Was that floating like a Cadillac or stinging like a Beamer? I'm confused

I woke up so many times last night that I remember a couple of my dreams quite vividly. In one, I was standing over the kitchen trash can sawing off my toes with a wide-toothed Goody comb while Lil J and Grandma S. played in the family room. No pain, but lots of blood, and I can't remember why I was sawing off my own toes. And then I had another dream that I was desperately trying to take all of Lil J's pants and cut them down into shorts like I was on some sort of deadline. Seems to me that both of these have something to do with delivery-related anxiety. Like my body is preparing to have something removed, and my brain is worried that I have enough small clothes for the baby to wear. OR I'm having lots of misfiring neurotransmitters and am thus talking all crazy. One of those. But I will say this: I have got to get more sleep. Stupid bladder.

The secret ingredient is salt

Here is what I will be doing today: scanning slides of the American West from the 1950's. Here is what I would like to be doing today: sneakily going out to the van, driving to a theatre to watch the new Harry Potter movie, getting a haircut and then spending the rest of the afternoon reading a book outside under a shade tree whilst snacking on lemon cookies. Alas. Yeah, the day actually started out fine today, but then a couple things happened that put me in a funk, so now I'm trying to devise a way to get my groove back. Well, who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and the power will go out in the building and I'll get to leave early today. One advantage of working at an urban campus is that every summer somebody's doing some construction on something, and they invariably knock out an electric cable, so our power goes off. It hasn't happened yet this year, so we're due for one. Hey, negligent construction worker who's distracted and half high on meth, I'm counting on you! Do it!

Ever since I was a lowercase "g"

My Mom, older sister and nephews #2 and #5 (who are now ages 5 and 3) came over on Monday to help me out. That was awesome. That day just flew by because the boys were running around and playing, and my Mom took Lil J every time he needed to go upstairs or downstairs, so it was really nice. Of course, at one point my sister laughed at me when she saw me limping around the kitchen, but that's only fair considering I still taunt her about the time in high school when she got up to turn off the alarm clock and both her legs were asleep, so she fell straight to the floor. I tell you, what comes around goes around, people. It ain't no lie. Anyway, for the most part, I've been able to stay off my feet, so the sciatica seems to be easing up. Sweet merciful crap. But (and let me just warn you that this topic may be too gross for some readers) I'm actually really looking forward to my next OB appointment on Tuesday. I'm at 36 weeks today (which is a big relief), but I'm actually really curious to find out if I'm dilated or effaced yet. I love to know that stuff. Even though it doesn't seem to be any real indicator of what's going to happen when, I still feel better knowing if she's head-down in there, playing Yahtzee, whatever.

Check this out: a student worker just came in here and told me she has mushrooms growing on her apartment walls. I'm no scientist, but that cannot be good.

Would you say I have a plethora of pinatas?

Do you realize that the plot of A Bug's Life is essentially that of The Three Amigos? El Guapo = Hopper. Think about it. And now I can't get "Farley, farley, farley, hfffhrrr!" out of my head.

I came back from lunch yesterday and saw one of our student workers eating a bagel sans cream cheese out at the front desk. So, for some reason, I said to him "Tyler! Put some cream cheese on that bagel!" and he looked at me all surprised and said "It's got raisins in it" and I replied "Ahh, so the raisins are accoutrements enough for you." You know, even I can see why so many people think I'm weird when I go around saying things like that...especially when I don't know what they mean.

I had some trouble sleeping last night because the baby was taking turns pressing on my bladder and then jabbing me in the ribs. I swear, at one point, she was pushing so hard on my right set of ribs that I heard a soft pop and wondered if she dislocated something. I just wish I could get her the message that the only way out of there is down and out, not up and over.

Isn't this place a geographical oddity? 2 weeks from everywhere!

My boss brought in bagels this morning, so I just inhaled an entire everything bagel with cream cheese. I feel like a complete glutton, but it was so delicious. Mmm...carbs.

A couple things in the news lately have gotten my attention. First off, if the police showed up at my house and said they thought I was breaking into it and didn't believe it was my home even after I showed them my ID, I, too, would be upset. So if the police then arrested me for disorderly conduct after I showed my disapproval, I'd probably want to punch somebody. Secondly, it's getting harder and harder to defend the medical profession when you find out Michael Jackson had over 19 doctors prescribing different medications to him including a hospital-grade anesthetic that had to be administered by IV. I still believe the vast majority of doctors are more responsible and caring than that, but what the heck is that about? Are there really that many doctors out there whose prescription pads are basically for sale? That depresses me.

What doesn't depress me? First, the fact that my friend at work made us an entire pan of homemade cinnamon rolls to take home. Second, recalling how when we got home from work yesterday, Lil J and Grandma S. were sitting on the porch waiting for us, so I stuck my head out the car window and yelled "Hi!" and Lil J yelled back "I got da Buzz!" The lesson in all this: friends and family are good; doctors and police are bad. Heh. I kid.

Well, slotted pig, they're standard issue

Oh man, Grandma S. scored some serious Lil J points this morning when she arrived to babysit. Not only did she have two shopping bags full of Disney videos, but she also had 3 Buzz Lightyear dolls, a Buzz Lightyear flashlight, Buzz Lightyear pajamas AND a pair of Buzz Lightyear light-up shoes with her. Lil J didn't even come to the door to say goodbye to me and Da Da because he was so busy playing with all that stuff. I stuck my head back in and yelled "Bye!" and all I heard in reply was "Buzz Lightyear to the rescue!" Ok, then.

Sciatica update: things still suck. Now that the baby is sitting directly on my bladder, my entire lower torso feels like a festival of pain. And when I visited the OB on Monday, she even said there's basically nothing we can do. I even begged her to induce me, and she just laughed...like I was joking or something. Anyway, the good news is that I'm getting better about asking for help and just refusing to move unless I absolutely have to. "Oh, Lil J, you want some cheese out of the fridge? Get it yourself! And bring Mommy a sandwich!"

She's a fatty bobalatty, fatty bobalatty

You know what? I don't think Robert Goulet gets the props he deserves. I noticed the other day that he's the voice singing You've Got a Friend in Me at the end of Toy Story 2, and I said to J, "Hey! That's Robert Goulet singing!" and J had no idea who I was talking about. Sad. It's Goulet! Does nobody appreciate the Goulet anymore? Well, actually, apparently Will Ferrell does. I just found this random clip on YouTube. Never seen it before, but I'm glad I have now. Don't know what the deal is with the whale in the back though. I guess some things transcend explanation.

And I'm getting a real craving for some Sonic French toast sticks. Anybody want to run over there and pick some up for me? I would, see, but I have this gimpy leg.

Electric mobility now!

It's time to set up the donation can so that we can raise enough money for me to finally get that Hoveround we've been talking about. I called the nurse on Monday and she determined that I indeed have the sciatica, and that is why my left leg is basically useless and I'm hobbling around like the last surviving WWI vet. And you know what is really disturbing about this? I still have six weeks to go until the due date. 6 WEEKS! And since the nurse said that this will go away once the baby's born, I am therefore giving my uterus daily pep talks to encourage it to start contracting. As long as she makes it to full term, I am totally ok with her coming a little early. This is so painful, I'm even considering asking my OB to induce me at 36 weeks. And, of course, she'll laugh at me and tell me to get bent, which she should. But I'm just saying. It hurts, is all.

"Your manager said to shut up!" "Vera said that?"

I'm noticing a disturbing trend out there amongst a certain subset of Americans: the inability to conjugate the verbs "to see" and "to come." I first detected this trend while watching the local news and noticing that people who are often witnesses to crime or have been recent victims of violent thunderstorms were saying things like "I come home from work, and I seen that my trailer was blowed over." But then I was watching this show about megahogs on Saturday (and can I just say how much I'm looking forward to college football starting so there's something decent to watch on Saturday afternoons again?), and, once again, there's this guy from central Georgia stating that "I come up the hill in my pickup, and I seen this big ol' hog in the woods, so I shot 'im with my rifle." What is with this? These are not difficult verbs to learn. In fact, "came" and "saw" are just as short or shorter than what they're saying. And it's apparently spreading across the entire country! Sigh.

But, Dad, I'm Jesus Christ!

Oooh, we had a little bit of the old neighborhood drama this morning. I was in the living room with Lil J and saw some kids walking on the sidewalk by our house. It was 4 teenagers (2 guys and 2 girls), and they were all wearing pajamas, just meandering down the street at 6:50 in the morning. Seriously, one of the guys was only wearing shorts. And I recognized that classy gentleman as the kid who lives 4 doors down, a home that doesn't quite fit in with our current neighborhood but would have done quite well on our old street, what with its sagging gutters, rotting fascia boards and weeds that have conquered the front yard. So anyway, a couple minutes later, I notice a police car outside that house, and then a few minutes after that, 4 more police cars came by. So I'm not really sure what these kids are up to over there, but the cynical adult in me can see nothing good about a group of teenagers wandering the streets in their jammies before 7 a.m.. And I will also say that if I ever catch my daughter out and about in that kind of tank top, she is going to have another thing coming. Oh yeah. Bring the pain.

Don't not panic

Bob howdy, last night was not fun. Pretty much everything from my ribcage down was aching, but I still managed to cook dinner and get the table ready. Then I sat down and discovered that my stomach was so smushed by my uterus that I could only eat a couple bites of vegetables and a glass of Kool-Aid before I felt full. That is so pitiful. Fortunately, after I went to bed last night and got to lay down for a while, I started to feel a lot better and, lo and behold, I ate a whole bowl of cereal and drank a glass of juice this morning. But I'm feeling a trifle dehydrated right now, so I'm going to go get some water and hope that it doesn't fill me up so much that I can't eat lunch. I wonder if this is how supermodels operate on a daily basis...? "Oh, a Cheez-it? No, thanks. I just had half a glass of Crystal Light. I couldn't possibly eat another thing!" Weirdos.

Tell that to George Zipp

I was all set to write a nice little post about the surprise baby shower my sisters-in-law threw us on Sunday (and it really was cute and awesome and unexpected...and I'm really happy to say that we now have too many cute outfits to choose from for her picture at the hospital instead of trying to figure out which newborn onesie to take with us because it has the least amount of puke stains on it), but then I got to work today and saw an email from my sister that her bulldog, Buster, died. Awww. Buster had developed Addison's disease a couple months ago (who even knew a dog could get that?) and wasn't doing well. So it wasn't a huge shock, I don't think, but still very sad as he was a good, loyal dog and only 8 years old. But between Buster's untimely end and Preshose's death a couple weeks ago, I'm starting to worry about the rest of the pets on my side of the family. I think my older sister's dog and the Wubby J. need to go into hiding or something. I feel like there's some weird, cat-and-dog Final Destination stuff going on, and it's freaking me out.

This? This is Kent

While the 4th of July has never been my favorite holiday (too hot), this year, it's going to be really sad since we don't have a charcoal grill anymore (we left our previous Weber grill at the old house when we moved...I don't think J even put it in the shed or anything...just left it there in the backyard like some sort of rusty sentinel). Bummer. I'm not even sure what we're going to do on Saturday. I feel like we ought to do something to celebrate the country and all, but I'm pretty positive that taking Lil J to a fireworks display would be a very bad idea. So no fireworks, no charcoal-grilled dogs...I'll just have to find something really American to do. Maybe we'll all put on fanny packs and baseball caps, go to a large discount store and purchase items on credit that we can't really afford while carrying concealed firearms and referring to Chicago as a state. Yes, that sounds delightful.

Moving buddies: if you don't have one, get one!

The other night, we were all in Lil J's room getting him ready for bed, and I was telling J how I'd gotten one of those excruciating leg cramps the previous night. So J told me that if that happens again, I should wake him up and get him to rub the cramp out of my leg, to which I replied "No, I don't want to wake you up in the middle of the night all urgently like that." And he said "Oh, I get it. You're afraid that if you wake me up that way, I'll hop out of bed, yell 'Aliens!' and jump out the window." And, people, once I had that mental image in my head, it took me about half an hour to stop laughing. Seriously, I haven't had a case of uncontrollable giggles like that in a while. Not only does the idea of him jumping out our bedroom window in a panic just make me laugh (because I'm a sick, sick person), but it's so funny to me because IT'S COMPLETELY TRUE. He nailed it. J has enough trouble staying in bed most nights; I'm not about to freak him out more than I have to. A leg cramp is the least of my nighttime troubles, for crying out loud.