I'll tell my Mama on you.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about Mamas lately. Not just because this weekend is Mother’s Day, but just because Mamas have been everywhere this year in my world. And not always in a nice, happy, sunshine and lollypops way either.

I have a couple of friends who lost their mothers over the past year. One suddenly, at an advanced age. One at a younger age, but after a very lengthy fight with pancreatic cancer. Both of these women humble me with the strength they have shown in getting through, well, not having a Mama anymore. I don’t know how I would handle that and I realize it’s a part of life for which I am woefully unequipped. However, it makes me so thankful that I don’t have to go through such a loss now, and hopefully for many, many years. So I will be thinking of them this weekend, as they will be thinking of their precious Mamas who will not be here for Mother’s Day.

Another of my very close friends became a mother last month, and then lost her son two short weeks later. And this will be her first Mother’s Day, yet she will be without her child. I wish I was eloquent enough to write something comforting and profound, but this girl does not have the words. So I will be thinking of my friend this weekend also, even though I don’t have any words to offer her.

And then there is the ever expanding group of women I know who will be celebrating EXPECTANT Mother’s Day, including a cousin I dearly love. I think being a mommy-to-be on Mother’s Day must be just indescribable. You’re already a mother, but all of the “reality mommy” stuff is ahead of you and I think the anticipation of knowing that next year you’ll have a baby on Mother’s Day would almost be too much for me to bear. I don’t see how people can just go about their daily lives and not explode with excitement. So I will be thinking of these ladies too, as they prepare to bring these new little people into the world for me to cuddle and read to and spoil.

And me? What will I be doing? I will be hanging out with my wonderful Mommy, who is wonderfully witty, intensely protective and unfailingly supportive. The woman who taught me how to swim and how not to drive. The woman who introduced me not only to unicorns and the Betsy-Tacy series, but also to the value of a good cup of coffee and a cigarette. The one, the only, my Mama.

Here I come, Dancing with the Stars!

I have this mental list of things I absolutely refuse to do. Things like this random sample: skydive, return to Mexico, watch Old Yeller, ever attempt post-graduate studies and...go to the gym. One of these things has been removed from the list.

I went to the gym.

Exercise and I do not play well together. I never even had the “Get in Shape, Girl” playset. My only real attempt at any sort of athletic pursuit was a hellish couple of seasons in girls’ softball. My wonderful and equally daydreaming friend Amanda and I often split the position of catcher, and argued over who would remain in the dugout. But then I hit a pop-up into my own eye and was allowed to gracefully retire from my team.

I take that back……I also took dance lessons for years. Tap and jazz at the CEA with Miss Julia Hope and later Miss Jennie. I can work a step-ball-change and I can shuffle off to Buffalo, but the jazz skills are lacking. I did, at one time, join the junior jazz group of a different local dance/gymnastics center. For one sweet, shining moment I was a Tumbletown All-Star. And then I singlehandedly ruined our chances to win the Kiwanis Kapers due to my complete inability to perform the Bobby Brown. (Or the Roger Rabbit, whichever you prefer.) "Pump Up the Jam" still gives me a panic attack.

So, you see, physical prowess is not my strong suit.

Angie & Dr. Brenton are trying to change that. Angie is on this health kick, which I am really not excited about, as it removes her cube steak from my diet for the forseeable future. And she makes really good cube steak, with home-made mashed potatoes and everything.

So Angie starts talking about how she’s so excited about starting this thing called Zumba, and I thought she was playing bridge or something. I was so confused. I think I got it mixed up with Mah Jongg and I couldn’t figure out how that was at all healthy, because I thought it was some game named for the Chinese word for gossip.

Turns out Zumba is Latin dance aerobics. And Angie loves it. She loves it so much she’s already talking about starting Pilates, too. But her enthusiasm won me over, and I went to my first Zumba class this past Saturday.

I had this image in my head of becoming like a Southern Jane Fonda crossed with Salma Hayek, but I think I came out of the class a little more like Charo. But I finished it, and it wasn’t nearly as bad as I feared.

Maybe next week I can work my way up to being Suzanne Somers.

Why should Snow White get all the love?

I don’t have kids. My family is full of late procreators….and quite a few non-procreators as well, come to think of it. Grandmama was almost 40 when she had Dad in 1947. Dad held out until he was 30 until I was born. My cousin Billy was pushing 40 when he and his (rockstar awesome) wife Amanda had Jack. So I figure there’s no hurry, eh?

Instead of my own kids, I have quite a collection of other peoples’ kids who I dearly love. Years of babysitting will do that to you. Of course, a few of the older kids have now married and two even have their OWN children now. I’m only 31. I don’t know if I was the world’s youngest babysitter or if they just are early breeders.

Most of “my” kids are late-high-school /early-college age now, and I get a kick out of seeing who is cheering and who is playing baseball and who chooses to go where for college….and of course all the girls get a recommendation for Phi Mu if they Rush. And I love them all.

But today I’m giving a big, fat, bloggy hug to the One, the Only, my girl MaryLiz.

MaryLiz has been my best girl since I ran into her Mom (one of my former teachers) at the park when they were on a playdate along with her brother, Zach. I broke out the ol’ Mary Poppins umbrella and moved into their world. And much fun was had. MUCH fun. Swimming lessons, dance classes, soccer practices, boy scouts, birthday parties………oh, and Harry Potter. We are all about some Harry Potter.

Somehow, and I’m still not really sure how this happened, Zach has gotten halfway through college and ML is about to graduate from high school.

And I am still driving the same car. But anyway…..

ML told me not too long ago that she had earned the part of Carabosse in the local ballet production of Sleeping Beauty – probably in large part due to all the dance classes to which I drove her! (Just kidding, doll.) So I told her I would most definitely be there to watch.

So the Todd and I put on our grown-up panties and went to the ballet last Sunday afternoon.

Sidenote: One of the things I really enjoy about my little hometown is the importance we place on the arts. For a town of our size, we have a very influential little artistic community. We have two museums, a local ballet company, a local symphony and multiple choral groups. And that’s just under the aegis of the local society of the performing arts. There are also extremely well-executed programs coming from the local high schools, churches and the college. We are lucky, lucky folks.

Y’all. When ML just tossed out “Yeah, I’m dancing Carabosse.” I just figured it was just some role. Some average, everyday role. It turns out I should actually study up on my fairy tales rather than assume Walt Disney is checking his facts.

Because Carabosse? Yeah, that’s MALEFICIENT. My baby girl had the big, bad, villain role. You know what that means? She got the rocking costume too. Everybody else looked like Easter Peeps and ML was swooping all around them like Stevie Nicks with point shoes and a crown. It was very black and purple and veil-ish. She spun delightfully.


So props to my wonderful, beautiful girl. She was splendid. I was so proud of her I cried. The Todd was so impressed that he said…..well, he said a word that caused the lady in front of us to turn around and give us the fisheye.

So, Mary Liz, you were fabulous. I love you, beautiful girl!

Cupid, Draw Back your Bow....

Check this out: http://todayspictures.slate.com/20090213. Every day Slate.com runs a “Today’s Pictures” feature with photos on a daily theme. With Valentine’s Day being this weekend, today’s theme is K-I-S-S-I-N-G, and it’s way cute. This is the opening photo…..(CREDIT: This is obviously not my photo. It was taken by someone from Magnum Photos and I took it from Slate.)

Valentine’s Day gives me a complex. When I was single, I thought actually having someone to celebrate Valentine’s Day with would make everything automatically perfect. Oooohhhh, but no. First off, I hate planning things, which is an odd thing for a former event planner to say. It’s not really that I hate to plan things; I really LIKE to plan things….as long as they are not MY things. As far as I go, I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. The Todd is also a non planner. The only thing he plans ahead of time is a concert. The only thing I plan ahead of time is the release of certain books and/or movies. (Bring it, Harry Potter. July 17th is just around the corner.) What this results in is a serious lack of plans. “We’ll just see what comes up…” often ends in “not a damn thing.” Thus, when I DO plan something, I go all Martha-Stewart on acid and want to make everything picture perfect. There is no possible way for reality to reach half of where my expectations set themselves.

Example: I once planned a picnic for us to go to Callaway Gardens. I borrowed Baby Sister’s huge picnic basket and filled it with things like pate. Do either of us eat pate? Dude. I don’t even eat ketchup.

So you see how Valentine’s Day is problematic for crazy over-the-top Jamie. THIS year, we are getting a TV as our present to each other, but I still want to do SOMETHING. And of course it can’t be just dinner or a movie. Oh, what to do that is both original and fits into our tiny Dave Ramsey budget. (I know you’re thinking “She knows Dave Ramsey and she’s buying a TV?” But what you do not know is that said TV is a used 27” for $100. Dave would SO approve.) So I have to think of something fun.

One unnamed person called me yesterday to ask if I thought it would be sweet or stupid for her to send her man on a scavenger hunt around town winding up at her house for dinner. I told her I thought it was great. Then she called me to ask which new lingerie she should buy. Somebody is getting a GOOD Valentine! I pondered doing something like that for a minute and then realized that if I handed Pete a scavenger hunt clues, he would look at me like, “No, Beavis. Really. Let’s just go grab some steaks.” And as far as lingerie? Girlfriend was grabbing satin and lace, and that just does not work in my world. Pete’s all about the two Lauras…..Ingalls and Ashley. His freak-o grandpa taste used to irritate me, but now I think this is awesome. I can look like I walked out of Sense & Sensibility for the rest of my life, and Pete will think I’m dressing for him. Two birds, one stone.

So now I don’t know what we’ll do. I think this evening I will break out the old Southern Born & Bread cookbook and figure out something fairly easy (and romantic) to cook. Any ideas? Do y’all still go all out for Valentine’s? Are you one of those people who thinks it’s a “greeting card holiday” and don’t celebrate? Do you include people other than your honey? Once, when Chuck the Girl and I were living together, we both found ourselves single as Valentine’s Day rolled around. And on the day itself, one of our good guy friends brought us each a rose. I've always thought that was the sweetest gesture, and it’s always stuck with me, and I know it has with Chuck, too. So there you go, folks. If you can’t figure out what to do for the holiday, go make someone else’s holiday special!

Hoo, boy! I know people say this all the time, but I don’t know where December has gone – or November, while we’re talking about it. I feel like yesterday was the election and tomorrow is Christmas. And that really stinks, because I am really stoked about ye olde Christmas Season this year. Which is not unusual, but this year I have just been Mrs. Claus all over the place. I’m not sure why this is, but I think it has something to do with the X-Entertainment Christmas Jukebox. Check it out. Here. I did not know that C3PO had a Christmas album, but it sure has made me giggle.

I am not a Star Wars geek, by the way. (My cousin Michael used to have this huge fabulous collection off figures, but he’s a collector anyhow.) I know I’ve seen the first (or fourth, depending on your viewpoint) movie, and I’ve seen Han Solo in the carbonite, but once you start in with Billy Dee Williams I lose it. But C3PO singing “Christmas in the Stars” is just, simply, hilarious, and I don’t care how uppity you are.

The Christmas Season also brings with it my Birthday Season. Jesus and I were born less than a week apart. I’m not trying to draw any comparisons, I’m just saying that Baby Jamie came home from the hospital on Christmas Eve, Mary gave birth to Our Lord and Savior that same night, coincidence? You be the judge.

Obviously, I am being facetious.

Turning 31 is sort of a non-event. Turning 30 is a milestone, but I think I just get to drift along now until 40 hits. Geez. Typing that makes it real. Ouch. So, per usual, we had a lovely family dinner , which is always an occasion. Y’all just don’t know.

THIS year, however, the girls surprised me with THIS:

That’s right. It’s My Little Pony. The next best thing to a unicorn. I may not be a Star Wars geek, but my love for the Unicorn approaches the embarrassing and ridiculous. The only reason there are no Unicorns in my house is because Unicorn stuff is all either made of fake crystal or airbrushed on velvet and available only in truck stops. So you see how a My Little Pony cake really fits the occasion. And...it was a cupcake cake.

So, go on about your business, I will be here rocking out to C3PO (hee-hee - it's on youtube!)and eating cupcakes thanks to Nic, Pais, Angie & Sunshine. Thanks, ladies!

LeVar Burton would be so proud.

Ahhhhhhhh. That sound you hear is happy, contented little me after a most relaxing weekend. I went to lunch last Thursday with my friend Amanda, who loves to read, as do I. When I got out of the car at the restaurant (Which was Fatdaddy’s, for you locals. Best chicken fingers in town, no lie.) and Amanda had a BAG of books for me. Hello, Christmas in October! So – other than vacuuming and washing dishes – pretty much all I did, A-L-L weekend long was read. Pete was home, and he’s been trying to get through War & Peace for the past several weeks, with breaks for his nutso sci-fi in between sections. I don’t mean science fiction as in – wait, I don’t read science fiction so I have nothing to offer you. But several of these books he has bought for $1 at gas stations on road trips – you get the idea? There is also some Carl Hiaasen in there, which is not science fiction, but I tried to read it and thought my head would explode. So there you go. Russian classics, meet crappy pulp fiction.

Anyhow, I had just finished a ginormous (gigantic + enormous) biography of Katharine Hepburn (Kate: The Woman Who Was Hepburn, by William J. Mann)so I was in the perfect mood to attack a bag o’ chick lit. By the way, this new biography has totally ruined my whole idea of Katharine Hepburn. Apparently the whole legend about KH and Spencer Tracy was much less a 26 year love affair and much more alcoholic codependency AND not even a romantic relationship. The entire book really portrayed Hepburn as sort of a frigid lesbian obsessed with fame. Screw you, William J. Mann! I’m going back to a crappy biographer who doesn’t check facts! So THERE! I’m getting off topic now….

I was really excited about these books! Nothing is better on a cloudy fall day than opening all the windows and curling up with your significant other and a couple of books. There is nothing more perfect than that. Well, unless your significant other walked in the door with a Cotton Candy Blizzard with extra Cotton Candy…..which mine did. Like I said, perfection. No kids, no meetings, no weddings, no parties, no classes, no studying, no volunteering, just books.

It took me all weekend, but here are my recommendations:

1. Names My Sisters Call Me – Hysterical. If you have ever been engaged (which I have not, but everyone else has) or if your family is the slightest bit –um- "dramatic" (I am not calling y’all dramatic, I am just saying that some of our family togetherness could be filmed and spliced into the reality show of your choice.) then you need to read this book. Oh, it cracked me up, and I could look at every character and say “Oh, I know her! That’s so-and-so!” In fact, I did call one of my best friends and took the book to her no less than 5 minutes after I finished it.

2. The Cinderella Pact – Lately there is a huge amount of big girl books, written for those of us who spend entire days on the couch with their boyfriends, a book, and a Cotton Candy blizzard. Lane Bryant should really have a book section, and then my life would be complete. So this is a Big Girl Book, and I think it might have been one of my favorites. Overall, I will say that usually Jennifer Wiener is my big girl author, and she’s always good, go try her – even if you’re tiny – Cameron Diaz made a move out off one of her books! But this chick (Sarah Strohmeyer) was just about as good. Besides, they mention Lane Bryant in the book, just as I did above. Awesome.

I also finished another one, and I forgot the name of it, but it should have been called “Crap With a British Accent.” (Sorry, Amanda.) I don’t know why people think that JUST because the Bridget Jones books were made into hit movies means that 75% of chick lit should be set in London. This one was so bad that I cannot even remember the TITLE – something about cocktails, which should have given the crap factor away. Because, I don’t know about you, but I don’t usually say “Let’s go meet for cocktails!” I just use the more generic “Hey, let’s go get a drink.” Actually, these days I don’t even say that anymore because “Are you going to Angie’s for Grey’s?” is so much easier.

So, go buy those books - or check them out at your local library. And then try War & Peace, because the good Lord knows Pete will not be discussing anything about it with me.

Fun with Printmaster.

So I know I'm a month behind on posting, but AM - she of the Old Maid insults - is still in the nursing home. And school started back. And I'm just plain lazy and out of motivation. But in the meantime until I get caught up with all the stuff I am supposed to do, and can concentrate on a post with a point, here are a few things I have been making in my spare time. That sound you hear is me tooting my own crafty little horn.

That was for my little buddy Hoop's 5th birthday party. I work with his Grandmother, and grew up with his Mom, and each year they are nice enough to let me get as cheesy as I want on his birthday invitations.

And those are some business cards for my good friend Tessa, cellist extrordinaire. I'm still fooling with the fonts.

And finally, one for Miss Angie Cotton, who we have not seen very often lately, as she is lost in New Boyfriend Land. I reside in Old Boyfriend Land, which has many charms of it's own, even if it's missing some of the newfangled amenities of NBL, where everyone is still goo-goo eyed and on their best behavior. When your friends are in New Boyfriend Land, there's always a period of adjustment until they quit walking around in a hormonal fog. And you celebrate the new relationship, and you are delighted that your buddy has found love. But in your secret, bitchy little heart, you just hope they settle down and come back to the outside world before the new season of Grey's Anatomy. We love you Angie! Come back soon!

Too Sexy for My Sunburn

Embarrassing moment #1 Not in my entire life, just since this blog started, and that’s only if you don’t count the fact that I admitted my new affection for He-Man.org. Over the past weekend, my friends Paisley and Nicole accompanied me to the amazing and wonderful Callaway Gardens. It was Nicole’s inaugural visit, so I originally planned to ride the paddleboats and see the circus and visit the chapel, the Sibley Center, the Butterfly Center…you see where this is headed. But we decided to stay on Robin’s Lake Beach. Which, by the way, was missing both the ferry and the little train, a matter I fully intend to investigate. What’s a trip to the Gardens without riding around the woods on a train? I can’t count box turtles without it!


This whole tangent made no sense to anyone who didn’t grow up in this area, and I am sorry for the confusion. And for your loss, by the way. Because if a child can’t grow up counting box turtles from a kid-sized train hurtling through the Georgia pine forest, what good is being a kid?


Y’all just don’t know - the beach was wonderful. I am the whitest woman in at least the state of Georgia if you don’t count actual albinos, so I loaded up on the sunscreen. We had a fabulous day. Lay out for a while, go swim out past where the kids were to lower the odds that we were swimming in baby pee (Thank you, Paisley for bringing that subject up.), then go let the sun dry you off. It was perfect, and the snack bar was serving up some pretty delicious chicken fingers! Chicken fingers are always an important part of the equation. And the sweet tea was stellar.


Somehow in all of this lazy day, I neglected to reapply the ol’ SPF to my upper back. Later that night, I was putting out close to enough heat to toast a Pop-Tart. I tried the aloe thing, the lotion thing, and I was all set to try the vinegar thing but that’s just no fun for anyone that has to be around you.


This morning the peeling started in earnest. I’m not trying to be offensive or anything, but it’s pretty gross. You know those snake skins your science teacher would keep on a shelf in her classroom? I feel like that snake. So this morning I was itching terribly, but my office looks like a goldfish bowl. It’s just not the best place to contort the body so that you’re able to scratch that little spot just under your shoulderblade yet above your bra strap. That little spot that you can almost get your hand on, but just not quite. And it was driving me nuts. Nothing would work. Not a pen, not my fingertips, not the corner of a file folder. And then it struck me – my boss likes to use this fun little machine (This might not be a big deal to you but I had never seen one until I started working here.) that makes little books with those round binders. Sweet, bendy, binders. Let me tell you, if you have an itch, those things will scratch it. So my poor, peeling, sunburned self is pushed into a corner where nobody can see me with a bendy book binder down the back of my shirt, scratching like fire…..when I hear a “Hello?”


I love the Todd and all, but there was the cutest little real estate agent standing there, looking at me like I was the world’s biggest freak. I mean, he totally busted me, and he was so polite, which meant that of course he had seen the whole thing and was just too nice to mention it. So I was totally humiliated, and too freaked out to use my wonder-binder for the rest of the day.


Case in point: if Callaway Gardens still had a train, I would have been in the SHADE, not gotten a sunburn, and then not been caught with a book binder hooked under the back of my bra.