Jami and the Dirty Expression

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 On Love

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 Survived Christmas

Actually, I have to say that overall it was a great Christmas. We got to spend time with both families. I volunteered at my church's Christmas dinner, with my parents, as we've done for years. I sang at the Christmas Eve service without fainting and even felt like it went well. I got the Wii Fit which I am loving and will probably blog about. Eddie got a basketball hoop (already up in the playroom) which he's been totally into. He also got lots of Thomas stuff (always exciting) and tons of puzzles, so he's been in three-year-old heaven. He went rollerskating for the first time on Saturday when the weather was unseasonably gorgeous. The Steelers won. On the downside, the Husband injured his back, which led to a leg problem, also. He's on the mend, thank goodness. I'm in the midst of a cold that can't seem to decide if it's getting better or worse. And so we reach almost the end of another year. Shall I wax philosophical about what we've done, or not done, or undone? Probably not. But I may yet. Stay tuned.

Jami's Reasons This Week Sucked

This week was long and stupid. I hate it when the bad days gang up on you. Combine that with my son deciding that it's fun to wake up in the middle of the night and scream for Mommy, only to immediately fall back to sleep as soon as I drag my tired butt to his bed and say "what's wrong?" Here's why I hated this week:

• The dentist found some "not cavities yet" due to my bad teeth - NOT bad brushing - that need to be "drilled and filled" to make it possible for me to brush them properly. The unpleasant office manager worked up the estimate for me and when I asked about the meds I got last time to make me mellow and less likely to flip out and run out of the dentist office with a hygienist still clinging to me, she said "Why would you want that for THIS?" Excuse me? Do you know what I've been through in my dental history? Do you know how fragile I am in regards to this? Shut up and give me the estimate, bad word. ("bad word" is the phrase I've been replacing bad words in my speech with. Not only is it less offensive, it usually makes me laugh my bad word off.) So, not only to do I feel bad about having to have it done, I feel worse about being scared of the drill. Thanks so much.
• I spent another 4 hours (bringing the 6 month total to 20 hours) over three days on the phone with Verizon's Customer Screw-vice. This time, those Bad Words assured me that it's all taken care of - even though I've yet to have a single correct bill from them. But, hey, I'm sure it is, this time.
• My company sent me the FAQ for this week's work yesterday. That's right, all the work I've had to do already because it's due Saturday at noon, they sent the FAQ on Friday afternoon. Oh, so bad wording helpful. Guess where the info for next week's work is? Here? No, don't be silly.
• I hate to get into girly stuff, but I had the dreaded PMS so bad this entire week that I actually hoped I had a mental disorder so I could get some meds. Since I'm starting to feel better, I guess they probably won't believe me that I have some initials disorder from a TV commercial (SAD, PMSD, CRAZY).
• Eddie has entered an exciting new phase called "PLAY WITH ME NOW". It's not that I'm neglecting him, it's just that after 3 straight hours of playing trains, I'm actually looking forward to cleaning the bathroom, but if I attempt that, I have 35 pounds of weeping crazy attached to my leg screaming that he CAN'T play trains alone, even though if I go back, I'm not allowed to actually touch any of the trains because I'm doing it wrong.
• I tried to do my MOPS set up early because I had a church meeting at my church and some people were in my main set up room. So not only did it slow down my set up for that night, I still had to get up early for MOPS.
• The dog has decided that the basement is an appropriate place to poo if he doesn't feel like going outside. Shut the basement door, you say? Yeah, that made him decide to use the dining room. At least the basement isn't carpeted.
• I haven't read more than 10 pages of my doula materials because of, well, everything else I've written here.
• I have to finish the Christmas Eve service tonight (writing it) and if I can't get out of this funk, it's going to be like "And the shepherds said 'Holy Bad Word! What's that?"

So here I sit, using the time I've bought by starting Sesame Street to pour my troubles out onto all of you. I should admit the following good things:

• I had MOPS which was great. I love MOPS and I may have another kid just so I can keep going when Eddie ages out.
• We had a Girls' Night Out on Thursday, where I self-medicated with fried foods and a drink the size of my head.
• The Husband found out he will have Thanksgiving off
• I'm going to lunch tomorrow with PaperWriter, who I haven't seen in forever.

So I guess it all balances out, right? RIGHT? It has to . . . .

Jami and the Husband Celebrate a Dozen Good Ones

It's our twelve-year anniversary! Happy Anniversary, the Husband! Whew, 12 years. I can't even begin to list all that we've been through. Marriage is great, and hard. It's fun and easy and ridiculously challenging. Instead of a post about marriage, or how great the Husband is (which is "very") let me just tell you about the beginning of our wedding ceremony, 11am, 12 years ago . . . In my giant princess dress, with my hair and make-up done, I waited at the bottom of the stairs to THE AISLE with my daddy and M. The bridesmaids were starting up the stairs, the mothers and grandmothers had been seated. Music trickled down the stairs and I fought the bizarre feeling that I was in some sort of musical. We had costumes, music, lines, blocking - it's a play . . .right? Not the most important day of my life to that point. As usual, when I'm just past nervous, I had my normal thought "I'm going to pass out. No, puke. No, puke and then pass out." I thought of all the people who'd be staring at me (yes, I like to be the center of attention, but I'd never done this before), of all the things that could go wrong in the service or the reception. I thought of what "until death do us part" means when you're 22 years old. And I followed M up the stairs. I held onto my daddy, who managed to keep it together way better than I will at my kid's wedding. At the top of the stairs, my friend Evvie saw me and waved. I smiled back, wondering if I looked like someone about to faint. M started down the aisle. The music changed, the congregation stood, and we walked up the last step and around the corner . . . And I saw the Husband. And I swear to you, everything I'd been thinking feel away. No fears, no worries, no fainting. I forgot about the reception. I can't even tell you what anything at the front of the church looked like because all I saw was him, and that's all I needed. I can still summon that feeling when I close my eyes and see that moment in my head. Imagine 10 radios in your head, yammering on about fears and concerns and just noise and then, they all go off at once. That's what it was - absolute clarity. Absolute right. Followed by 12 years of proof of that. And more to come.

Jami Makes Dinner Roulette

I've mentioned my grand gardening experiment this year (in that I actually attempted one). The first things in were the last to produce - the pepper seedlings thinned from my in-laws. What kind of peppers, you ask? I did, too. "Various" my father-in-law told me. Hmm. My favorite kind. I ended up with three types growing: your standard green bell, some small wrinkly hot looking ones, and very pale yellow ones. Sort of long and smooth, a bit pointy. My FIL suggested that they might be lemon peppers, which, according to sources online, are mild and somewhat citrus-y. Interesting. After picking one, dicing it and popping a chunk into my mouth (BAD PLAN!!!) I decided they were not lemon peppers. Apparently they are banana peppers which, despite the name, are not at all banana-flavored. The diced pieces got tossed into some ground meat I was browning for shepherd's pie. My theory here consisted of the following thoughts: 1. the dish is sort of plan to begin with, so a little kick will be nice 2. peppers lose some of their heat when you cook them 3. they are in small pieces, so they'll just sort of blend. At least two of these may have been wrong. I served dinner, and the Husband and I dug in. After a few bites, disappointed, I mention that I'd hoped adding some peppers would liven the pie up a bit. The Husband doesn't answer because he's gulping down his milk. I take another couple of bites and then BAM! hit a pepper. Whooo -hooo! That little kick felt more like whole soccer game. My turn to gulp the milk. At this point, dinner became a sort of game of chance. Will this bite be mild or knock me on my butt? Only one way to find out. It was an exciting meal.

Jami Successfully Gardens

I grew a zucchini! I am eating it now! I know that to most people, this does not sound like a reason for an entire blog post, but here's the thing - it's my first zucchini. It's the first thing I've successfully grown, in my memory. So here's the tale. . . . . . . Occasionally, I get crazy ideas in my head that won't go away. This spring, the idea I had was: plant a vegetable garden. There were numerous reasons for this idea, including that I like food and food is expensive. I therefore asked the Husband if, for Mothers' Day, he would create a place for me in the backyard where I could garden. He gave me that look that I have learned means he recognizes that I am having one of those ideas. Several days later, I reiterated, I really, really do want a garden. Honest. Gonna grow some veggies. He shrugged. Mothers' Day rolled around and I got . . . a gorgeous locket. Shocked, I told the Husband that I hadn't expected anything, but he said he'd wanted to get it and that Eddie helped pick it out. A month later, I still had no garden, while the Husband tried to figure out where and how he was going to do that in our yard. I suspect he may also have been waiting for this weird idea to pass, but sadly (for him) it didn't. I bought seeds and gardening gloves. He put in my garden. It's small. Just the area under where our shed used to be. Eddie and the Husband turned over the soil, pulled out the rocks, cut some wood to frame it and poured down some top soil. I joyfully planted my seeds. I planted zucchini, snap peas, bell peppers and hot peppers. These are the veggies I like best, and also I'd heard that zucchini are easy to grow and being basically a gardening idiot, it seemed like a good place to start. God understands that not only did I have no idea what I was doing, but also that I have a low level of frustration. I worried that if the gardening was too hard that I'd become disenchanted with it. So He sent a week of solid rain immediately after we planted it and BAM! I had sprouts like crazy. I assumed some were weeds, but if it was green and growing, I cheered it on. I finally figured out which were future foodstuffs and which were garden invaders (thanks, Google!), and removed the offending weeds. I watered them once the rains stopped. I made a make-shift trellis for the peas to grow. I thinned out the weaker plants. I moved the extra pea plants into pots, because I couldn't bear to toss them. I mourned the poor peppers which 1. needed more heat and less rain and 2. got mostly obliterated by the zucchini, which started to look fairly jungle-ish. My neighbor, clearly a more experienced gardener, noticed my frequently visits to my fledgling plants. "Whatcha got growing there?" Me: Zucchini, some hot peppers, snap peas Her: Uh, how many zucchini plants do you have there? Me: I don't know 10 or 12? Her: TEN OR TWELVE??? PLANTS?? (at this point she was making the same incredulous face that all you experienced zucchini growers are making) Me: Uh, sure. We like zucchini. She then went on to explain to me that she has one zucchini plant and at the time had 4 good zucchinis developing. I must say, I had not really thought that far ahead. Basically, since I didn't know what the heck I was doing, I'd pretty much put every seed I had in the ground and hoped something would come up. At one point, I had a panic moment where I counted more than 40 buds on the zucchini plants. The nice neighbor assured me that not all the buds become zucchini - some flower and that's all. Last week I saw little zucchinis starting. Today, while I was out, Eddie and the Husband discovered that one of them had reached more than 10 inches in length, and when I came home, they couldn't wait to show me. I checked Google again, yes, that's big enough to pick (even too big, according to some of the sites)! There are a few teensy tiny hot-peppers-to-be. No recognizable pea pods yet, but I am heartened by the deliciousness of my first ever zucchini. I am a gardener!

Jami Brain Dumps From the Last Few Days

A few quick things from the last few days . . . At the park, Eddie's running around as usual while two girls, age 6-7ish, are on the big climbing thing. I hadn't been paying them much attention, as they conspired and giggled and climbed, but then they took over the swings next to where I was sitting and I heard one say to the other "This is the Ewok planet. Be careful, because we don't want to be captured by the Imperials!" Yay! My heart soared. The next generation of Girl Geeks. What possesses people to buy a car too big for them to drive? This morning, I watched as an older couple made at least 4 attempts to park their Chevy Suburban LT (a "car" approximately the size of my first apartment) in a normal parking space. After holding up the 20 or so cars who were trying to exit the parking lot, the driver pulled it mostly into the space so that they could get around him. Then, once the traffic cleared, his wife (I'm assuming) got out and made air traffic control signals/ blocked oncoming cars so that he could pull all the way out again, straighten out and finally pull all the way in. Here's a tip, folks, if it takes you two people to park your car, it's the wrong car for you. There is no reason these people need a car that size, unless they are lifetimes members of the Annoy the Humans club. I won a gift basket at Gymboree. This is not surprising, as it was a raffle and for most raffles I enter, if they are picking more than one or two tickets, I tend to win something. Not the huge things, but I do seem to win fairly often. It's one of the many perks of being me. The Husband is unusually lucky with cards. If you've seen Maverick, you know at the end where he needs the ace and sort of "thinks" it up to the top of the deck? I swear the Husband can do that. That's why we stick to board games. His voodoo doesn't work on dice, spinners or what-have-you.

Jami's Got a Lot of Reasons to Smile

Great Family:

Newlywed Best Friend:

Good silly friends:

Another Newly Married Friend:


It was a pretty good weekend. I'll tell you about it later!

Jami Ponders the Wrong Movies

For those who aren't aware, the Husband manages a video store. Therefore I have been privy to all the secret inner workings of video rentals. It's not as exciting as I make it sound. Fairly regularly, people return movies to the wrong store. The most common, at least at the Husband's store, is a movie returned to a different store in the same chain. Easy to do, I guess. Or people figure it's all the same company, right? The store managers make regular trips around to trade all the confused movies and it all works out. Then you get the people who return the movie to the wrong company. This takes a higher level of not paying attention, as the boxes generally have the store name right there on them. "Hmm, this says Bob's Movie Rentals, but I'm sure that it goes back to Movies, Movies, Movies." The competitors make nice for hostage exchanges. It's that common. Once the Husband even got on that had been borrowed from the library. But yesterday, he had a new one. One we'd not seen before. Movies returned to the store that were not rental movies. Someone had dropped movies in the return box that were in the original box, no store label, not from the library. And, they were porn. Not your hardcore stuff, a couple of the "Girls Gone Wild" variety. So what would possess someone to donate their personal porn to a rental store? I have a few ideas:

1. Let's say Bob owns some porn, but his beloved wife doesn't know. One day, while cleaning out his desk, she finds these videos. She doesn't want them in the house, but she also doesn't want them to take up space in the landfill. Wasteful, you know. So she figures she'll take them to the closest video store and hopefully some lonely single man will get to use them. Recycle, reuse and all.
2. Bob is about to get married. He knows his wife-to-be will not be happy to find these videos in his underwear drawer. He thinks about selling them or pitching them, but he still wants the option of viewing them when he gets the chance. He figures he'll take his favorites to his normal rental place so that when he knows she'll be out of town, he can at least go rent them.
3. Bob borrowed these videos from a friend, but now he's forgotten who. He's too embarrassed to start randomly asking friends if they had lent him porn, but no one has mentioned them. He decides to drop them at the video place and then if someone asks him about it, he can point them in the right direction.

These are my theories, but really, I guess we'll just never know.

CORRECTION: The Husband has had this happen before, but not with porn. This is even more confusing to me, why give a perfectly good non-porn movie to the store?

Jami Versus Sinus Pain

Sigh, so all last week, we're crazy-busy, plus Eddie and the Husband had colds. Which basically meant, nothing except the bare minimum got done. We all have clean socks and undies and we're eating off of clean plates. But that's about it. Therefore, when my mom offered to take Eddie for a few hours while the Husband works, I saw a Golden Opportunity - a chance to clean the house without interruption and/or a toddler clinging to me screaming about wanting to "help". Of course, I woke up with apparently 50 pounds of fluid in my sinuses. I'm totally fine, as long as I move slowly and don't tilt my head forward. Ever try to clean your house without looking down? It's darned difficult. The pattern has been - work for 20 minutes or so at super-snail pace, until the pounding in my end gets to the "my eyes are about to pop out" level, then laying down with a hot compress on my head (this is the phase I'm in now - blogging on my back). The Husband, after watching this for the few minutes before he left, finally asked "What are you doing?" Emptying the dishwasher without leaning forward was a challenge and apparently looked bizarre. He ordered me to the couch, but I have to admit that not taking this chance to get something done is almost as unpleasant as the construction going on in my brain. So here I go again, to inch my way to scrub the bathroom. I may have to skip the toilet, I can't envision how one cleans that without leaning forward.

Jami and Will

If you haven't read my blog much, you might not be aware that I adore Will Smith. Mmmm, Will Smith . . . . I, uh, what was I saying? Oh yeah. So the Husband manages a video store, and the movie "I Am Legend" was out recently. It came to the store with a nice tall Will Smith stand-up. I called dibs on it and began looking for good places to put it as soon as I saw it. So, imagine my horror when I heard the assistant manager mention that the guy who'd asked for it had picked it up! "Picked it up as in lifted it?" I asked the Husband hopefully, "And then put it immediately back down?" Alas, no! He had given away my Will. A weaker woman might have wept, but I held it together. The next day - surprise! Will is in my house!! Another store had given us their Will! Now, he's not totally life-size, but still. The dilemma became: Where to put him? I felt on the ceiling of the bedroom might be a bit disrespectful to the Husband, though he claims he wouldn't mind. The living room would be great, but to be totally honest, a 5-foot Will doesn't really "go" with the decor. So Will's on the wall in the bedroom, held up by oodles of super-strength double-sided tape. He's right in front of where the treadmill unfolds so that when I'm walking, I'm heading for Will. If I get nice and skinny, it'll be thanks to him. Well, goodnight, folks. I'm going to go up snuggle into my comforter and gaze lovingly at Will. . . ..

Jami's Son's New Haircut

So sad, cutting his beautiful hair, but he was starting to look like Prince Valiant gone wrong, so it had to be done.

Of course he still looks good. You can't make a kid this cute look bad. Thanks to Grammy for the picture.

Jami Loves the Boy

This morning I had one of those rare moments where I am by myself listening to Eddie interacting with the Husband. It's beyond sweet - the two men I love the most. The Husband was helping Eddie get dressed,which Eddie prefers to do himself, so helping him consists of getting his diaper on and fastening any snaps, zippers, buttons, etc. Oh, and you can chose his onesie. Because onesies are the tighty-whities of the baby world, and he doesn't care about that. But everything else, you'd better not try to even suggest what you think he should wear. You'll be wrong. Even if you're just pointing out that his pants are on backward and that maybe orange pants and bright blue shirt aren't the best match. You're wrong. But I was enjoying listening to them chatting. Eddie eventually realized I wasn't there and came to find me. He appeared in the doorway of my bedroom in his little white socks and onesie. So cute it makes puppies look like trolls. I had actually thought for a bit about trying to describe the sight in detail, but I realized that even if I posted a picture, which I'll have to do once I re-install the software, it's not the same. Before we got Eddie home, a friend of mine mentioned that he and his wife had discussed adopting, but they weren't sure that they would be able to love an adopted child as much as they loved their bio kid (which they couldn't have any more of). [this sounds like I'm changing the subject,but stick with me, I'm not, really.] I didn't understand that at all until we had Eddie. Because I remember, especially the first month that we were home, thinking - knowing- that not only could no one love this child as much as I do, but that I could not possibly have loved him this much if he'd come out of my body. I mean, come on, if he'd been kicking me, grossly distending my abdomen, and finally making his hideous escape through a passage normally not sized for human passage, I'd be a little resentful (I thought). I wouldn't think he'd be as perfect as this baby is. In fact, I sort of thought that while other people probably love their babies, no one in the history of humanity had ever loved anyone as much as I love Eddie. So when I see him in his little white onesie and think how nice the white looks against his lovely tanned skin and how sweet he looks, it's probably colored a little by love. Or when I let him run around nekkid (which I probably do too much) because it's so amazing to see his perfectly portioned, unmarred body, it might just be that I'm influenced by how much I love him. And when I think it might be even cuter when he's dressed in "little man" style complete with tie, maybe my feelings influence it. Or when my heart melts to see him in fuzzy footie pj's, maybe it's just me. And lastly, I think, how can anyone who has felt this not believe in a loving God? You can't tell me that an accident of nature could create this overwhelming love. Hormones and chemicals and biology can't explain the bond and the adoration between us. Unthinking, unfeeling nature simply can not be responsible for this supernatural emotion. And that's all I have to say about that.

Jami's Husband May Need Glasses

I only rarely poke fun at the Husband, because he's a great guy. And I always make sure he's cool before I post anything. This I had to share, though. Yesterday I worked and the Husband was off. I still made lunch and attempted to make dinner (it wasn't thawed enough, so we got pizza). So, when the time came to put Eddie to bed, I offered the Husband a choice: put the boy to bed or clean up. The Husband looked around at the floor, so covered with toys that to take a step, you have to push them out of your way with your foot before you put it down, at the table 3/4 covered with his various tools and documents, the lunch and dinner dishes still on the counter, the kitchen trash can filled to the very brim. Then he looked at me without a hit of humor or sarcasm and asked, in a confused voice "What needs cleaned?" (NOTE: the missing "to be" is a Pittsburgh dialect thing). I am not kidding you. He could not figure out what needed to be done. I hear this malady is not uncommon to men. The complete inability to see something which requires cleaning. I hope to find a cure, someday.

Jami Versus the Yummy Fudge

The fudge, it taunts me from the kitchen. The Husband, sweetheart that he is, made me a batch of super-delicious homemade fudge. It's a late Valentine's treat and it's soooo yummy. I can't walk by it. I can't go near the kitchen because it's in there and if I get within 10 feet of it, I have to cut a little piece off and eat it. I am powerless against its chocolatey goodness. I may end up just eating the entire batch just to end the battle. I mean, if it's gone, I win, right? I have to go. The fudge is calling.

Jami - the Helpless Female

Today I did something that I haven't done in more than 6 years, and only once in the 11+ years since I've been married. I pumped my own gas. See, when we got married, the Husband took over the thankless task of making sure the car(s) have gas. It's one of the many ways he takes care of me, and also, probably makes sure I don't mess up the engine by running out of gas. But mostly the first part. He meant to put gas in the car yesterday when we were out running errands as a family, but we were busy and forgot. Today, while out, the "check gauges" light lit up, momentarily freaking me out until I realized that it just meant I was low on gas. Really, really low. Too low to go home and tell the Husband to take care of it. Sigh. I had no choice. I had to do it. When I pulled into the station, it occured to me that:

1. I had never put gas in this particular car, since it's only 3 years old.
2. I had never used the credit card method of paying at the pump.
3. I didn't know which side the gas tank was on

Of course, I guessed wrong on the side one, and had to pull up, turn around. No big strong man ran up to assist me, so I had to figure the whole thing out all by myself. I am pretty sure I managed to pay, but I still have a slight fear that I stole the gas and the police will be here any minute. I almost drove off with the gas cap still off (the dang thing was hard enough to get off in the first place!) because I was paying too much attention to figuring out if I'd paid. But I did it! This sweet delicate flower managed the scary, dirty task all on my own. Yay me.

Oh, and because I"m so paranoid, I spent the entire time the gas was pumping reminding myself that if it catches fire, you should immediately let go and drop the nozzle and back away instead of the natural impulse to yank it out of the car. But that's just me, and it didn't burst into flames, so it's all good.

Jami's Friday Feast

Feast 178 Appetizer What is your favorite kind of cereal? Cheerios. It's the classic. Delicious, crunchy AND good for you. How can you go wrong with Cheerios? Soup When was the last time you purchased something for your home, what was it, and in which room did it go? I am not sure if this counts as purchased, but I used my "points" on a website I visit to get us an electric griddle. It's in the kitchen (duh). We've used it a ton, and I really didn't think we'd use it much, but the Husband really wanted one. Salad What is the funniest commercial you’ve ever seen? I can't remember what it was for, but there was a commercial in the 80s where a bunch of stuff kept going wrong, basically destroying someone's house? I don't even really remember what all happened, but I remember howling every time I saw it. Main Course Make up a name for a company by using a spice and an animal (example: Cinnamon Monkey). Tarragon Alligator. I have no idea what this question means. Dessert Fill in the blank: I haven’t ______ since ______. I haven't ridden a bicycle since I was about 12.

Jami Borrows a Meme

I love to eat: anything that includes melted cheese. I hate to eat: Peas, alfalfa sprouts, raw tomatoes I love to go: anywhere warm and with the Husband: Vegas, the beach, Caribbean cruise I hate to go: to the dentist. I love it when: Eddie is cuddly, when the Husband and I curl up and watch a movie with some nachos and Schmirnoff Ices. I hate it when: (expletive deleted) like this happens and messes up kids' lives and families, too. I love to see: my family all in one place. I hate to see: anyone suffering. I love to hear: Eddie giggling I hate to hear: idiots talking. Thanks for the meme, PW

Jami's Family Day

Yesterday was our Family Day; January 11 was the day the Guatemalan authorities declared us legally a family. So every year we celebrate by getting a family portrait, then spending some fun family time. We got our portraits done, long story there, but it boils down to, I'll post some pics later. I love family portraits because it allows me to alter the memory to "Look how organized and perfect we all are". Also, Eddie is so dang cute, you just can't TAKE a bad picture of that little dude. After pictures, we hit the candy store where Eddie picked a few of his favorite treats to eat in the car on the way to an indoor play place. Eddie, who loves only climbing more than running, found his glory in the giant climby-thing with a huge slide and plenty of tunnels and whatnot. Of course, once he saw someone else's mommy in the climby-thing, guess who got to join him? Yes, nothing like being a thirty-something mom crawling around on padded platforms and cargo nets. Of course, after begging, pleading and dragging me to the highest level, Eddie slips down the super-secret back exit, leaving me alone at the top, with no child anywhere near me. I'm sure that looked totally sane. The Husband introduced Eddie to the joy of Whack-a-Mole (although theirs was actually whack a shark, but you know, same idea) and Skee Ball, which Eddie enjoyed, but did not excel at. We discovered that 2-year-olds are inexpensive at video arcades, since he didn't often care whether the game was actually playing for many of the games. After seeing a grade school aged boy playing air hockey with his mom, Eddie insisted we give it a try, but didn't quite grasp the concept and employed the poor defensive strategy of repeatedly dropping the puck in his own goal so that it would pop out the bottom. At the (super mini) Mini Golf area, the Husband attempted to introduce his boy to the joys of putting, however Eddie insisted on using the non-PGA-approved method of pushing the ball with the club while guiding it with the other hand. He also really enjoyed gathering up all the golf balls available and tossing them onto various greens. After playing, we hit the toy store, because we had to return a Christmas gift, but it added the fun of getting a toy, even though Family Day is not about gifts. Eddie attempted to give Mommy a heart attack but taking off running down an aisle and vanishing. By the time I'd rounded up an employee to start a Code Adam (basically locking down the store and finding the missing child), the Husband came walking out of the electronics aisle, carrying a not-at-all-sorry Eddie. And he still got a toy. I needed a drink, but didn't get one. . . . . Finally we hit Olive Garden for dinner. I have to admit, a nice sit-down dinner at a real restaurant that doesn't have a play place or provide toys was more for me than the others, since I get desperate to have real food that someone else cooks and cleans up after that I get to eat while it's still hot. Eddie looooooooved the Zuppa Tuscana (sausage and potato soup) and managed to have a bunch of that and a bread stick before his entree arrived. I figured he'd be done, but no - he followed that with half a chicken breast, his whole side of pasta, a few bites of broccoli and another bread stick. Though he knows how to use utensils, he choose to eat his spaghetti by hand: grabbing big handfuls, shoving it in and chewing at the same time, and making a "grulmn, grulmn" noise. Most of our neighboring diners found it amusing; one cranky old lady gave him frequent dirty looks. Old bat, she's probably just jealous. I figure, you can only eat like that certain times in your life and when you're two is one of those times. I had a delicious lasagna roll dish and even dessert - this - which once I saw the picture, I didn't even have to look at the rest of the menu. We came home, tired and happy. We played a bit and Eddie went to bed. The husband and I had some tea and watched a movie. It was a good day. Several times I stopped to think: I could not be more blessed. What more could anyone ask for than a loving husband, a wonderful child and a great day together?