Jami Gets a Time Out

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 Donates Some Advice

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

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

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

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 Not Great Ideas

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

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 'Ade

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, Back in 2011

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

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 and the Fake Interview

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?

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

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 and the Least Favorite Pair of Underwear

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 Will Warn You, Just This Once

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's Car is Smart Enough

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 and the Search for Suit that Suits

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's Resolution Talk

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

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?

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.