Jamie Stamm

I hate to disappointment my kids, but when I saw this tonight …

… I knew I was about to.

We have spent the majority of the past three months on the road but have yet to visit that ultimate summer destination … the beach. This was going to be that weekend. We were heading to Wilmington to visit my sister, whom we haven’t seen since Easter.

The kids have been so excited. Every day this week when I’ve picked them up from day care, they’ve asked if this was the day we were going to see Aunt Katie.

“On Saturday,” I promised.

The plan was to leave tomorrow morning, right after Cera’s 9 a.m. soccer tryouts. We were going to pack the cooler with sandwiches, swing by Katie’s condo and pick her up, and then head to Wrightsville Beach to swim and play in the sand until the sun went down.

But this afternoon, Katie called to warn me about predicted rainfall.

I figured we’d still make the trip - after all, if it rained as often as meteorologists forecast, we certainly wouldn’t still be experiencing drought-like conditions.

But just in case, I checked the Wilmington Star’s Web site when I got home from work tonight. And I saw the map above with the following headline: “Storm could become a tropical depression.”

So even if we were lucky enough to get a few hours of sunshine to spend on the beach, chances are we would encounter high winds and rough waters. Jerry and I conferred and decided to push the trip to another weekend.

My sister was upset but understanding. She misses her niece and nephew (and her sister, too, I hope because I certainly miss her).

Cera was teary-eyed as I put her to bed.

And Anthony … well, I figure the worst with him is still to come when he wakes up in the morning and realizes that we’re not going to the beach.

So Jerry and I are scrambling to put together a fun agenda for the weekend. While we road-weary parents would love nothing better than to sleep late and get some much needed work done around the house, we’re thinking museums tomorrow and, if weather permits, the pool on Sunday.

Whatever it takes to turn our kids’ frowns upside down.

I just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who had such amazingly nice things to say about me today. This has been a really emotional journey for me, and if today is any indication (between blog comments and phone calls and a really sweet good-luck card signed by all the members of the Sanford Lions Club, I cried at least five times), it will continue to be so for at least a few more days. So bear with me, please.

And, yes, I do plan to keep blogging. I couldn’t imagine my life without at least some form of writing, and I’ve really come to enjoy sharing my stories and reading all of yours as well.

Again, thanks to everyone for making me feel so loved. You are too, too kind.

It’s been a well-known fact around the office for several weeks now, but today I am giving my official notice: July 25 - next Friday - will be my last day at The Sanford Herald.

This was not an easy decision for me. The Herald gave me my first reporting job out of college and then, a year and a half later, presented me with the opportunity of my career: a promotion to lifestyles editor. Since then, I feel that I’ve not only grown professionally but personally, and I can honestly say that I love my job.

But other aspects of my life have changed. Over the course of the past 11 years, I’ve married the love of my life and given birth to two beautiful, intelligent - oh, let’s just say perfect - children. We relocated to Apex five years ago, and we love where we live. I step out my front door to a cul-de-sac of friendly, helpful neighbors; there’s a community playground within a few minutes walking distance; and my deck opens up to a backyard brimming with nature.

But beyond the comforts of home, my life has been in Sanford. I’ve become attached to my “regulars” at The Herald, and my co-workers are my second family. My kids are in day care here, and my daughter has taken gymnastics and swimming lessons through Lee County Parks and Rec.

It’s all worked up to this point, although it hasn’t always been easy. My kids - bless them - have endured a 45-minute commute each way each weekday for several years, which is much easier now that they’re no longer infants (I remember trips home when Anthony would cry for the entire ride). And we’ve at times struggled financially (lest you think journalists lead a glamorous life, we don’t make that much money) with day care costs and now with rising gas and food prices.

But now we’ve reached a milestone in our daughter’s life. At the end of this month, Cera starts kindergarten. And because she will go to school in Wake County, I am not comfortable being 45 minutes away from her. It’s just a mom thing.

So we had to weigh our options. Do we pack up and move our family to Sanford so I can keep my job? Or do we stay in a neighborhood that we truly love (not that we wouldn’t enjoy living in Lee County)?

After weeks of financial calculations and many nights of tears on my part (let’s just say my husband is a saint for putting up with his emotional wreck of a wife), we decided that what we think is best for our family is for me to stay home and try to pick up some freelance work on the side. While Cera is at school, Anthony will go from full-time day care to three-hour-a-day preschool.

To be honest, I am terrified about this life change. I went to college with the intent of working full-time for the rest of my life. But I never factored in a family. And now, my kids are more important to me than any professional accomplishments.

So, in what is most likely the worst economy of my 32 years on earth, I am walking away from a job, from my best friends, from a job that I love.

So far, I have not a single freelance prospect. But I still feel like this is the right decision for my family.

And that makes me believe that, somehow, everything will be OK.

Before I was a mom, I hated - HATED - when I heard parents telling their kids to “use your words.”

“What a stupid phrase,” I used to think. And I really disliked the mostly-condescending way in which it was used.

Then I had two children of my own. And now I completely understand.

I don’t remember Cera going through a stage like Anthony’s been in recently, where he’ll point to something and grunt or squeal as my husband and I try to figure out exactly what it is that he wants. Or he’ll speak complete nonsense - and then crack up at himself.

It’s not that Anthony doesn’t know which words to use - because this kid can talk. Lord, can he talk. (He has to in order to keep up with - and be heard over - his older sister.) And he’s been talking for quite some time now.

So when he regressed to this pointing-grunting-squealing stage, I felt myself biting my tongue. Because I wanted to say, “Use your words,” so badly. I wanted to scream it if I had to.

For the most part, I’ve been able to restrain myself - although I admit that the dreaded phrase has slipped from my lips a few times in moments of extreme frustration.

I guess there are worse things I could say.

Anyway, Anthony has really started to express his feelings over the past few days. Of course, it’s not always things we want to hear, like, “Stop talking to me,” “You’re not nice” and “You guys are being mean.” (I love that he says “you guys” - it reminds me of my Pennsylvania roots. And by the way, we weren’t really being mean.)

But, hey, at least he’s using his words.

My mom has created an oasis in her backyard.

Within the high fence that provides privacy for my parents’ in-ground pool, there is an abundance of life. My mom has planted dozens, if not hundreds, of brightly colored flowers, which grow in beds and big clay planters and hang in plastic pots suspended from iron posts. And there are bugs galore - horseflies and houseflies, wasps and yellow jackets, and tons of honeybees (anyone who says there’s a honeybee shortage should visit my parents’ backyard on a sunny summer day - just ask my son, who suffered his first bee sting there two weeks ago).

But the big highlight for my kids - aside from the pool itself, of course - is the frogs.

They swim in the water. They hang around on the deck. My mom even claims there’s one that will sit on a chair with her as she floats around the pool.

This past weekend, Cera found a small gray tree frog under a float on the deck, and we feared he may have met his end in the hot summer sun. So she gently picked him up, placed him on her forearm and started for the pool steps to give him an energizing shot of cool water.

But apparently, there was no great need for hydration. Because the frog hopped up Cera’s arm and across her shoulders and perched itself on top of her head.

I scrambled for my camera, but needn’t have worried. That frog wasn’t going anywhere.

My mom finally took the frog off Cera’s head and placed it in the water, but it quickly jumped on Cera’s leg …

… and then back onto her arm.

I think Cera’s favorite part of her living science lesson was discovering that if she gently stroked the frog’s back, it would chirp at her.

After a few minutes, Cera was ready to play in the pool again and so decided it was time to say good-bye to her new friend. She filled a small dog bowl with water and then carried the frog to its own little oasis. One final photo …

… and he hopped off into the grass.

When we were younger, my mom used to explain the differences between my siblings and I in this way:

“If you tell Jamie (that’s me) that the sky is blue, she’ll ask, ‘Why?’

“If you tell Steve (my younger brother) that the sky is blue, he’ll say, ‘OK.’

“If you tell Katie (the baby of the family) that the sky is blue, she’ll say, ‘No it’s not.’”

Jerry and I somehow missed out on a Steve, who is by far the most laid back of us siblings, but we have a Jamie in Cera, who asks so many questions it’s sometimes hard to believe, and a Katie in Anthony, who loves to disagree. And as his vocabulary is increasing, so, it seems, is his penchant for arguing.

Take for example, this conversation that occurred as I was putting him to bed tonight:

Me: “Anthony, it’s time to sleep. Please lie down.”

Him: “You lie down.”

Me: “I am lying down.” (Clearly, I am lying on the bed - right beside him.)

Him: “No you not.”

Me: “Yes, I am.”

Him: “No you not.”

Me: “Yes, I am.”

Him: “No you not.”

If I were another child (especially his sister), this argument could have continued for hours, if not days. But I am his mom, and therefore smart enough to just stop playing the game.

And the other day, I even got a leg up in an argument - by pulling an old Bugs Bunny move. You remember - the episodes where Bugs and Yosemite Sam would get into a disagreement and Bugs would trick Sam into switching sides?

I don’t even remember what Anthony and I were arguing about, but it went something like this:

(About one minute in)

Him: “No you not.” (Can you tell this is his favorite phrase?)

Me: “Yes I am.”

Him: “No you not.”

Me: “No you not.”

Him: “Yes I am.”

He paused for a second, confused, and then … stopped arguing.

I’ve tried the Bug Bunny method on several occasions since, but it just took that one time for him to catch on.

I’d tell you that Anthony is a pretty smart kid.

But I’m sure he’d have this to add:

“No I not.”

Hello, my name is Jamie. And I am an Internet addict.

 I didn’t realize just how attached I’d become to the World Wide Web until last night, when a cable outage left me disconnected from the outside world.

I tried to occupy myself with dirty dishes and laundry. I sampled new shades of new polish and then painted my nails, my daughter’s and even my son’s (hey, he wanted them done - and I at least used blue polish). I spent some quality time with my poor, neglected kitty, who has been spending a lot of time alone this summer as we jet back and forth across the state.

But my head was swimming with questions. Did Gwen Stefani finally have her baby? Would there be thunderstorms again tomorrow? Was I losing out on a must-have on craigslist? Were people reading my blog?

“Wow,” I thought to myself. “You have a problem.”

They say that’s the first step, right? Admitting that you have a problem?

I think tomorrow on my day off, I’m going to take step No. 2 and buy that new David Sedaris book that I’ve been eyeing. And then I’m going to start spending more time reading and less time parked in front of a computer.

I just hope I don’t miss anything important.

I don’t know if it’s accurate to say that we’ve started potty training Anthony. He got six pairs of big boy underpants for his second birthday back in December, and we’ve been buying pull-ups for quite a few months, but we still keep a healthy supply of diapers on hand, too, and we’ve been letting Anthony choose which he would rather wear (usually, it’s a diaper).

It’s not as if we haven’t been through this before, but Cera’s potty training was a bit unconventional. She was nearly 3 and still was not using the potty on a consistent basis (for reference, Anthony currently is 2 1/2), and we didn’t want to push her. But she couldn’t move up to the next level class at day care until she was fully trained. One of the teachers, whom I greatly respect, recommended that we just start sending her to school in panties.

“She’ll be fine,” the teacher said. “Trust me.”

As first-time parents, we didn’t know what to do. Should we continue on the path we were on and let Cera figure out this whole potty thing in her own way and on her own time? Or should we listen to a day care teacher, who had years - if not decades - more experience with kids than us?

I just had this picture in my head of my precious baby standing in front of her classmates in a puddle of pee - absolutely mortified. I didn’t want to traumatize her.

In the end, after talking with family and friends, we followed the expert’s advice. I packed a bag for day care with plenty of panties and lots of extra changes of clothing. And when I picked Cera up at school … she was in the same clothes she had been wearing when I’d dropped her off in the morning. She had made it to the potty on time all day long, and I can count on one hand the number of times she’s had an accident at school (plus, she’s never wet the bed).

Initially with Anthony, I thought potty training was going to be easy. Before he was 2, he took a keen interest in his sister’s bathroom habits, and I rushed right out and bought him a special Elmo potty (see above) that would congratulate him (in English or Spanish, no less) when he managed to do his business. He was so excited at first, sitting on that potty for several minutes at a time, although nothing ever came out.

In fact, the Elmo potty still hasn’t been successfully used. And now it’s just sitting in the kids’ bathroom collecting dust as Anthony has decided he would rather try to use the adult-sized toilet. The big problem there is that he doesn’t want to use a step stool, so if he would manage to successfully pee, it would trickle down the front of the potty instead of landing in the bowl.

So, where are we now? Well, Anthony still isn’t particularly interested in using the bathroom at home or at day care. But, without fail, he asks for the potty when we’re in a public place - for example, a grocery store or restaurant - although he never actually goes.

That leads me to this past weekend …

During our holiday travels, I at one point found myself in the bathroom of a Mexican restaurant in Chapel Hill, holding Anthony high enough above the toilet that he might hit the bowl if he actually decided to go, as he yelled loudly at his penis, “Come out, pee pee! Come out!”

I was trying so hard not to laugh at the whole scenario that I was shaking … and giving thanks that no one else was in the bathroom to witness this spectacle.

Maybe I should just put him in a pair of underpants …

“Pop Pop Pop” by Paige Russell, illustrated by Shawn Finley (a Hooked on Phonics Beginning Reader book, level 1)

This entry should actually be titled “What Cera’s reading” because she needs no help with this one, which has become her favorite book to read to Anthony and I each night before bed (although she’s quite proficient with the other offerings in this series as well).

The book follows friends Pig Wig and Cat on “popcorn day,” starting out with a snack at Cat’s house and continuing on to the popcorn store, where they pour a box of unpopped kernels into a movie theater-style popcorn popper. But …

“That’s too much.

It will not stop.

On and on and

pop pop pop!”

The popcorn store quickly fills with popped kernels …

“It’s up to my socks.

It will not stop.

It’s up to my hips.

Pop pop pop!”

… until a curious Hip-O opens the door, releasing popcorn and his friends into the outside world.

Most of the words in “Pop Pop Pop!” are single-syllable, with short-vowel sounds, so it’s a great beginning reader, and there are lots of fun rhymes and silly illustrations, so the book holds both Cera and Anthony’s attention.

And watching the proud smile that spreads across my daughter’s face each time she finishes this 32-page book - well, that’s made it one of my favorites, too.

Do you ever have those moments as a parent when you know you’re supposed to be strict, but all you really want to do is laugh?

Over the weekend, as my parents, grandmother, aunt, cousin and the four of us gathered around my parents’ dining room table for a Fourth of July feast, I heard my dad say, “Anthony …,” in the same disciplinarian voice that I recall from my childhood.

I looked up to see my son, who was sitting atop a stool that put him right at table level, with his Cookie Monster fork firmly planted between his toes and his foot positioned above his plate.

I turned my head to the side and let out a little snicker before reprimanding him.

“Anthony, please put your foot down. We eat with our hands, not our feet.”

But I had to wonder … could he have successfully speared a piece of hot dog and brought the fork all the way to his mouth to eat it?

Now that would have been an impressive feat (pardon the pun).