foley balloon is basically a surgical tube that the midwife inserts into your cervix and blows up like a balloon. The pressure of the balloon can help your cervix open and then when it reaches the size of the balloon, the balloon falls out. This prompted me to call my friend Lexi and tell her that there must be a party going on because there's a balloon in my hooha. This procedure was about as comfortable as you're imagining it to be. I ended up crying to Lexi a little because things weren't going as I wanted, and her support really gave me a boost I sorely needed. The foley balloon and walking caused me some good cramping (good in the sense that I felt like something was finally happening). The nurses noted that of all the laboring moms they've seen, I held the landspeed record. One kept telling me "no running". The moving felt good, though, and I would chug it out for 25-30 minutes, then get some rest or bounce on the birth ball. About this time I learned that my doula, Jan, had a reaction to a medication she'd been given and was at home with a rash, fever and vomiting. I still had a back up, and there's nothing wrong with Teresa, my backup, but I'd planned on Jan. I wanted Jan, in my mind, it had always been Jan and this was one more thing going wrong. I started to feel crushed. I didn't want to be induced, I didn't want pitocin, I wanted Jan. Around 11am Friday, the balloon had accomplished its goal and the midwife checked again - sadly, was only at 3 cm and still not any more effaced. Time to start the pitocin, she suggested, or, start all over with the Cervadil. A weepy call to Teresa later, we decided on the pitocin and I got hooked up to the IV. We named the IV pole "Irv" (IV with and "r" in the middle") and after a brief nap, Irv and I did some more laps. The nurses chased me around to keep the baby on the monitor while I moved. Now that I'd been on the pitocin, they limited me to "clear foods" - broth, tea, clear sodas, Italian ice (the lemon and orange were particularly yummy) and Popsicles. Remember, this is noonish on Friday, and I didn't have the baby until Sunday morning. As tasty as brother and Italian ices are, it's not the kind of meal that you enjoy every few hours for two days. The pitocin began to be turned up regularly, and I walked, bounced, squatted, rested and repeated. I changed position every 1/2 hour at least, peed every hour the way a good doula should. We called family and friends regularly, FaceBooked and texted updates (which were mostly "nothing new here") and waited. I had some crampy feelings, nothing like the labor you see in movies where women are writhing and screaming. A new midwife came on duty, things seemed to maybe be moving. She checked me at about 11pm Friday night and it looked like finally, finally, I was set to go. I'd hit 5 cm dilated (usually considered the beginning of active labor) and though I didn't seem much more effaced, she felt that I was "softer" than before and that now things would really start jumping. We called Teresa who headed in. Generally, we tell women that getting to 5 cm is the longest part. Jan usually says that you are 75% there when you hit 5, not just halfway like it sounds. So I was set. I could feel it. They wouldn't turn the pitocin up anymore since it seemed to be working. I took a rest and then went back out walking, knowing that this was it. I had the iPod on, and Little Wonders (These Small Hours) came on. It was such a boost, my spirits soared - I sang along, really feeling the song "these small hours, these twists and turns" - yeah, I'd felt the twists and turns, and I'd dealt with them, and now, in these small hours of the night, I was getting ready to finally greet my son. Teresa arrived, and we spent some time getting her caught up. We rested as well as we could, thinking that very soon it'd be too hard for me to really rest. Friday melted into Saturday morning. Since I had now hit "active labor" (5 centimeters dilated), the doctors insisted I had to have my blood sugar checked every hour. That meant 36 more times I had to prick my fingers. Do the math - I don't have that many fingers. They were literally black and blue by the end of the birth. And still nothing changed. 7am Saturday morning, another check, another stall. I hadn't dilated any more. No more effaced, baby in the same place. Frustration swept over me again; we'd been sure when I hit 5, that would be it, we'd be moving and here we were again, stuck for half a day in the same place. More options were discussed. A few hours later, they turned off the pitocin. Similar to your sense of smell, your pitocin receptors can get "used" to the medication, so clearing them for a few hours and restarting can help. They'd break my water that afternoon, too, we decided - something had to give. I'd been in the hospital two nights now, and felt no closer to giving birth. *** My midwife, when checking me, asked if I had had a bowel movement that day. Since I hadn't "gone" since being switched to clear foods, IMO, because there is no fiber, etc to move the waste out, I felt somewhat constipated and she wondered if that could be interfering with my progress. I had heard from other doulas and patients that the hospital I was at would only give you stool softeners, but she actually asked if I'd be willing to try an enema. At this point, I'd have tried crack if you told me it would move the baby safely, so I agreed. The very nice nurse came in and explained that she'd prefer I "take it myself" because she could give it to me, but she'd really rather not. Can't blame her. I agreed, for both our sakes. She asked if I'd ever had one before - no. Then she gave me the instructions, which I still think are hilarious "Put this end in your bottom and then squeeze this part. Then sit down on the toilet." I did. It feels about as unpleasant as you're imagining. It helped and that's all I'll say about that. Jan, my original doula, recovered enough to come for a visit - what a blessing! Though I hadn't wanted to have my waters broken, I'd talked to her about it on the phone, as well as Teresa and the Husband, and I felt okay with it. This would be it - the catalyst that moved my labor along. So I was thrilled when a couple hours after they broke my water, Jan showed up. We talked about how getting to 5 centimeters is often the worst of it and here I was, there with no real pain - yay for me! We now had three birth balls and we sat bouncing like a Tigger convention, much to the amusement of the nurses. I had a few "gushing" incidents, the first of which when I stood up to head to the ladies room and so much fluid came out that I laughed out loud - it was like a bad movie special effect. Good news, because it means the baby is getting lower, we suspected. Jan gave Teresa a break and we spent some more time moving, bouncing squatting. I felt suddenly very tired, and Jan suggested trying a nap. It sounded good, so Jan left, knowing Teresa would be back when I woke up. I slept a little. Finally, finally, going into Saturday night, I was feeling contractions. Still not horrid, but getting stronger. This, I knew, was it. Finally. "Real" labor starting. I felt like every time they turned up the Pitocin, I got a boost in the contractions - it seemed to be working like it was supposed to! The contractions got stronger. I wanted to sit in the hot tub, but not allowed off of the monitors because of the pitocin, I had to settle for the shower. The husband sat on the toilet as I ran the hot water over my belly during the increasingly stronger contractions. I rocked and moaned a bit, as well, really proud on some level, when I wasn't in immediate pain, that I could handle these contractions this well. When the contractions got to the point that I knew I couldn't handle them if I got out of the shower, and knowing that they weren't going to let me deliver in the shower, I asked for Nubain. Nubain is a narcotic that basically takes the edge of the contractions, allowing women in labor to manage the pain, but not taking it away. I also worried that my window for a dose might be closing, as they won't give it to you after a certain point. My midwife came in to check me before deciding, and said "Nope. No real change. Still 5 centimeters and 50%" and folks, I lost it. That was one of the worst moments of my life. I'd been laboring for too long, getting through these waves of stronger and stronger contractions, knowing that I was doing it and going to get there and then this. I can say that in my life, I have had blessedly few moments of anguish, but this was one: my body had failed me, my knowledge had failed me, my strength had failed me. I even felt anger for God - I had done it all right, praying only for a healthy birth, and everything and everyone had let me down. I'd ignored my instincts and had an induction, and here I sat, certain that I'd be having a Cesarean birth - the one main thing I wanted to avoid, and I had done everything "right". I sobbed. I felt betrayed and exhausted and lost. I got to the bed, and I don't even know how. The midwife had suggested an epidural (one more thing on my "avoid if possible" list) and I felt like I couldn't think. I just wanted to push the baby out. The midwife explained that after all this time, if I didn't get real rest, I wouldn't physically be able to have the baby vaginally. The epidural, she felt, might also help my muscles relax more, encouraging more progress. The Husband and my doula agreed. I nodded. I hoped they were right, but I also feared this was the beginning of my route to surgery. Let me take a brief moment here to say that doulas are NOT anti-epidural. I can't speak for all of us, but in general, we are just against uninformed epidurals and the idea that you have to have one basically as soon as you reach the parking lot. There ARE reasons to have epidurals and times when a doula will suggest it, as in this case. Had I been the doula, not the patient, and been thinking clearly, I'd have absolutely recommended the same thing. I've been at births with and without them, and I don't "judge" anyone for the decision to have one. Anyway . . . I'd filled out the epidural release form earlier. When doing so, I'd crossed out the part about knowing that the hospital is a teaching hospital and that my epidural may be done by a resident, student or random passerby, and instead I had written in "ATTENDING ONLY". So, when nice epidural man came in, I of course said "Are you the attending?" No, he told me, just a resident. I explained that I wanted the attending physician. He said he'd done "plenty" of these. How nice for him. I insisted: Attending Only. Says so on my form. He warned me that I'd have to wait. "Okay. Thanks. Bye." My doula was impressed that I threw a doctor out of my room while in the middle of a contraction. Talk about empowering! I did have to wait - through one more contraction. Big whoop. I survived, and survived the epidural as well. During all this, my mother had arrived, and she came in just as the epidural took effect. Relief swept through me, as the pain drained away and I saw my mom. With the pain ebbing, it was suggest I get some sleep (as much as I could with them stabbing my fingers every hour) and we sent Teresa home to get some sleep. I had my mom and the Husband and we planned on just sacking out and snoozing. The midwife had also inserted an intrauterine device to monitor contractions, since I hadn't had good measurements on the monitor. My mom being there allowed the Husband to get some rest, she helped me with the bed pan and ice chips and rolling over. The night crept by. Early morning, I woke up with an uncomfortableness the epidural didn't help. Not having felt it before, I suspected it was the urge to push, but I couldn't be sure. I asked the nurse to get the midwife. She checked me and finally!! Progress beyond what I'd hoped for - only an anterior lip remained (think of it as being 9 and a half centimeters dilated). I knew what to do - what we call "blowing through" contractions, a way of dealing with the urge to push without pushing, since you're not quite there yet. Almost an hour later, I told the nurse to get the midwife, because I was going to start pushing with or without her. I couldn't wait. I gave Mom and the Husband baby-catching tips, just in case. Another midwife came in (shift change, again) and I started to push. Again, going against my birth vision, they insisted I use "directed pushing" (like you see on TV: hold your breath and push while they count to 10), but the midwife explained the reasoning and again, necessary. Sigh. I pushed for awhile, feeling ineffective. I needed to focus the pushing better. I asked for a sheet, using the towel trick or "Tug of War" with the squat bar and that combined with being able to see my progress in the mirror really helped. At one point when the baby's head was resting in the bottom of the birth canal, I said "THIS REALLY HURTS" which apparently was no suprise to the others in the room. I fell asleep between contractions, exhausted. Finally his head appeared and stayed visible. I knew we were there, and that overrode everything else. A few good pushes and this would be over. And it was. Griffin emerged healthy and strong, with his dark curls and perfectly shaped head, for a vaginal birth. My mother cut the cord. So that's the birth story. I can't tell you all the lessons I learned during those hours, it would double this post. I wish there were a way to see the what-if's - what if I'd waited until the next week to come in, what if we'd tried the other drug, even with its risks, what if I'd done more or less of one thing or another. But I rest in the knowledge that I did all I could do to get what was best for all of us. I avoided the surgery, I did what I could. I gained new appreciation for the Husband. And I had a perfect little boy. The End - no, the Beginning . . .

Jami Just Wanted to Share This With You

2009-10-03T23:52:00.002-04:00

because it made me laugh out loud. From a site with some bizarre album covers:

Jami is Easily Amused

2009-09-30T21:30:00.003-04:00

This is from the bed in the hospital. Is it me, or does the "nurse" in the picture look really surprised? I don't think I'd want to call this particular nurse.

Jami and a New Beginning

2009-09-28T22:24:00.003-04:00

If I were to take a page from EDW's book and title posts with lyrics, this one would be "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end". Yes, this is another post about my recent birth-giving and I'm not going to apologize for that and the several more that will probably follow. It's sorta the biggest thing going on in my life at the moment. On the way to the hospital, I had plenty of conflicting emotions. One of the biggest was that as tired as I was of the pregnancy and all the stresses, hardships and just plain stupid pregnancy stuff that went with it, I felt sad knowing this was the end (or, at least the beginning of the end, since I didn't know at the time that my labor would last approximately 7 million hours. Okay, only about 59, but still. Felt like 7 million.) I thought of the above lyric in the car, as we drove down Rt. 88 - the end of the pregnancy, the beginning of Finn. And before that, the end of my body being totally mine, the beginning of my pregnancy. Knowing from having Eddie that the end of each stage is so bittersweet and that they come so blindingly fast. I sort of miss having him in there. Don't get me wrong, since I was released from my stupid eating restrictions the moment he came out, I loved being not pregnant. I love holding him and hearing his little noises, his soft newborn hair and skin. I love staring at his perfect tiny face and admiring the many, many different expressions he makes. And of course, rolling over in the night, not peeing every 36 minutes, all the stuff that makes it great to not be pregnant. But I do miss the feeling of knowing he was in there. I miss the relief of getting kicked even though I didn't like how it felt. I miss the anticipation of his impending arrival and the excuse to swan about a little. And I think of how I'll miss this stage so soon from now. I'll miss him being tiny and totally dependant. I'll miss newborn smell and funny noises and him fitting in one arm, but I have to remind myself at that stage to enjoy the things I'll miss when that new beginning is at its end. Time moving forward only is so unfair. Can't I keep this moment? Save it and come visit it next year? And in 50 years?

Jami's Birthing Tips

2009-09-27T20:05:00.002-04:00

Hi-de-ho, folks. Long time, no blog. For anyone who is unaware, I was off giving birth to my new son, Griffin, which only took 59 hours start to finish. So, with that fun behind me, I thought I'd share a few hints for anyone who might find themselves in the family way. 1. Before you leave for the hospital, make peace with the idea that everyone you encounter there, and I am including the parking lot attendants, janitors and cafeteria ladies, are going to see you not only naked, but in the most awkward and compromising positions. There is no way to give birth in a hospital without pretty much showing the world everything you've got unless you're going straight to a Cesarean section. 2. "Resting" or "sleeping" in a hospital means lying in bed, hooked up to a couple different machines and waiting for the next procedure to be done while various things beep, flash and occasionally sound meaningless alarms. 3. Nature doesn't care what you plan. I had a birth vision, my midwives knew it, it was in my file for the nurses to read. I might as well have added "I would like fairies to sprinkle us all with magic dust twice an hour" and "Please put Mike's hard lemonade in my IV" for all that we were able to stick to the plan. 4. People will do things to you that ordinarily you would report to the police, and you will thank them. Enough said. 5. Pack more than you think you'll need. I didn't pack my razor. I packed a teeny sample bottle of conditioner. I packed two shirts, 1 pair of shorts, and 1 bra. I ended up being there 5 nights. Besides having leg hair that would make a yeti proud, I had to choose between wearing hospital gowns all day or clothes I'd been wearing for a seeming eternity. 6. Nurses rock - I can't say enough about the awesome nurses I had both in Labor and Delivery and in Post Partum. They were totally on top of stuff, brought me things I didn't even know to ask for, changed the baby's diaper when I just plain didn't feel like it, and were always super-friendly, but not perky, thank goodness. I also loved the room service and the nice people that would peek in once or twice a day and ask if they could clean the bathroom and empty the trash. I would have liked to bring them all home. 7. Dermoplast is awesome, ice packs are great and don't underestimate the value of the hospital's disposable mesh panties.

Jami Waxes Thoughtful

2009-09-16T16:55:00.003-04:00

I haven't blogged much lately, starting with vacation where I didn't have internet access and really, as much as I love to write, just didn't have it in me to dig out the laptop and commit thoughts to the virtual paper. Of course, getting back from vacation also meant laundry, cleaning and getting ready for our fall schedule. And, oh yeah, this here baby that will apparently be born at some point. With all that and the ability to commit brief thoughts to FaceBook, I just haven't been here as much. I do think of blog posts, mostly as I am drifting off to a restless slumber each night, but by morning, the posts in my head have slipped away. Naps are big now, I need them to avoid falling asleep while cooking or driving. Writing is one of my joys, and one of my sanity-keepers, and yet, how is it that it is one of the first things I let slip away? Do I really *need* to check my FaceBook Farmville Farm one more time instead of brain dumping into a blog? Logically no, but the farm I can manage while watching mindless shows, and the blog I feel required to put creative effort into. I actually got to read entire books while on vacation, reading while giving them my entire undivided attention for more than 3 minutes at a time, a rare luxury indeed. It felt as though I'd found an old friend living next door who I thought had moved to Abu Dhabi. This past weekend I went out for drinks (okay, soft drinks for me) with a few former coworkers. An event which had been so commonplace I never gave it two thoughts in a row became a major event for me: food and drinks with adults, and since they were guys, no mommy talk. I guess I am thinking about how the things I used to consider normal and essential for my mental health are now rare treats. Also long, hot bubble baths. What else has slipped away with barely a notice? Don't get me wrong, there are new things that to some extent have replaced some of these - mom's night out, though only once a month and with lots of mommying talk has replaced drinks with the guys. MOPS definitely keeps me from wanting to drive my car off a bridge. You can't beat cuddling with a sleepy toddler. It happened so fast and so slow. I had almost not noticed, and yet couldn't miss it. This is how our lives change.

Jami, Beyond Remembering

2009-09-11T21:41:00.003-04:00

Eight years, since we watched in uncomprehending horror as our world changed forever. We have moved on, lived, laughed, loved. We still remember, but we do not, cannot live in those moments. That day, those hours, are not what will define our lifetimes, no matter how they reshaped our thinking or our lives. I won't rehash with you where I was or what I did. I've done that and I will share it with my children and, God willing, their children as well. I will forever feel hot tears when I see the replay, either on a screen or in my mind. I must remember because I can't forget, nor should I. What we saw that day, that my friends was Evil. Regardless of religion or race, the acts of those men and those who had a hand in planning held no redeeming quality, no nobility, no room for forgiveness. The acts we saw afterward, those were Americans - risking their lives to save others, reaching out to the grieving, doing what had to be done. Carrying disabled coworkers down flights of steps. Sacrificing one's own life to stop flight 93. Donating blood, clothing, time, money. Public displays of mourning, of hope, of determination that this should not happen ever again. I am proud of America. I believe we can hold our heads up high and say that our country isn't perfect, but our people are damn good people. We survived this crisis with grace and dignity and we will continue to survive and thrive. You took some of our family and friends, and a few buildings, but you will not take our spirit. God has blessed America, and I pray he continues to do so.

Jami Back from Vacation

2009-09-06T21:08:00.003-04:00

So I'll post more later, but I just wanted to share this photo: If you can't read the sign, it says "Pepper Spray, Stunguns [sic] Sugar Free Fudge"

Jami Howls at the Concrete Moon

2009-08-27T16:45:00.003-04:00

I have, throughout this pregnancy, complained a bit. Some jokingingly, some less so. Because really, isn't pregnancy a time when you should get to be a diva? I am growing new life and therefore it should be all about me. To some extent, when I'm complaining in the not-so-funny way, I have a twinge of guilt. Yes, I know that there are people who would be thrilled to have the problems I'm having because that would mean they are about to be parents. Yes, the problems I've had so far have been non-life-threatening for both me and little Gurgle here. But you know what, I'm still going to complain because frankly, I'm having a tough time and I want to. If you haven't been with me through the whole thing, here's my brief recap - because I had miscarried some time ago, I was on pins and needles until my first ultrasound. Oh wait - first I had the doctor who didn't want to see me right away, who then told me that I couldn't have an u/s until 12 weeks, even though I was "high risk" (meaning I'll be 35 before my due date) and have already had a miscarriage. So then I switch to the midwives, get what I think is a date for an u/s to see the heartbeat, and spend two weeks holding my breath - only to find out that they won't be doing it that day, just had an appointment to meet the midwives so they could order an u/s for me. AHHH! Then they wanted me to wait another week, which caused my first major freakout, and they got me scheduled for a few days later. Then, I got the u/s and saw the heartbeat, yay, but also got the results of my bloodwork that the pregnancy was aggravating my thyroid which meant - more tests, medication and regular blood draws. Still, I took this in stride. That's when the extreme fatigue, nasal congestion, breast pain and aversions hit me. All *normal* pregnancy symptoms but overall made me less than pleasant, I'll admit. The fatigue never faded, the congestions just grows worse, the aversions didn't go all the way away, but at least my breast pain subsided, just in time for some "round ligament pain". Another normal, but majorly uncomfortable symptom. you know when an athlete tears a ligament and is out of the game for awhile? Just have one stretch in a very inconvenient place and where you can't really "rest" it. Sigh. Oh, and about that same time, my skin went CRAZY - I have so much oil on my face I'm afraid to get close to candles. I look like the teenage boy in the Simpsons. I wash my face twice a day, use the oxy I haven't bought since high school and blot with those little papers constantly, not that it helps. AND I started growing a HAIR on my NECK - eeeeewwwww!!!! Then we add the constant peeing - only about every, I don't know, 19 minutes it seems like. Okay, it's not quite that bad, but I rarely get more than 2 hours sleep in a row because I wake up feeling like I'm about to burst. Add to this the fact that the baby's favorite activity is KICKING my bladder. Next time you really, really have to pee, have someone poke you repeatedly in the bladder. That's what it's like. Not hard, just not nice. Of course, most recently was the gestational diabetes. I'm not even going to start on that particular hell, except to note that my fingers are all slightly blue and I can't wait to eat like a normal person again. Then when the humidity and heat finally kicked in, my ankles and feet decided to swell. It looks gross and the skin on my feet starts to feel nice and tight, like when you have a sunburn. Last week, I noticed a little piece of skin growing sort of randomly on my leg. I asked the midwife, who checked it out - it's a "skin tag" which is basically harmless, but gross looking and again "a perfectly normal symptom of pregnancy". You know what? I've had more than enough perfectly normal symptoms of this pregnancy. Today I had an ultrasound where the baby measured a little big. Of course, those things are not 100% and IMO, means very little. So the doctor that I have to see because of my other stupid complications wants to do an amniocentesis and induce pretty soon - which pretty much goes against every thing I want for this birth. It's the last straw, I feel like. I'm screaming inside. It's not fair - I did everything right. I ate right, I exercised. I read all the books, I did my freaking Kegels!!!! I lost weight and got into better eating habits before I was pregnant. I stayed off caffeine through the WHOLE FIRST TRIMESTER. And I can't even go one stinking week without developing some new just-south-of-horrible problem! All I wanted was a healthy baby boy. It doesn't seem like that should be that much to ask. I didn't expect a perfect fun pregnancy, but I wish I could feel like I enjoyed it for a solid week, you know? That I could look back on this time like "wasn't it neat? Wasn't it fun and exciting?" Maybe I still will, but here, mired here in the middle, I just can't and that makes me saddest of all.

Jami Loves the Steelers, But . .

2009-08-25T16:36:00.001-04:00

Still wouldn't put this hat on her child. That's all for now. More if I ever have more than 10 seconds to sit at the laptop.

Jami and the Mothering Skills

2009-08-21T11:57:00.003-04:00

If we're being truthful, all moms will admit that we have our moments that we're glad CYS didn't see - one in particular for me, when my son decided he would play "doggie" stripped down to his skivvies, attached the dog's leash and was drinking out of the bowl in the backyard when I found him. I am not certain, but I'd guess that if the neighbors had called and said that we had our toddler chained up in the back, in his tighty-whities drinking out of a dog bowl that we'd at least get a brief visit from a nice social worker. Every mom I've had a conversation with has admitted to saying or doing something and almost instantly regretting it. We're human, unfortunately. So it's no wonder that we will all ourselves the question, at some point, "Am I being a good enough mom?" If you don't ask that, then I really would wonder if you are. Then we have the times like this morning, where I was stiting on the floor, playing Legos with Eddie and decided to put the TV on to listen to while we played (partially because playing Eddie often turns into watching Eddie, but not being allowed to touch any of the Legos because I'm "doing it wrong"). I happened upon a show called "Toddlers and Tiaras" which the Husband had TiVo'd for me. I enjoy the teen-adult pageants and I absolutely abhor the itty-bitty-kiddy ones. Even knowing that the Husband set this up to get me all riled, I started it up. The first mom starts off seeming oh-so-reasonable. Her four-year-old has only been to 5 or 6 pageants and the little girls says "Sometimes we don't win and that's okay. We just say 'Oh well'. And then sometimes we do win and we get very excited." The mom follows up by saying that they never "practice" more than 15 minutes at a time and they don't force her to do anything she doesn't want to. Hmmm,I think, could this be the Voice of Reason for this show? No. Of course not. In what I can only call snarky editing, the next scene is her yelling at the little girl for not practicing her "slow walk" and then threatening to send her to bed in the middle of the afternoon because she doesn't want to "play pageant" any more. Sigh. Then they go buy 2 dresses that "start at" $650, though we aren't given an actual figure. Then they go to *private* dance class, so she can work on her poise and "pretty feet". Hmmmph. And still - this was the more reasonable mom, I thought. After watching what I can only call the train-wreck-style of parenting, I feel confident that I am one seriously kick-butt mom. And I find myself justified in offering just a few tips to the parents (yes, there were dads into this, too - one in particular who was worse than the mom): 1. Your 4-year-old should never EVER be wearing false eyelashes, a bikini and suggestively shaking her hips. There can be no justification for your toddler to be sashaying around like a drunken Britney Spears. Never. 2. 2 year-olds don't have "life ambitions" or "life goals" so let's drop that little bit of nonsense. They've barely had a LIFE, let alone the capacity to make plans. "Charlene loves animals and her life's goal is to become a veterinarian"?? No. Charlene needs to learn to use the potty and her ABCs. Charlene's life ambition is to stay up past 7:30 and eat an entire bag of lollipops when you're not looking. 3. If your child is less than a week old, he/she does NOT need to be competing. Seriously, they showed a THREE DAY OLD baby competing in the fancy dress competition. 3 day-olds don't "enjoy the pageants"'; they don't like dressing up. They like eating, pooping and being cuddled. 4. No child needs a dress that costs more than a used car. The grand prize in this pageant was $500. The woman who makes the custom-made sequined-covered monstrosities these children were shoved into said that they start at $650, but are usually more. So, even if you are the ONE winner in this pageant of maybe 100 girls, you lose $150 just on the clothing, and don't forget the dance lessons, "bathing outfit", hair pieces (most had one), fake teeth (for those in various stage of normal teeth-losing), make up artists (several girls had pros - even the 5 year-olds), the mani-pedi (they all had), and of course the time, effort and money getting to the pageant - oh - plus entry fees. So I'd guess, if you're lucky and you win the whole shebang, you're down only $1000-$1500 for the day. Whoo hoo. You win. Lastly, on a really serious note - you are encouraging your baby girls to be sexy. Not only is this sick and wrong and encouraging to pedophiles everywhere, but look, you've got a seriously limited amount of time when your little ones are actually little. If you want to play dress up at home and let her spin around in a big fluffy princess dress with sparkly shoes, that's great. Get her a whole box of boas and tiaras and fairy wings and let her go nuts. But mid-drift baring bathing suits, gowns where they can't put their arms down, so much make up that you yell at them if they cry because they're going to mess it up - these aren't things preschoolers should even know about. No kindergartner should have to sit still for eyelash curling or lip-lining. No one who can't even cross the street alone should know how to walk in high heels. Don't grow them up so fast, because they will spend the rest of their lives being grown up. Let her decide to compete in the pageants when she's old enough to handle the rejection and you've taught her the many other valuable parts of herself. And for the love of all that is holy, stop doing the routine in the back of the room facing her while she's on stage. You're just making yourself even more ridiculous.

Jami Hates Planned Helplessness

2009-08-14T22:15:00.003-04:00

I have been accused, at times, of lacking mercy for those who are "helpless" in various situations. And to some extent this is true. I have great compassion for people who find themselves in need, and strive to remedy their situations. I've lost jobs, and it can be devastating. A friend's husband had an unexpected, surprising heart condition which shook their family to the core in a number of ways, and I did what little I could for them. There are times when lightning does strike (metaphorically, and literally) and for those people, I have pity and concern. This came to mind today as I overheard an older woman talk about how if her children or grandchildren don't come over to put gas in her car, she just has to find a place with full service, because she never learned to pump gas and she "just can't at this point. What if I do it wrong and the gas sprays everywhere? It could blow up. And I don't know how to use a credit card to pay, it looks like way too much to learn." Now, I have pumped my own gas exactly twice in the last 12 years. I have the Husband who shows his love by making sure my tank is full. But I know how. What if the day comes when I need to know? Would I rather learn it now or in a crisis? I was reminded of when one of our relatives was widowed and became helpless; she didn't know what any of her bills were. She didn't know where her checkbook was or how to fill out a check. She didn't know what anything cost or how much money she had, either saved or coming in. This woman had no mental disabilities or problems, no real health issues; she simply had allowed others to step in and care for her until she could no longer do so herself - other relatives continued to "run her life" until she died. Lucky for her, they were good people. Think how very badly that could have gone. This is the kind of helplessness for which I have a lack of compassion. A teenager in my youth group years ago who had siblings do everything for her. She would try something once and if she failed or it didn't go the way she wanted or it got "too hard", she gave up, cried "impossible" and found someone else to do it for her. This was a 7th grader who had her big sister zipping up her coat when the zipper didn't zip up the first try. A relatively bright girl, her mother wondered why she had a hard time in school. How do you say, "because you've let her be a 13-year-old infant"? To me, this is the same as people who spend their lives on welfare, section 8, medicaid, and SSI, not because they are actually disabled in a meaningful way, but because they have planned to be helpless and been taught that they can not do for themselves. We do them no favors by giving them that which they could earn. Abraham Lincoln said it best, I think, "You cannot help people permanently by doing for them, what they could and should do for themselves." You cannot gain pride in ownership of what you haven't worked for. You can't be proud of yourself when you have accomplished nothing and believe you will never accomplish anything. I don't mean great deeds, I mean the satisfaction of completing something, anything, yourself - especially something you didn't think you could. There are things I will never be able to do, but there are things I didn't know I could do, until I did. Working for something is a gift we deny people when we rush to rescue them. Compassion doesn't always mean blindly given what is requested, sometimes true compassion lies in denying help to someone who would be better served struggling for the goal.

Jami Answers to Mommy

2009-08-13T21:51:00.003-04:00

You know it's bad when you catch yourself sorting socks and saying "Eddie, Eddie, Mommy, Eddie, Mommy" even when you're alone. I'm not one of those mothers who has lost her identity completely, I still have friends, interests, even occasional outings that have nothing to do with motherhood. But definitely, mommying takes over your life in a way nothing else possibly can. I can remember being desperate to hear "Mama" fall from Eddie's lips. Any honest mom will tell you about waiting for that first child to call you Mommy. You daydream about it. You wonder when it will happen; you "sort of" hear it in the ramblings and then suddenly - there it is! The first "Mama"! Your baby knows you, acknowledges you as a person! I bet 99% of us, if we're telling the truth, will have to admit to tearing up a little. Eddie actually said "Mum" because he went through a phase where he shortened all words to one syllable. I remember it. Before long it was Mommy. And then comes the day when you think if I hear "Mommmmeeeeeee" one more time, I'm getting on the next plane leaving this city for anywhere. One brilliant friend of mine told her two boys that her name was no longer Mommy. If they could guess what her new name is, then she'd answer. She had a nice quiet dinner. It pains me, to some extent, to think how that grates on me some days, because I know how horribly I'll miss it when I'm just "Mom" or "uh, hunh, whatever". Mommy is such a short-lived title, in the scheme of things. How many of you call your mom "Mommy"? I try to remind myself of that on the days when I'm thinking of gagging him, just for a few hours . . . We need to live in the moment to love our lives, but sometimes we get so caught in the moment that we forget that it is, just a moment - fleeting and precious.

Jami Avoids Samonella

2009-08-12T15:57:00.006-04:00

For those who missed my FB posts, here's the chicken that the Husband and I cooked this afternoon: On the grill:

Finished Product: The Husband put it on the grill and went to take a shower, telling me to check on it in "a little bit", not sure, maybe 7-8 minutes later, I smell campfire, go out back to find - 1. Chicken on fire 2. Neighbor in backyard calling 911 I assured her that there was no need for the fire department (especially since we're related to one of the firemen). She seemed more worried that I was laughing at the chicken than about the fire itself, asking me three times "Are you SURE you're okay?" me: "He he he he- I'm fine - the chicken, well. It's probably done." We had leftover pizza. The good news is that once the chicken cools, the meat may be salvageable. The skin was on fire, but most of the meat under it looks okay.

Jami Recommends a Few You May Have Missed

2009-08-11T18:03:00.003-04:00

There are the movies you know everyone has heard of, at least, if not seen. Maybe you didn't get around to Spiderman 3, but I'd bet you knew it existed. So, as the rains pour down at least here in Pittsburgh, let me suggest a few movies that you should check out, which you might not even have heard of. 1. So I Married an Axe Murderer. I'm always surprised that people haven't heard of this one, as it's probably Mike Myers funniest and definitely sweetest movie. Myers is a beat poet living in San Francisco who dumps girlfriends before they can get too serious by finding something wrong with each one (like "she smelled like soup"). When he meets the girl who may be "The One" he begins to suspect that she's a serial killer. A hilarious supporting cast, including Myers as his character's own belligerent Scottish father and the late Phil Hartman in a brief but memorable turn as "Vicki", make the outrageous turns in the plot fun and exciting. 2. SuperTroopers. You may not have heard of the comedy troupe Broken Lizard, but if you can deal with some fairly bad language, sex jokes and amusing drug use, you'll adore this movie. When the Husband and I saw this in the theatres, I think there were about 6 other people present, but there were still parts that the laughter was so loud you missed the next line. The movie follows a small band of state troopers in a tiny, boring town in Vermont as they keep themselves amused and maintain a rivalry with the "townie" police. When both sets of cops come across a murder, the plot and hilarity takes off. WARNING - as I mentioned, this is NOT a movie for people with PG sensibilities. 3. Death at a Funeral and Eulogy. I'm going to group these ones together, because both are very dark comedies focused around the funeral of the family patriarch. Eulogy features a formidable cast including the always fantastic Hank Azaria, Zooey Deschanel, Famke Janseen, Ray Romano, Rip Torn and Debra Winger. Death at a Funeral has a lot of British actors I didn't know, plus America's own Alan Tudyk (sporting an English accent and at one point, nothing else) in a comedy of horrible mishaps that had me laughing out loud even though I saw it by myself. It also features character actor Peter Dinklage, in at least one movie-stealing scene that will leave you unsure whether to gasp or howl with laughter. 4. Sky High. This is a good one for the whole family. At the secret high school for teenage superheros, Will Stronghold is the son of the two most famous heroes, who hasn't discovered his powers yet. The varied cast includes Kurt Russell, Bruce Campbell and Dave Foley and there's enough plot and humor that you'll enjoy it regardless of age. 5. Enemy of the State. This might have been a bigger release, though I don't recall it at the time. Gene Hackman, Will Smith, Jon Voight and Regina King head up the cast, but look for Jack Black, Seth Green and Jason Lee as well. Humor, action and, IMO, a decent amount of justified paranoia keep this action movie really moving. And let me just say again . . Will Smith. 6. Shaun of the Dead. The funniest zombie movie I've seen to date; working drone Shaun and his slacker roommate Ed find themselves in the midst of a zombie-filled London, trying to save their loved ones from the undead menace. Like Romero's dead movies, there is a message as well as some riotously funny action. A few AHH! moments, but this movie isn't scary. Starring and partially written by Simon Pegg (Scottie from the new Star Trek), you'll never laugh so hard at dead people. 7. A Mighty Wind. All of the Christopher Guest partially-improv-driven comedies are golden, but this is my favorite. Featuring some of your favorite actors actually singing and playing their own instruments, the movie is a mockumentary about a folk music concert being staged in the memory of a deceased promoter. As usual for Guest's movies, look for Eugene Levy, Fred Willard, Michael McKean, Parker Posey, Harry Shearer and Catherine O'Hara, some very catchy songs, and subtle but hysterical lines. 8. Drop Dead Gorgeous. See Kirsten Dunst and Denise Richards compete in the American Teen Princess local pageant in Mt. Rose, Minnesota. I can't even begin to describe to you what happens without giving away plot points, but you won't see any of it coming. Cast members also include Ellen Barkin, a still-skinny Kirstie Alley, Amy Adams, Mindy Sterling and Brittany Murphy. I could go on and on, but I think that's a good list for you to start with. Some honorable mentions: Mars Attacks (spoof of the 50s alien invasion movies) Clue (if you somehow missed it in the 80s) UHF (Weird Al's classic) Also, if you STILL haven't seen Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog, go to do so NOW. It's about 45 minutes and I absolutely guarantee that it is the best musical blog about a supervillian that you'll ever see.

Jami Spots Another Silly Sign

2009-08-10T16:44:00.002-04:00

Giant Eagle grocery stores join the abstinence movement:

Jami Wants Your Opinion

2009-08-09T22:21:00.004-04:00

Years ago, I had a friend who was one of those friends you are certain will be a friend for life. You've pictured her sharing in the life moments ahead - weddings, children, hard times, good times. You've already been there for each other through ups and downs on both sides and it's not one of those friendships that you can imagine fading. Then, she hit a particularly tough patch. Nothing I'd wish on an enemy, and certainly not on a friend. I can't prove I did all I could, but I supported her in every way I could think of, and here's the interesting part - once she had come safely through the worst of it, she ditched me. Stopped returning calls, started cancelling plans at the last minute and never rescheduling. I took the message and let her slip away. Turns out this happened with several of the people who helped her through that time. I won't lie, I hurt over it. Mourned the loss. Questioned my actions, wondered about forcing the issue. But in the end, I said goodbye, I healed, I moved on. Of course, these are the days of FaceBook. And today, her face and name popped up. We have mutual friends. FB thinks we should be friends. I wonder, have I been suggested to her and she's not interested? Maybe she remembers and is embarrassed about how things went - I would be. My instinct is to ignore the suggestion, confirm her as a friend if she adds me, but not go after her. Honestly, I'm vaguely curious as to what she's been up to, but it's not going to keep me up tonight. So what do you think? Am I being petty not friending the one who de-friended me in real life? Or would it be sort of weird to reach out to someone who made it clear they weren't interested, even if that was going on a decade ago? Or am I nuts to even ponder this? It's just Facebook, Jami - who cares who you "friend"? Discuss.

Jami the Un-Journalist

2009-08-07T16:43:00.004-04:00

I've always been a writer, since, I guess, I could write. I've always made up stories just to amuse myself and I do like playing with words. I like getting the sounds just right. So, in high school, when you start to think about what you'll be someday, and you get past the unrealistic stuff, like I'm going to be a famous actress/singer/astronaut and work with children, my thoughts turned to journalism. I like action, I like writing and the school newspaper seemed like it would be a natural fit. I took Journalism 1 and 2 and did fine. However, I learned two important things: 1. They don't like it when you make up the endings (or even middle) to make it a better story and 2. You can't put much of "yourself" into the story, if you know what I mean. Most working journalists who aren't opinion columnists don't get to have a very distinctive style, IMO. Maybe you think I'm wrong and that you can tell just reading the first 'graph who the byline will be, but mostly it's a standard, flair-less pursuit. In high school, I often would be looking for just the right quote to fill out an article and I found a great method. I'd find a friend, explain my story and say "Could I quote you as saying . . . " and miraculously I always got just the quote I needed. I believe this may stretch the boundaries of good journalistic ethics. I do sometimes wonder how I'd have done in the field. Perhaps I'd have found a niche, like sports reporting where you can add some more personality. Or maybe I'd be Dave Barry with a better haircut. Due to some confusion during my Journ 2 class, I didn't get to try my hand at column writing, which probably would have been my best bet. I soured on the whole newsprint thing and went to college to major in the Discipline of Speech Communications, with a Focus on Broadcasting (is what my curriculum was entitled) intent on directing TV news. Along the way, I fell in love with radio, and even though I interned in TV, I stuck with radio for quite a few years after that. My radio work led me to the job I had in software design, a field I surely never considered. Isn't it odd the path life leads you down?

Jami Hurts for the Families

2009-08-04T23:17:00.003-04:00

I had another post started when the news came down about a shooting here in Pittsburgh, actually not far from where I live. Not walking distance or anything, but close enough that the helicopters overhead alerted me that something was wrong. If you haven't heard, the article is here - a man walked into an aerobics dance class at a gym, turned out the lights and started shooting. They *think* he killed himself as well. Last I've heard so far is 5 confirmed dead. Rumors are that the teacher of the class was pregnant and shot, but no word on her condition. I'm heartsick. These are the times we remember how capricious and precious life is. Who would think that attending a class at a gym is a dangerous place to be? Why this class and not another, why this gym? We probably won't know and the truth is it doesn't really matter. It is, it was, and knowing won't change it, won't prevent another, won't save your life or mine. I also hope, as wrong as it may sound to those who are of a different mindset, that the guy did kill himself. Actually, I wish he'd done so earlier, before taking innocent lives with him, but I hope he is dead, because what he took from others, he doesn't deserve to have. Time to say goodbye, a second chance at things, hope. You might think I lack compassion, but my compassion is not for the one who destroys lives, but for those who lives are forever damaged. For the childless mother, the widowed lover, the friend who won't be coming for tea tomorrow. I don't want to know his name and I hope I don't learn it. I never learned the names of the killers at columbine because that's what they wanted and I won't give them even that. I hope we don't his crying family on TV - yes, they hurt, too and I'm sorry for them, but he doesn't deserve it. I can't stand when those NOT involved, injured or mourning start with the "We Forgive You" signs and crap. You can't forgive what wasn't done to you. Save your compassion for those he broke, not for him. And for those families, I'm so, so sorry. Your hearts are breaking in a way I cannot and hope to never understand. I pray for healing for the injured and comfort for those who have lost someone. And I pray that the next scum-licking loser who thinks this is his ticket to immortality will simply remove himself from this earth and not people who choose to still live, even when it's hard.

Jami, The Mom

2009-08-01T12:15:00.000-04:00

How much of a mommy am I? Flipping through the Fredrick's catalog, I saw this shirt,

and thought . . .

"That would probably be convenient for breastfeeding."

Jami on Display

2009-07-31T16:05:00.003-04:00

Before we had Eddie, I really never gave much consideration to what the neighbors thought about us. Mostly, because I had no reason to. If I had to guess at that time, I'd say the neighbors would describe us as a nice, friendly professional couple. We had the very occasional party, not too loud, no drunks staggering up the street after; we kept our lawn mowed and leaves raked and we chatted with the neighbors when we were out and about. Nothing particularly unusual. But, as I mentioned, I don't think I ever even gave it a moment's thought. Now, though, I often wonder what they must think about what goes on in this house. For example, Let's say Eddie and I are playing cars in the living room and I need to go to the restroom. I will tell him that I need to "go potty" and I'll be right back. Then I go upstairs and pretty much inevitably, as soon as I am "settled", shall we say, he will start screaming "MOMMY!!! MOMMY!" Usually followed by either "where are you?" or "what are you doing?" In either case, I usually start with "I'm upstairs, I'll be right down." He never needs anything. He's never injured. He just keeps yelling and asking questions until I am forced to scream "I'M GOING POTTY!!!" Which is great during open window season. I can just picture the neighbors exchanging glances, "oh good, Jami is going potty now. I was wondering." There was the time during my first trimester of this pregnancy when I was outside by the garbage vomiting so forcefully that it caused me to wet my pants, which surprised me so much I stopped vomiting long enough to look down at myself and verify that yes, I had wet. Then, of course, back to the vomiting. I can only assume the neighbors were worried that I had started drinking too early in the day (this was before I was showing and telling). I know the neighbors hear it when Eddie pitches a fit or when I can't take it anymore and scream "STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!!!" I worry that they hear the very odd things one says to a toddler "No, we don't put that in our nose", "Who peed in these pants?" "STOP licking the dog, I'm not going to tell you that again!!!" My only consoling factor is that all the neighbors also have kids, grown or little. The moms at least, have probably been the one announcing to the world that they are on the toilet or threatening tiny lives. Maybe the ones whose children are raving teens smile nostalgically remembering the days when the worst trouble their offspring got into was licking the dog. I like to think so.

Jami Gestates with Diabetes

2009-07-24T10:43:00.004-04:00

So, apparently I'm borderline for gestational diabetes ("GD" to us hip mommies) or I have GD or I could have it, the medical personnel have not been entirely clear with me on this particular point, but it boils down to, right now I have to stab my fingers four times a day and follow a sort of specific "eating plan, we don't like to say diet" to ensure that my baby doesn't grow at a billion times the normal rate and explode out of me in the fashion of that little guy in Aliens. Or at least this is what I gather will happen from the doomsayers warning me not to ever even look at a cookie. Anyhow, let's start by admitting that I did not handle this entire thing with the quiet dignity you have all come to expect from me. In the sense that I flipped out on a nutritionist to the extent she went to get back up. But I did calm down enough to read the pamphlet she so helpfully provided and frankly, there are parts of this that I just have to call "shenanigans" on. My favoritest part of the pamphlet is that one one side it says "This is a great chance to get your whole family to learn healthier eating habits." Sounds great, right? I'm all for that. On the next page is the list of things to add to any meal if you're not feeling full. While the pamphlet notes that the saturated fats are "less healthy" the list includes: -bacon -mayonnaise -butter -cream -gravy -salad dressing -oil The nutritionist, who - let's face it - may have been thrown by my overreaction, even drew a helpful "UP" arrow by this list, to remind me that if I don't feel full, I have options. Now, I'm trying to teach my son to eat a variety of healthy foods. And it's snack time. Let's see, I don't feel full, so I can have . . a banana? Oops, no, that's not good, it's two "carb choices" and i can only have 1 for a snack. Yogurt? No, two and half choices. Hmmm, oh - here we go, a pound of bacon with some mayo on it? Yup! Good snacking choice. Somehow I don't feel that I am modeling the type of healthy eating habits I want him to learn. For breakfast, I've been eating Cheerios or Special K with fruit and skim milk. WRONG!!!! Why not just slam a few beers, from the perspective of my eating plan. Instead I should have 2 eggs, sausage, no milk or juice, and if I insist on having a slice of wheat toast, at least put some peanut butter on that. Hmmm. Yes, that sounds healthier. Shenanigans!!

Jami, the Mother of an Inventor

2009-07-23T10:11:00.004-04:00

Eddie's new "thing" is inventing. He has always been a fan of attaching things to other things, but now each group of random objects is an invention, and they have been growing larger and more intricate. Currently, our entire front porch is consumed with his "best invention" (pictures below) which according to him makes honey and traps deer. Yes, both. This invention includes 6 full sized umbrellas, two chairs, a charcoal grill, a backpack, a yo-yo, a golf club, two supports from his toy box, a large tree branch (with withering leaves), several seemingly random toys, a kitchen set, a work bench, 2 baby blankets, a monkey, several flowers, a tricycle and a stroller. And more I can't remember. Then under the heading of "seemed harmless at the time", the Husband bought Eddie a roll of twine, which he's been asking for. The string started out as part of the invention, and then wandered into our house. By dinner time last night, our entire downstairs looked as though we had been attacked by a giant, drunken spider. We had to do that spy-getting-through-the-lasers maneuver to get to the kitchen. I didn't get a picture of that because my phone was upstairs and I wasn't going back through the maze to get it. I'm a big fan of creativity, so I'm trying not to complain about my front porch being useless (as in, there's no where for me to sit anymore) because I enjoy the fact that he's creating and pretending. So far, I have not seen any actual honey being produced nor deer trapped. I keep hoping though, because if I have a 3-year-old who does figure out how to manufacture "cruelty free" honey and/or trap those pesky deer, we're set for life. We'll let you know. Working on adding the golf club: The end that the honey (supposedly) comes out: The middle, still in progress: The second chair/"Secret Entrances" - you have to lift an umbrella to enter.

Even in the Darkness Every Color Can Be Found . . .

2009-07-22T11:52:00.001-04:00

I broke from my titling convention today because it's a special post. For anyone who didn't hear, our beloved dog Joxer passed away yesterday. It wasn't a surprise, he was old and ill for a very long time. As hard as it is for us to say goodbye, I believe it was a relief for him, and I take comfort in knowing that the hardest things for us freed him from his pain. When it became clear he wouldn't be coming home from the vet, I needed to have a task and I wanted to remove most of his things before my son got home from VBS, knowing that I couldn't do it with him around. So I boxed up his treats and most of his toys (I kept his favorite), his unopened food, brush, flea medication, and posted an ad on FreeCycle, simply saying that our dog had died and that this box of his stuff was available. And to my surprise, within hours I had tons of responses, but not of people asking for the box, mostly of people saying they didn't need/want the supplies, but just to offer condolences. Even most of the people who responded that they would pick it up said that they were so sorry for our loss and they would come as quickly as possible, to avoid us having to see the box sitting around. The woman who did pick it up had just gotten a dog from the pound and needed supplies, which I felt really good about - a rescued dog getting a huge box of treats - who deserves it more? And when she and her daughter came, they asked about Joxer and were so sweet and compassionate. It doesn't mean we don't grieve for Joxer, but some healing comes from the surprising acts of kindness that we saw. Thank you, Pittsburgh FreeCyclers, for showing a light in our darkness.

Jami Can't Even Come Up With A Good Title for This

2009-07-19T23:38:00.002-04:00

Just . .. no. No. Stop it, people. http://www.kbtx.com/home/headlines/50898657.html

Jami, Defined

2009-07-18T21:58:00.003-04:00

I had a pretty awesome dream last night, and since I just did a post about dreams, I won't bore you with it, although at some point it might actually make a good short story. Or graphic novel, if I could draw, which I can't. The long and short of it was that I was a supervillian. A really, truly awesome supervillian, too, not that anyone who knows me would be surprised by the super or the villian part of that. Anyway, at the pinnacle of the dream, as my very cool plan fell into place, I asked the elite cadre of superheroes opposing me: "This challenge forces you to ask yourself, and tell the world- what defines you?" And I woke up thinking about that question. What defines you? PaperbackWriter used to have a little blurb on her blog listing the many titles she can claim, for lack of a better term. As in, daughter, wife, cousin, friend, writer, etc. That is one way we define ourselves. Most important in my life are my roles as wife and mother, but that isn't the extent of me. On some levels, our actions define us, as do our choices. We are what we do. But is that it? I've heard it said that we we do and think behind closed doors is who we truly are, but I'm not sure I totally agree with that. If Gandhi went home at night and kicked his dog, does that make what he did of less value? My thoughts, the most private parts of my souls that no human sees or knows - can that be the very essence of me? Or is that just an aspect of the whole - isn't what I show outwardly also part of the definition of Jami? Superheros choose a name. Most of the names are fairly clear and shed no light on the person in the mask. Spiderman - he's a man who has the power of a spider. But what about Ozymandias from the Watchmen (which I watched last night, very good, btw)? Knowing the poem and a tiny bit of the history, I wondered at a man who would choose such a name for his alter-ego. It's a hint, IMO, about what lies beneath. What about Superman - who would allow himself to be called that if he didn't believe that he is superior to men? He didn't come up with it himself, but he didn't offer a more catchy alternative, did he? If you were to name yourself, would you pick a name with a meaning more important to you? My name means successor, supplanter or usurper, depending on which translation you look at. I have always liked "successor" with its promise of something important waiting for me. The other two have a more negative connotation. But would I pick something else? Something I long for, like Serenity or Sage (meaning wisdom)? Something I think I am, like Cara (friend) or Drusilla (strength)? Or would you decide that a single name can never define all that we are. So, my dear heroes, now is the time to tell the world - what defines you?

Jami: Horror Victim and Dr. Phil

2009-07-16T13:42:00.000-04:00

I do occasionally blog about my more interesting dreams, if for no other reason than some of them really stick with me all day. Last night I had two such dreams, very different. I won't bog you down with all the details, nothing is more boring than an in-depth review of someone else's dream, but a few interesting points. In the first dream, I was basically a high school or college age me, at a camp which was being plagued by suspicious deaths. There came a time when a counselor (who, I am going to posit may have been the killer) attempted to turn the other girls against me by suggesting that my disagreement with a now-deceased camper is what led that girl to make a bad choice that ultimately led to her death. In defending myself against such a ridiculous charge, I made what probably would have turned out to be my fatal mistake. I examined the circumstances of her death and announced to the group that while it appeared on the surface to be an accident, certain evidence (which I explained in great Sherlock-like detail) proved it to be murder. I even went so far as to say that any person who had a certain item (too complicated to explain here) should be held in suspicion and at that point I woke up. And thought, Well that was stupid. If I wanted the killer to come after me next, I sure gave him good reason. Even in my dreams, I need to remember to just shut up sometimes. The second dream found me playing a very Dr. Phil like character - but, you know with hair. I had chosen 8 families who were over-scheduled and I helped them simplify. I rearranged their budgets, showing why both parents didn't have to be working full time and more to make ends meet, pulled poor exhausted grade-schoolers out of their myriads of lessons, teams, and what have you, showed teenagers how to balance part-time jobs with school and still have a life. I took some semi-sadistic glee in pointing out to the family members that while they were all blaming each other, they all had a part in the problem. At the end, each of the families went on a relaxed-paced, not overbooked, not too expensive, family-centered vacation. The audience cheered them (and me, of course). I was a hero. To sum up: In both dreams, I was right, smarter than the others involved. In the first one, I was potential chain-saw bait, in the second - a family saver. Not sure what that all means, but I sure preferred the second to the first.

Jami Thought She Felt Squished

2009-07-15T14:58:00.002-04:00

And here's the proof (the second one): http://www.umm.edu/pregnancy/000088.htm All I have to say to that is "AAAAAAAHHHHHH!" and it's only getting worse. Did you see the 40 weeks?? The organs are like GONE. I need some of those, I'm pretty sure. To live! This is one of the most inefficient and uncomfortable processes I've ever been part of and I've worked with government agencies!!

Jami Just Had to Share This

2009-07-12T22:33:00.002-04:00

Be sure you check out the zipper pull. Made me laugh. Have a great week. Very wrong sleeping bag

Jami as a Doctor

2009-07-10T12:53:00.004-04:00

One field I never seriously considered for a career is medicine. I'm not very good with sick people, various bodily fluids or germs. However, yesterday I had an appointment during which I had a revelation - if I had wanted to be a doctor, this is the way I would have gone - Eye Doctor!! Think about it - my eye doctor spends most of the day doing that "which is better? 1 or 2? 3 or 4?" He probably doesn't have people run in screaming with blood or gore oozing out of various body parts. I can't imagine that he gets emergency calls at 2am. Sure, he might see someone with some excessive eye-goo, but that can't be the norm. He doesn't have to give people shots, at least not part of his usual practice. He doesn't have to put his hands in your mouth, on your feet, or in any other unpleasant area of your body. I am sure sometimes he has to give out bad news, but I'm guessing that it's extremely rare that he has to tell someone they're dying. This is a good gig. Interestingly, the last two eye doctors I've had have been left-handed. Don't know what that means, just noting it. During the standard questions portion of my exam (are you having trouble with your contacts? Increased headaches? Any blurriness, etc.) the doctor asked "Have you been seeing flashing lights, especially out of the sides of your vision, when there aren't flashing lights?" Now, I know that people don't always bring everything to the attention of their doctors, and I'm one of those people who doesn't run to make an appointment any time I sneeze, but in general, I'd have to say that if I were seeing flashing lights when there aren't any, I doubt I'd just wait until my next appointment and then not even mention it until asked. Just saying.