Why Having 3 Kids is Awesome

My kitchen is now home to what is likely my body-weight in candy. I love it.

Make sure you visit Meemoo to see more proof of how much better a mother she is.

It's My Turn... Again

K of the Michigan cuzes was tagged, and she asked that I play along. I love her, and I feel that I owe some folks something positive on here (I worry that I've done nothing but complain to you, my blogging family).

So, here's my new list of random things:

1. I sometimes fear that I am living in my own version of the Truman Show. Is that odd or narcisistic... or both?

2. I can eat an entire bag/container/carton/etc. of the following items in one sitting: Doritos, cookie dough, pink & white circus animal crackers, Pepsi, eggnog, Aunt Paula's chocolates, saltine crackers. I can't eat most of these things anymore, but if I did - I could polish em off!

3. I can't sleep without a blanket on me. If I try, I dream that I am being attacked by sharks.

4. I have never done all my visiting teaching more than two months in a row.

5. The Numismatist once told me that I have "the ability to make people want to kill themselves, regardless of my words, just by the tone of my voice." I like to think that's a compliment.

6. I sometimes wish I had sowed my wild oats before I got married. I was young and innocent enough when I got married that I don't think I even had oats - so I never got to make it (sorry Mom) with some foxy, long-haired hippy river guide named Chase. And, yes, I realize that was very specific.

7. I don't like gravy on my mashed potatoes. I prefer to eat them with corn.

8. My shirts must all hang facing the same direction on the hanger and be arranged by shade in rainbow order. Same thing with the pants.

9. I have a strong fear of the Nincompoop syndrome. If I can make it to 32 without going certifiable, I'll have beaten the curse.

10. I can play Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon with anyone. I have never been beaten. 8 years of Blockbuster, baby! I may be a little rusty now, but I'll bet I'm still a top-tier competitor.

Ok, I'm supposed to tag other people now that I'm done, but the only person I know who I haven't seen do this is Steph B. So, I'd like my sour tummy buddy to add her own list.

Numb3rs

For anyone keeping track...

5: reams of paper used this semester (my carbon footprint is HUGE!)
3: ink cartridges used this semester (I did not factor this into the cost of school
3: days left of Fall Break (I have seriously never loved a break so much in all my life)
4: days at work this week so far, 4 shoplifters caught or barely missed (people are evil)
1: friend in the ER (we have got to get her down to only one medical emergency a year)
1: friend whose father recently committed a grizzly murder (she was on t.v. and then went straight back to AZ - smart girl)
2: job interviews for Mr. Eris (things are actually looking better)

Add your own number. I am going to enjoy my day off tomorrow!

Sometimes Patting Your Head Just Isn't Enough

Tonight was a birthday party. The Numismatist and her sister, Always28 (as I have dubbed her) share a birthday and so we got together with all of my extended family. It was all my cousins - except C and K, who were sorely missed - and all their children.

Great cake, and always nice to hang out with everyone. But, Littlest Ms. Eris was not at her best.

She fell asleep on the drive there and got maybe a 20 minute nap. Then she woke up surrounded by my uncle and his two sons. Now, my uncle is a fox, always has been (he married Always28) so you'd think any girl would love to wake up looking at him. Um, not so much for the LME.

Littlest Ms. Eris never quite recovered. She was in a small, hot house (not a hothouse) with a bunch of people she hardly knows and she was not happy about it. Not even the cupcake she inhaled made her happy. In addition to nap thing, she is also cutting her last two teeth, so pleasant was not in her vocabulary.

Here's the problem. I had to spend two hours listening to people describe the Littlest Ms. as "pretty glass half empty" and "just naturally unpleasant." And some of these folks don't even know the kid! I am the first to describe her as a challenge, but it was kind of a bummer to watch everyone relish how unhappy she was.

Excuse me! Over-bearing mom, coming through!

UPDATE: We have been home for an hour, and I am happy to report that after two children's Tylenol she is on her way to being nice. Acetimenophin rocks! Those teeth look pretty mean, though.

Checking In

Not much to say here. School - Work - School - Work - Home - School - Work.

Repeat.

Um, Littlest Ms. Eris asked to go potty in the toilet for the first time tonight. She's gone before, but we had to ask her. Cross your fingers. This one may make it before she's two!

Little Mr. Eris and I finished HP #1 last week. He liked it so much we have started #2. He asked to read 3 chapters tonight!

Little Ms. Eris is plugging along. What a firecracker!

As for me, I am happily stressed to the max with school. Interestingly, I found out yesterday, through chatting with some of my fellow students, that there are people in my cohort who got a master's without writing a thesis or doing a project. They "comped" out. My fellow students were shocked to find out that for my masters I was required to write a thesis and take 8 hours of comprehensive exams with a 2 hour defense. I plan on writing my former department and asking when my second diploma arrives?!

Seriously, though, the other folks seemed kind of jealous that I had lived through that fire so I'll be passing along my thanks to the people who tortured me at USU (a la the fab job the Duchess did torturing me in preparation for my work in grad school).

I'll be checking in again soon. Feel free to email or call if you miss me.

Oh, and love and good vibes should be sent to the GP in S.M. Two words "bladder scrape." Yuck.

Miss Baltimore Crabs

I have been jamming out. I got the soundtrack to "Hairspray" yesterday (how much do I LOVE f.y.e.'s buy-back policy?!) and I have been singing along in my car all day. I am a huge fan of musicals, and as I've mentioned before I like to practice for my big Broadway debut in my car.

There is a method to the rehearsing:
1. I pick the part I think I could reasonably pull off
2. I listen through once, trying not to sing along
3. I then listen over and over and over and over again, singing along at the top of my powerful lungs.
4. I start over with a new cd.

"Hairspray" has presented me with an unpleasant reality... I am now too old to sing along to the Tracy Turnblatt or Penny parts without feeling completely ridiculous. I could probably pull of the Queen Latifa songs, but I'm not black, so we're back at square one.

Anyhow, I must face the fact that I am now old enough to play the mom roles. So, I will proudly learn "Miss Baltimore Crabs" and imagine myself looking fabulous in the costumes she gets to wear.

Beat This

I decided to "google" myself tonight. I am not well-known for my scholarship, but I found this.

I will be using this in my Christmas card this year.

I Guess We'd Better Start Saving for College

Today we got the letter from Little Mr. Eris's school. This is the letter that tells us who will be his teacher for the next year. I requested Mrs. Miller (she taught there when I was a Falcon and she's the choir director - I feel strongly that Little Mr. Eris should be part of choir in his early years. A nod to the Numismatist, likely).

Anyway, as I read the letter, I laughed at the boneheads in charge of educating my child. They put him in a 5th Grade class. Um, hello? The kid is 9 years-old. That's 4th Grade. You know the one that comes after 3rd Grade (the grade he finished last year!). Then I notice the little pink note that came with the letter:

"Your student Jacob has been assigned to a fourth/fifth split class. One of the purposes of this class is to give independent learners a chance for some extended learning opportunities. Each grade will cover their core curriculum requirements, and they will also have the opportunity to broaden and deepen their learning experience beyond the basics."

I don't mean to be one of those kind of parents, but I can't stop smiling. He's smart! I am so proud!

Question

If a dog ate my marriage certificate, does this mean I can date again?

Svarnyk and Byll

Tonight was our big family night: roller skating! It was Patient Appreciation Night for our foxy orthodontist, so the skating and pizza were on the house. Well, technically we pay $210 a month for the priviledge of rolling around in a circle wearing shoes hundreds of strangers have worn previously. It was magical, but that is not the story.

As we were getting ready to go, Mr. Eris was taking the kids to the counter to cash in their prize tickets and I waited off to the side with the Littlest Ms. Eris. While waiting, I found a $1 bill! As I scanned the carpet for more cash, I saw a cigarette pack. I wasn't sure if it was empty, and I waited for a while to see if anyone would claim it. I stood there debating how badly I wanted to actually bend over and pick up this pack, three teenagers came walking by...

One of them picked up the pack, smiled, put the pack in his pocket, and walked on. I was mortified and immediately felt guilty that I hadn't picked it up before this little punk got to it. I decided to keep an eye on where he was and as soon as Mr. Eris got back I was going to ditch my kid and go after the smoker.

As luck would have it, he came back my way before Mr. Eris got back.

I looked at him and said, "Hey. That thing you put in your pocket? Gimme it." He smiled sheepishly and handed them over. Not a word of protest. What could he say? He knew he was busted.

Now for the best part. When Mr. Eris came back I waved the pack in front of him. He was puzzled, so I quickly told him the story, but not before all the kids (including our friends' kids who we had brought along for the fun) came back.

Little Mr. Eris said, "What's that?"
"Don't worryy about it," I replied.
"Are those cigarettes?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"WHY ARE YOU SMOKING?! YOU SHOULDN'T BE SMOKING!!" he yelled.

I explained the situation. Then I walked out, experiencing one of the proudest parenting moments I have ever had.

A Royal Welcome

Not to steal anyone's thunder, but just in case any of my internet family was wondering: The Duchess has a Little Lady. She's beautiful and all is well with the entire Royal Family.

Send internet love.

Meemee. Meemee mee mee meemee.

So I cut my hair again. It was a little too long after the last cut, so I called my "stylist" and had her cut it again. Really short. Like an inch long short.

I love it. It's so easy to do and it's really different.

Here's the problem: I have a very long neck and a long-ish face, so I need some width in my hair to balance me out. I have realized I look like Beaker from the Muppets with my hair this short. In a week, after it's grown in just enough, I'll be totally in love. Until then, I dare you to say I don't look just like this guy.

Should We Give Them a Symbol?

A couple of weeks ago the Numismatist asked me a question: "Why do you call the girls 'Little Mrs. and Littlest Mrs. Eris?'"

Being a lefty, communist, bra-burning, feminist, this had already been bugging me for a while, but it took my mother to fling me into action. Why was I assigning them gender roles so early in life? Why, when one of them has already displayed alternative lifestyle tendencies, am I assuming they will both be Mrs.? Also, I never check the Mrs. box when filling out a form - I always call myself Ms. - so where did the Mrs. come from?

So, in the future, you will know the gals as Little Ms. Eris and Littlest Ms. Eris. I think this will be a smooth transition to make, but I'm wondering if they should have symbols like Prince did when he changed his name...

victory

Confession: I have been cyber-stalking someone. Not in a charming way, like my interest in the Duchess's friend Tomorrow, but actively checking on someone who doesn't want me checking on them.

I am now claiming victory over this weakness. It has been quite a while since I cyber-stalked this person, and I can report that my habit of visiting the nausea-inducing website has been quashed.

Note to Nincompoop: Do whatever you want, from now on. Don't know, don't care.

It's the small victories that count in this one.

Tagged

Screw the rules. No one left to tag, so here's my stuff.

1. When I was “little” people called me Winchell. I was fat (Numismatist, please don’t argue). I had a roll of fat around my neck that made me look like I swallowed a donut, so people called me Winchell. I kind of like it.
2. I have always dreamed of singing on Broadway. I still like to practice in my car.
3. I have had three babies with no medication during the birth. Lest you think I am some sort of granola woman who believes in an all-natural, organic birthing experience let me share this: I do not breast-feed (my breasts are strictly recreational), I watch movies through the entire labor (mostly SNL until the end when I need calm and beauty, then it’s Sense & Sensibility), and I love, love, love percocet after the birth – it’s the only reason I have babies!
4. I said the “F” word in a high school assembly. I still feel guilty about it.
5. I was a cheerleader in high school, and like the Duchess, am very proud of it. I acted like a goof, but I looked hot and it scored me Mr. Eris.
6. I do everything in patterns or even amounts. I cannot leave a list partially finished – it must be exactly half-finished or completely done. I eat M&Ms in even numbers by color order (red, yellow, green, blue, brown); if there is an odd number, I give the left-overs away. This is true of all my activities – it must be symmetrical, by height, by color, chronological, or in some sort of order that makes sense to me.
7. I actually like going to church, and I’ve liked it since I was 14. This is probably because in my family, the best way to rebel is to go to church and be a good girl, so that’s how I stuck it to my parents.
8. I bare no resemblance, whatsoever, to the family I see most. At family reunions or events in Utah, I look adopted and people can’t remember my name because they think I’m an in-law. But in California, I can be identified instantly be people who knew my family 40 years ago but have never met me. It’s rather odd.

Now, since the Duchess tagged me and the only other blogger I know – the PG Meemoo – I am changing the rules a bit. Anyone who reads this, including the Numismatist, Big Sis, Fry Sauce, etc., should comment back with at least three random facts.

I can’t wait to see where this goes…

Utah County - meh.

It's 11:53 pm. I just got home after leaving the house at 7:30 a.m. We had a big day.

First, we drove to Provo where we participated in an adopt a highway clean-up project for my favorite radio station. "We" means the whole family. Mr. Eris joined, pulling the wagon with Little and Littlest Mrs. Eris. Little Mr. Eris was also there, and he made quick friends with another Little Mr. They raced along the road to each piece of trash and talked non-stop about how awesome Pirates 3 was and how totally awesome Transformers is going to be. The girls were little troopers, and I found an old pair of men's underwear. Most importantly though, we helped the community - yay us!

After that three hour activity, we loaded back into the van and headed out for some real excitement: visiting the new IKEA. Words cannot describe this place. It's a zoo, but an organized zoo. We walked the whole store, ate at the very reasonably priced and quite tasty cafe and then the kicker - the Swedish food market. FYI, Mr. Eris spent two years in Sweden on a religiously affiliated, extended vacation, so he's in LOOOOOOOVE with the IKEA already. But now we find out they have all his favorite Swedish foods for an affordable price (unlike the snooty Scandinavian Store in Downtown SLC that charges $5 for a dang candy bar!). Mr. Eris is getting chocolate and cookies and yucky licorice treats for Father's Day. Oh, and bonus points to the IKEA for offering free diapers and wipes for parents who run out - I didn't need it, but it was nice to know it was there.

Next we decided to hit the other big draw in Utah County: Cabela's. Let me stop right here and confess that I do not enjoy shopping in stores of death. Stores with dead animals hanging on the walls and posed in "natural" scenes aren't exactly my forte. But Cabela's is supposed to be amazing, and we needed a Father's Day present for my F-I-L, who does enjoy the stores of death, so I went. Big Sister will no doubt have lots to say about this, but I really don't see the big deal. It's the same thing as Sportsman's Warehouse only with a bigger dead animal atrium in the middle. Seriously, I walked this whole store and at the end felt very unimpressed. Had the IKEA raised my expectations to unrealistic heights? Posbbily. Maybe if I had a stronger affection for camouflage?

Finally, we celebrated Father's Day with Mr. Eris's grandfather. This is an 84-year-old man on oxygen who could take any dang one of you in an arm wrestle. Seriously, he has hands like bear paws (and I should know having been up close and personal with several bear carcases earlier at Cabela's). It was a nice evening, and I came home with two handkerchiefs hand-tatted by Mr. Eris's grandmother. They will be nice keepsakes for the Little and Littlest Mrs. Eris.

So that was my day. I am so tired I can't stay awake, but my legs ache so much I can't sleep. What are ya gonna do?

Grounded.

Tonight I went downstairs to get something and noticed that the items from Mr. Eris's poker night - LAST THURSDAY - were still all over the family room.

Card table
Poker table top
Movies all over the floor
Food on the floor (which I discovered thanks to a well-organized trail of ants leading to and from the food)

You get the picture. He had friends over, with my blessing, and they trashed the joint.

Now, he has been working on the basement bathroom - Heaven love him. He keeps all three of our kids alive during the day. These are valid points, and I understand the guy is busy, but when I saw that mess I wanted to destroy him.

Maybe it's because I'm tired and cranky. It might be stress. It could be the fact that I spent three hours on Saturday cleaning our van because it looked like he had brutally murdered a 12-pack of Dr. Pepper in there {he now wears a hazmat suit and spreads a tarp whenever he's in the van}.

I love the guy, but I swear if he makes a mess like this again (the van or the family room) he will lose all priviledges: no phone, no video games, no tv, nothing.

Is it sad that the punishments I use for the kids work on the dad?

My Weekend

Little Mr. Eris turned 9 over the weekend. He's getting so big - like a gross boy.
Anyway... last year we started a new tradition for his birthday: nordic sports. He likes to snowboard, which I completely disagree with because I have been a skier since I was 3. Snowboarding is the sissy way. But I had to let the kid board because the Newbie boards and Little Mr. Eris worships the Newbie. So my kid is now a knuckle-dragger - practically the missing link.

Aside from the fundamental disagreement over whether snowboarding is, in fact, a sport, we had a great day. It was warm, so it was kind of like skiing through a slurpie.

Fortunately, Little Mrs. Eris is still young enough that I can force her to ski.
I spent half the day skiing down the mountain backwards saying this: "Pizza slice. [pause] PIZZA SLICE. [pause] PIZZA SLICE!!" While I yelled this she put her skis together and parallel and skied as fast as she could straight down the mountain. The backwards skiing did give me a great calf workout. Love her!

PS - Welcome back Duchess!

Welcome Back, Baby

Happy to report that Mabel is back from her 10-day doggy time-out. She is a bit more reserved than she used to be, but other than that she's great and the vet has given her a clean bill of health.

Now... if I could just convince Mr. Eris that she is no longer an "outside" dog!

Thank you, Betty Friedan

I'm sitting at my house, teaching Little Mr. Eris how to use his new email account and signing him up on Club Penguin (basically, a my space/chatroom for tweens that is heavily moderated). While doing this Little Miss Eris is constantly asking for a chance to type her name... so here you go:
alli

Anyway, while Little Mr. Eris was playing we had the radio on and the Beastie Boys song "Girls" came on. This is Little Miss Eris's favorite song. She twirls around the house singing along, only she changes all the "girls!" to "boys!" which makes me laugh on the outside and fills me with glee on the inside.

Is it possible that Little Miss Eris has learned from the past year that men and women have equal roles? Can I begin to hope that the little girl who once wore so much pink that it looked like a Disney princess actually threw up on her is turning into a little feminist? Has society come along far enough that my daughters will not be looked cross-eyed at when they announce that they are going to work while their husband stays home?

Or am I reading too much into this?

UPDATE: I decided to ask Little Miss Eris why she sings "boys!" during the song and she said the following:

"Because it says 'to do the dishes and laundry' and that's what my daddy does."

Score one for the glassy-eyed Clintonistas!