Gulliver Is on Shrooms

That was Murray's suggested title for this post. I would have chosen something more lovely like, "Gulliver in the Enchanted Forest." Either way, cute picture of a cute boy.

We're out in Maryland visiting my parents and today we took Gulliver to a petting zoo that we took him to last time we were here. There are cheesy, over-the-top, tacky elements to this place, called the Enchanted Forest, but that I think made things even more fun. Last time (in April) Gulliver wasn't old enough to "get" the Enchanted Forest part. He mostly liked the animals, to varying degrees. This time, he did like some of the Enchanted Forest stuff (like the mushrooms) and he also enjoyed the animals a little more.

Off to BlogHer!

Tomorrow I leave for BlogHer. I know that I'm not a rock star blogger or anything (especially with my sporadic posting lately) so I'll be honest. I'm going to the conference to network and peddle my wares. There's no shame in that.

Of course, I'll be going with this cast on. Unfortunate, except for the fact that I'm totally stuffing it full of cocaine that should get me a tidy profit from all the SAHMs.

(Dear law enforcement: I'm totally kidding. Also I flushed down all of my leftover percocet from my foot surgeries because that's the kind of person I am, even though I could totally sell them on the street for lots of cash.)

BUT, I am milking it for all it's worth, so I called the airport today to let them know that I need a wheelchair, and for the first time in my life, I'm going to get on PRIORITY BOARDING!! And Murray can wheel me in all the way up to the gate! (In other milking it for all it's worth news, I will definitely be using my handicapped status to enhance our Disneyland experience this fall, even though I should be feeling fine, but my temporary handicapped parking sticker says I'll be crippled till November.)

Now, how do I make a cast look good for a conference? I turn it into a go-go boot, that's how. Check it out.


I'm sure to post more full body shots from the conference. I used an old pair of patterned tights to do this. But Murray, who is a husband who has opinions on this sort of thing, encouraged me to buy actual knee-high socks so that everything looked a little nicer. So I did. Right now I'm wearing a stripey pair, but for the conference, I should be wearing a pair that looks similar to the picture.

Probably the hardest thing about this conference will be leaving my 6-month old babe. (Sorry Murray---I will miss you, too, but remember that you have gone on THREE trips without me since we've known each other, so this is my turn.) But just to get me through, you can be sure I'll be watching this video over and over and over again.

(Gulliver doesn't put hard things in his mouth---only soft things. So although he was slightly fussy the other night because of teething, he wouldn't chew on the frozen teething ring we gave him. So we found something else to do with the teething ring...)

Hell Week

It's been a very long time since I've put together an important project in a short amount of time. But on Friday, Murray announced that we needed to have our portfolios online by Tuesday. We've had our domain names for almost a year now, and we haven't done anything with them other than create snazzy parking pages. We have had plenty of time to organize, collect, and put together our portfolios. But we didn't do anything about them until now. It's almost 2:00 a.m. and Murray and I have been working on this almost non-stop since Friday after work. Right now, I am working on the laptop in the bedroom, with Gulliver passed out beside me, and Murray is working in the office. He's turned up the audio version of Me Talk Pretty One Day loud enough that we can both hear it.

I feel like I'm in college again.

Earlier this evening, I expressed to Murray my strong desire to have soda. I never drink it anymore because I refuse to drink anything but diet, and usually there's only caffeinated beverages on tap, and I don't need Gulliver to get caffeinated through my breast milk. Murray admitted that he went on a trip to Wendy's during the day to get a big drink of Coke.

Murray got into the shower and the doorbell rang.

"Did you hear that, Murray? Was that the doorbell?"

"I can't hear anything. I'm in the shower."

So I grabbed Gulliver and went downstairs. A neighbor was there to tell me that the lights of our car had been left on. So I went and turned off the lights. And, well, I was downstairs. I was dressed. I had my baby. So I just put Gulliver in the car and went to Walmart to pick up an assortment of diet beverages. I forgot my phone.

It did occur to me while I was out that Murray might freak out when he got out of the shower and his wife and child were gone. Without the phone. Whoops. And the Saturday before Mother's Day, Walmart was a zoo, so it took me a little longer. Also, there were six or seven different scents of Downy Ultra. Sometimes it's just too much selection. I had to smell each one of them at least twice before I made my decision.

When I pulled into our parking space, Murray cracked the front door and peered out at me. I knew I was in trouble. I brought Gulliver to the door.

"You are in so much trouble. I almost called the police."

"I know! I know! I suck!"

"And I even went so far as to think, I can't call the police! They'll think it's me! The husband! It's always the husband! And what am I going to tell them? They left while I was in the shower? Of course I was in the shower---washing off the blood!"

Apparently Murray had opened every room and closet in our house to see if my bloody corpse was stashed anywhere.

And all this time I was just in Walmart, getting myself some diet beverages. Whoops!

Anyway. Murray and I are about ready for bed now. And we still have plenty of work to do in the next few days. All our initiatives have gone out the window. Also, the house is a WRECK. Maybe getting my portfolio online will get me enough clients that I can afford a maid. So that I can work more. Sheesh. I'm taking a day off next week to actually tend to the house needs.

How to Have a Relaxing Weekend

Drop your child off at your mother-in-law's house.

Go to a facility with your spouse.

Get into comfortable clothing and lie down in bed. A heated blanket would be nice.


Take a little something to relax.

Have a nap. A deep, deep nap.

Leave the facility. Let your spouse do the driving.

Make your spouse get you ice cream from Coldstone.

Make your spouse get you salad from Cafe Rio.

Go to your in-laws' and let your mother-in-law continue to take care of your child. Eat your salad.

Watch Dr. Phil.

Take another nap.

Make your spouse go to Target for you to get you some drugs.

Go home. Lay down. Put your feet up. You deserve it.

Nap some more. Have your mother-in-law make you dinner. While you're at it, tell the Relief Society president that you wouldn't even mind if women in the ward made you dinner.

Watch a movie.

Go to sleep. And sleep in.

Head downstairs and put your feet up again. Make sure you take some heavy-duty drugs. Why not?

Make your spouse make you food.

Commission a painting from your spouse.


Nap.

Watch more TV. Eat yummy Relief Society food.


Well... you get the idea anyway. Just continue doing these activities for a whole weekend. And then, on Monday, have your mother-in-law come to the house and vacuum and do the laundry.

I had my foot surgery on Friday and everything went well. I now know what it feels like to be put under (it's pretty cool). And hopefully, in a couple months, I'll know what it's like to have a normal foot again. Fingers crossed!

(This is an iPhone picture that Murray did while the surgery was being performed. On my cast, he is painting an octopus's garden. I'll post a picture when it is completed.)

A Urine Discussion

Here's Murray's and my discussion from this morning, transcribed as best as my memory serves:

Cicada: I should drink some more before going to the appointment. My pee sample last time was lacking. "Brooke" had way more pee. She left an ample sample.

Murray: If only her name were... [thinking really hard]... "Dample." Then it would be Dample's ample sample. It's weird that they just leave the urine out like that where people could tamper with it.

Cicada: Yeah. In other offices where I've been, there's a pee-pass-through door. Here, it's just left out on a tray in the bathroom. Like, if I didn't want them to know about something in my urine, I could just take someone else's. Like if I were on acid during my pregnancy.

Murray: Yeah. Like you could just swap it out for someone else's.

Cicada: Well, I wouldn't swap it. Because then, when they tell Brooke that she's on acid, she's going to be like, "No, I am not on acid" and they could trace it back to me.

Murray: Anyone would say that they're not on acid if they were accused of being on acid. Why would they believe her?

Cicada: Well, she could provide another urine sample. Then they'd see that she's not on acid, and they'd trace it back to me. I wouldn't swap the urine. I'd just take some of Brooke's because she has a lot.

Murray: But they could still tell that there's acid.

Cicada: How could they still tell there's acid??

Murray: If you're just diluting yours with Brooke's.

Cicada: How stupid do you think I am? I may be dropping acid while I'm pregnant, but I'm not stupid. I wouldn't pee at all. I'd just pour half of Brooke's sample into another cup and write my name on it. She certainly left enough of it to go around.

Murray: Oh.

Cicada: Of course, I don't know if it's the same technician who does all the urinalysis. Maybe if they have two identical urine samples, they'd know that something is up. How would I know these things? It's still risky.



Conversations like that are just one more reason why I love Murray so.

And I didn't pee after Brooke this morning. I peed after Tara, and despite my water drinking, she out-peed me by more than half, too. I'd say she had about three times the pee that I had. What can I say? I'm not an all-star peer.

In other news, I'm up one pound from a month ago. The doctor assures me that I'll pack it on, though. We scheduled our ultrasound for next Wednesday, and our baby's heartbeat was 148, which puts it up to the girl category, according to the old wives' tales. (My mom told me that Captain Fabuloso had a girl heart rate. I always suspected there was something funny about him...) There's pretty much nothing I can do to avoid getting heartburn (like stopping eating chocolate was ever an option!) but I can chow down on Tums when I need to and not eat before going to bed. Also, despite my fear of bending down to put on my shoes, there is no risk of me actually squishing my baby to death. Phew.

It's like rain... on your third-to-last day of work

Today I made my coworker walk to her car in the rain to look for an umbrella for me. She looked in the trunk. She looked in the back seat. And after getting wet, she came back to tell me that she must have left her umbrella at home. I'm not a horrible person for making her do that. Let me explain.

Last night, I decided to spend the night at Captain Fabuloso's house. I decided this after I was already in Salt Lake for work, so Murray had to pack some clothes for me before he came up. (My mom is in town and it was the Bean's birthday celebration, so that's why we wanted to spend the evening in Salt Lake, and then I didn't want to drive home at night just to drive back in the morning.) Had I known it was going to rain today, I would have asked Murray to pack my rain coat and and umbrella. Instead, I asked him to bring my nice silk shirt.

So this morning, I was getting urgently hungry (this happens when you're pregnant) and also I needed to eat breakfast because I'm participating in a fitness challenge right now and I needed to get my breakfast point. But it was raining and I didn't have anything in my office and the cafeteria is in a different building. And I'd have to be out in the rain to get my breakfast.

So I asked my coworker if she had an umbrella and she said maybe in her car and I said well never mind I'm not going to make you get it from your car and she said my car is close and I said still I'm not going to make you go out in the rain to get me an umbrella just so that I don't have to go out in the rain. But she insisted. And in the end, she got wet for nothing. And then I got wet for breakfast.

We all lose.


(Except that I don't lose a breakfast point. I got fresh pineapple and a croissant because that's how healthy I am. Oh, and I'm counting those 90 seconds of intense running towards my 30-minute exercise point.)

Happy May Run!

This weekend, back in my homeland of Timmins, this is the May Run weekend. It's not May Run in many other places, really. It's very distinct to Timmins. Most of the rest of Canada celebrates this holiday as Victoria Day weekend. But to Timmins and to me, it will always be May Run.

Or, if you will, it is also sometimes referred to as May Two-Four. What does two-four refer to? Why, that's a 24-case of beer, of course. And what does beer have to do with Victoria Day weekend? If you're in Timmins, the answer is everything.

May Run is the weekend where you go out and camp in the bush (forest) with your friends and get drunk. Teen pregnancy and drunk driving accidents skyrocket during this weekend.

Back when I was in high school, I was chosen along with a classmate to write and present a skit about teen pregnancy and spend a day presenting it from classroom to classroom. It was moving, I'm telling you. I awkwardly sat beside this pimply boy and told him that I was pregnant. When he said, "But I thought you said you were on the pill," I said, "I only told you that because I thought you wouldn't want me otherwise." Then I broke down crying. I'm sure that we convinced pretty much everyone not to have sex that weekend. That's how good we were.

In fact, it was all pretty much like this scene from Freaks and Geeks. Please watch it, and remember: drink responsibly, don't drink and drive, and don't have unprotected sex.

Should I be concerned?

My coworker just gave me two packages of a fine, white powder and asked me to deliver them to her brother (whom I've never met).

I joked with her about making me deliver drugs, and then I read the label, which says "A complete line of supplies for wine and beer."

She claims that if you mix this stuff (Tartaric acid) with heavy cream, it makes marscapone.

Of course, her brother will only be able to make the marscapone if I don't find a higher bidder before him. I'll sell at $2000/oz.

This actually reminds me of the time that I found a small bottle with small white pills in it just inside my apartment door. I had no idea what these pills in this unmarked bottle were. First I wondered if my roommate was doing drugs. Then I started going through the list of all of my friends who had been to my apartment that week, and I tried to imagine all of them doing drugs. I'm sorry to say that I even narrowed it down to the two most likely candidates. (Magoo, Rags, if you're reading this, I'm sorry for ever suspecting you of drug use.) And I really felt that I was in a horrible sort of moral dilemma.

Then I found out that it was my landlord's nitroglycerin for his heart condition.