The OCD List.

1. All small flavored candies must be eaten in matching flavor pairs. Such as Skittles, Jelly Bellies, and Mike & Ikes. Exceptions can be made when the end of a package or handful contains an odd number in one or multiple flavors. In this situation, it is optimal to pair flavors that compliment one another well, such as a yellow and green Skittle. It is a last resort to eat one individual candy, as the portion does not make for an enjoyable chewing experience, and lacks the necessary flavor burst to really justify the empty calorie consumption. But throwing away is absolutely not an option, not to mention wasteful.

2. Shoes can be taken off at the door, or just about anywhere in the house, and be left there. For days. Socks, however, are disgusting, and should only be removed upstairs in the bedroom, preferably immediately placed in a hamper, not to be seen again until laundered. If this fails to happen, their presence on the floor about the house will cause severe stress and frustration.

3. Lids of beverage containers should be promptly replaced upon pouring or sipping from the bottle. No exceptions. Even if you plan to take an immediate second sip. It is best to just make this a habit. Spillage can happen in less than a split second. Seriously, it can, and it will.

4. An outfit should never, ever, be worn twice in the same week, the same month, really. Exceptions, obviously, being a uniform or you are absolutely sure no one that saw you in it yesterday will see you in it today. The ultimate goal should be to never wear the same outfit twice, in your LIFETIME.

5. Trash should NEVER be set outside the trashcan. Yes, this sometimes makes cooking and preparing vegetables a bit tedious, but it sure keeps things tidy. As soon as you have taken that last sip from your grande Starbucks latte, it goes in the trash. You might as well pre-unwrap all your Kisses or Dove mini's before sitting to snack on them, because making a trip to the waste receptacle every 3 minutes or so, depending on whether you prefer to savor each individual chocolate or chain consumption, is simply unfavorable. It is illogical for trash to EVER be found outside a waste bucket, as it is not allowed to touch countertops, tables, desks, furniture or floors.

6. Certain items must be name brand...

The Senior Slide

For those of you who know me, and I mean, REALLY know me, you know that I have basically been on "the senior slide" since I figured out how to read in pre-kindergarten. And even then, I only wanted to go to school for those 20 minutes of storytime. So, one could imagine how I am adjusting to the last few months, after submitting my last important item, of the last leg in my 28 year educational conquest. I am pretty sure I have finally fallen off the end and hit the wood (now rubber, because heaven forbid a child might get a splinter or something) chips at bottom of my slide. I am done. I am ready to begin learning, specifically, how to be the doctor I want to be for the rest of my life. Just 2 more months of rotations. Thank goodness I have had significant practice in the art of slacking off.

I tend to spend more time trying to figure out how I can "slack off" than I do actually studying and preparing. Though, in my defense, I prefer to call it efficiency seeking. I want to be a competent physician, so really, I just spend a lot of time figuring out what rotations will provide me with the most and best experience in the least amount of time. I am not one that can sanely follow a physician around for 10 hours a day just to be a fly on the wall. Though, in college, I did once ask for class suggestions with these criteria: 1.) I didn't have to show up; 2.) I didn't have to study; and 3.) I could still get an 'A'. That might qualify as slacking off...

You can also look at it another way. I am assertive. I know what I want. I also know how to get there. I despise menial hoops that I must jump through to get from point A to point B. Therefore, if I must do something pointless, I am not going to spend a lot of time and energy doing it. I'd much rather put that time and energy into figuring out if there is a way I can avoid these hoops completely, or at the very least just crawl through them. And, at this point, these hoops don't even affect my outcome...consider me unmotivated.

I think these last days of my cardiology rotation are pushing me near depression. I don't want to get out of bed. I sit in my car in the parking lot of the hospital and check my phone 5 or 6 times, hoping I get a call or text informing me that my children are sick and that I need to go home. I am racking my brain to come up with appointments I need to make during the day to cut my (already ridiculously easy) schedule short. The sad part? I am on rotation with one of, if not the most caring, wonderful, amazing physician I have followed in the last 2 years. He is awesome. He only makes me join him for inpatients. I arrive after 9am and am done by 2pm everyday. And, he is located right by Legends outlet shopping center, what more could you ask for!?

I guess it's just physics though. When you've been on a slide your entire life, you are bound to hit bottom. I am just glad I am there, I am ready to get up and move on to the next phase. Though, this time, I think I am going to go for the swings.{Oh, and I am sure these boys provide no distraction, whatsoever.}

A Backpack.

Brock uses full sentences. As in, a subject, an object and a verb. It's weird. Just the other day he walked up to me with my phone and says, "I want to play zsa lellow game, mommy." (lellow = yellow, his name for the Simon game on my phone). Another time, I stumbled upon him yanking on Tali's collar, calling her name, attempting to drag her somewhere. As soon as Brock noticed my presence, he says, "Mommy, I need Tali." (To follow-up, he wanted to drag her into his room so he could shut the door, turn off his light, and turn on this glowing rattle thing that flashes in a bunch of different crazy patterns. Not sure if they spend an hour in there actually playing, or if they are both having seizures and passing out from the lights? But any attempt I've made on entering his room during these sessions, results in promptly shoving me out of the room and closing the door, while being told, "No! Mommy."

In other metaporphesis into a kid news, Brock is going to "Kid's Day Out" on Tuesdays each week, which is like pre-preschool. He loves it. When I pick him up, he wants to show me everything he did that day, specifically that he can reach and drink out of the water fountain himself. Dozens of kids make out with that fountain daily, and I wonder why we can't knock this cold? He says "bye bye" to everyone, including the school in general as we leave. Leah called me this past Tuesday, and Brock grabbed the phone from me to tell her, "Good day today, at school." (Ok, so we're missing the subject and the verb, but close enough to a full sentence, right?) So...he's actually listening when I ask him if he had a good day today.
He loves feeling independent. I should have thought to purchase a backpack prior to his first session. (But I also probably should have 1.) toured the school so I would know where his classroom is; 2.)asked the schoolmaster what he needed to bring for the day, instead of frantically calling a mother who sends her daughter on a different day the night before his first day; 3.) asked what door to enter because apparently you need a code to get in and drop them off...I'll get this forethought thing down eventually, right?) I was just kind of being defiant. All the little kid packpacks I see have Dora or Superman on them, and I am just not a fan. I like my littles to look just that, little adults. But all the other kids come in, hang their backpack on their assigned hook, dump their lunch boxes in the big caontainer and proceed into the classroom. Here I am, hanging his over-stuffed tote bag that was given to me for free from the vet, and asking one of his teachers for tape and a pen to write Brock's name on his all black lunch bag, while Brock sprints up and down the hallway. So, when I walked into American Apparel that same Tuesday, to use my $50 Groupon to buy a couple fun-colored leggings, and spotted one, miniature, navy blue, backpack hanging in the kid's section, I could not resist. We got it right the 2nd time. Brock loved that he had his own backpack to hang on his own hook. I always thought my big sister was just being dramatic, but perhaps oldests do have a case...what a huge learning curve there is for parents.

Food and Flowers

As per usual, I stick to the traditional wedding anniversary gifts, and sent Matt a food basket with some of his favorite cookies, and some strawberries and champagne to celebrate our 4th anniversary!

Matt, on the other hand, and with no complaint from me, NEVER goes traditional (the only years I am hoping he strays from this pattern are 25th, 30th, 50th, 60th and 75th, I will gladly accept silver, gold and diamonds.) This year, he surprised me with a trip to South Padre Island, planned for April 1st-5th! Included in this trip is a horseback ride, on the beach, at sunset. Check that one off the bucket list! Matt hinted at this trip earlier in the week by laminating little pictures of the resort, as well as things we would be doing on our vacation and left them about the house. Brock kept messing with these cards, and I even found one in his lunchbox from school. The only conclusion I could reach is that Brock had taken these from school. Perhaps, even stolen them.So, on the Wednesday before our anniversary we celebrated our anniversary by going to Bella Napoli for dinner. Dinner turned out to be absolutely wonderful, and relaxing. Due to the freezing weather, and the fact that is was Wednesday, the place was relatively empty. The thing I love about anniversary dinners is that you are allowed to go all out. I ordered whatever wine I wanted, whatever dish, and I got a dessert. The cook had some rabbit, and convinced us to try it - excellent. Then, Matt handed me an envelope. I opened it to find...4 laminated cards! What a clever fellow. Here I am, blaming my son for stealing at age 2, convinced he has Conduct disorder, and it's my wonderful hubby.

My only complaint? That the trip was scheduled for April 1st, and not February 11th.

Erin And Matt

After 10 years, an entire decade, I think I am allowed to brag a bit about how wonderful my life with Matt has been. To the outsider, what is most noticeable in this video, is our constant weight gain, but to me I notice absolute, pure, uninterrupted love.*

Click on the link to see the pictures larger, if you would like.

Ten Years from matt o on Vimeo. *WARNING: NEARLY 13 MINUTES LONG!

Shock of all shockers, I am no romantic. I am definitely not convinced that there is "one true love" for every person; maybe there are a good dozen people out there that could fit that description. But I can tell you this: Matt is the caramel to my espresso. At this point, I have been waiting 10 years, to the day, for our relationship to begin getting "difficult". You can ask Matt. Literally, since day one, I randomly ask him things like, "So, when am I going to stop liking you?" or "Why don't you get on my nerves?" or "Why do I like you?"

Our relationship has been easy. Natural. We both just prefer each other's company over anyone elses. We are both extremely honest, blunt, stable individuals, so our expectations have always been known, and they just so happen to match. Perfectly. We harbor no delusions, and don't wish for change. We are happy as we are. This isn't to say we don't have goals, or aspirations, or welcome change, we just react to it similarly.

When giving advice on relationships or marriage, I often avoid using my own as an example, because I truly believe it is one of a kind. When we began dating, oh so long ago, I vividly remember telling Matt we wouldn't work out because he agreed with me too often. I enjoy a good disagreement every now and then. He adapted, and now we have no problem creating "heated discussions". In fact, you will rarely witness us compliment one another. Our public displays of affection approach zero. And we don't whisper sweet nothings, ever. Yet, we are never happier than when we are together.

The other day, a thought occured to me. I love my two babies so much, it is painful. I mean painful. I want to squeeze and kiss them every moment they are within reach. I could write and talk about them constantly (and do.) I cannot even begin to imagine a life without them. But, every so often, I very much welcome a break from them. Perhaps, even look forward to it. And who do I immediately want to spend that break with? Matt. The only other boy in my life that I see and interact with day in, day out (Tater does not count, he's weird.) Matt is THE ONLY person I NEVER need a break from. (In fact, often I prefer him to myself.) And I need not write another word...that statement says it all.

Toilet Paper

Public bathrooms are gross. Everything is automatic these days (which is a whole 'nother pet-peeve post) because nobody wants to touch anything. Ideally, the bathroom is relatively unused, and has just been cleaned. It's like winning the lottery when you walk in and the seat is up, the smell of bleach lingers, and there is a tinge of blue to the water. But most of the time you walk in to see the usual; an overly air-freshened restroom, with obviously used toilets evidenced by some hair on the seat or skid mark in the bowl and no sign of recent maintenence. So, you try to contact as few surfaces as possible. You squat, relatively unbalanced because you're in heels, your thighs begin to burn and you reach with one hand to the one, un-automatic device in every bathroom: the toilet paper. As you reach for this toilet paper, you are hoping for the well-oiled wheel, where a nice, long perfectly lengthed strip of paper pulls off the reel in one swoop. Done. But more often than not, that is not the case. You pull on the paper, and a half square tears. You change your technique, and this time you get nearly 2 whole sheets, but then the reel really gets stuck. So you now have to manualy turn the roll, inch by inch, then tear, then roll, then tear until finally you are either A.) satisfied that you can minimally absorb all that is required to be comfortable or B.) in so much pain from doing a 3 minute squat you don't care anymore. You flush with your shoe. Wash your hands, and leave. Any satisfaction you may have obtained from relieving your bladder (or otherwise) has been robbed. By the toilet paper.

Hungry

I could literally copy and paste the posting about Brock at 3 months of age as far as baby milestones. And I remember the changes that occurred around this mile-marker being absolutely amazing to me. This is supposed to be a huge transition time; the infants are no longer considered "newborns" at this point. But, with Curtis, I honestly don't remember him as a newborn. Only as he is today. I look back at his newborn pics and its seems forever ago, yet it doesn't seem like he's changed. Perhaps I wasn't joking when I said I birthed a 3 month old. Or perhaps it is because these last 3 months have breezed by. Or perhaps it is due to being a second time mom, and I could anticipate his progression in this short amount of time. You can always look at a growing child as they are today, then look back at an old photo, and say, of course this is what they would look like! But you can't look at a child today, and know what they will look like tomorrow. But for some reason, I feel like I can with Curtis.The moment he was born, I could tell he was going to be a very sweet baby. Curtis has this adorable, little, bashful smile. When he is happily playing, reaching for things, eating whatever he gets a hold of, or just staring off into space and you come into his line of sight with a big smile, he gets THE BIGGEST grin, and curls up in a tiny ball simultaneously. It reminds me of Flower, the skunk from "Bambi". He is so interactive. We also knew he was going to be a tank (I should have pushed harder for the name Frank...) and he still is, despite his 2 week battle with an upper respiratory infection turned Croup. His appetite took a dive for about a week, and his oh, so wonderful sleeping hours have been drastically reduced from 8-10 to 5-7 (still can't complain, we were SPOILED). I have faith he will return to his previous hourage when he stops coughing.

We have already begun letting za Cutkis play in the Exersaucer, and full month earlier than Brock (yet again proof of my "first time mother syndrome" - I thought 4 months for Brock was ridiculously early). This is the first toy Brock seemed a bit upset about sharing, and I am confident it is NOT the last. Also, as far as entertainment goes, Curtis LOVES the television. He goes nuts. Arms and legs flailing all over the place while his eyes remain pasted to the images. Here is another example where I can see straight into the future for this one...guess we are going to have to instate a homework before television rule for this one.I never thought another baby could be as cute as Brock is, to me. But Curtis has absolutely managed to fight for cutest baby title. Their personalities continue to be extremely different, even if their looks are beginning to merge. Happy 3 months today, my boy!

The Luckiest

When I was little, we're talking old house little so no older than 5, I remember closing my eyes and attempting to clear my mind so that I might remember back to before I was born. When I was a little angel baby, playing in the clouds. I was certain that we all existed in heaven and just played with all the other not born yet babies before we were summoned to Earth. In my preschool mind, this meant that I only became a member of my family by sheer circumstance; my mom was ready to have another baby, and I was next in line. I believe I was searching for an explanation as to why I was so lucky. Why did I get the best mom in the world? Why did I get the most fun dad ever? And as time went on, I began to notice other things such as plenty of good food, a big house, two running cars, an abundance of toys, new shoes, which made me wonder, again, why was I so lucky to have been born into this affluent family? Why was I not a poor person? Why was I white? A girl? Loved?

I knew at such a very young age, how special it is to be part of a happy, big, successful family. I don't believe I have ever taken this for granted. I am thankful, everyday, for the family I was born into. So, when I first knew of my pregnancy with Brock, I instantly thought, how lucky is that little baby playing in the clouds? This child is not even born, and it is already loved more than some infants feel in a lifetime. Though I now fully understand the "birds and the bees", so I don't imagine babies flitting about in heaven, I still marvel at my existence, and the existence of my young children. These two boys of mine are now the luckiest. As am I.