Hello....remember me?

Lately I've felt much like the Batman figures I found submerged in our fish tank yesterday-

Trying desperately (but failing miserably) to keep my head above water. 

Not sure I'll ever succeed, but I do try.

Our gerbil, Batman, bit the dust yesterday.  His roommate, Robin, preceded him by a few months.  Perhaps he died of heartache.  Whatever the cause, let me make one thing perfectly clear-

I, Amy Olivas, vow to never, ever again house a rodent of any kind (including, but not limited to: mice, guinea pigs, rats, hamsters, & ferrets) within the walls of my home.  If I happen to get the urge (which may only take a week or two) to succumb to the pleas of my children while walking through the pet store, I give permission to all who may read this post to whack me over the head with the quickest object you are able to grab.  Something heavy and sharp would be most effective.

Gerbils (and everything in their animal category) are nothing but stinky, noisy and rude.  Batman has only been gone for less than 24 hours, but I am already experiencing a new level of peace without him. 

 R.I.P., Batman.

Speaking of little creatures.....Through begging and pleading, we received 21 hen eggs through our local 4H program.  I invited all of our peeps in the hood last week on the day the eggs arrived.  A nice lady named Mary, gave us a short presentation and loaded the eggs into the incubator.  Today is day 6 (of 21) and we are patiently awaiting the arrival of our new feathered friends. 

If you've hatched eggs, you know that perhaps the most exciting part is between days 5 and 18 when you are able to 'candle' the eggs.  Our chick lady, Mary, is coming to our house this Thursday with her fancy candling machine to show the kids what the growing embryo inside the egg looks like when she shines a light behind it.

Who am I to wait for Mary?  It's just not in my blood.

I searched the house and finally found a flashlight that wasn't plastic and covered with several characters from Toy Story.  I gathered the boys and we started picking eggs.  One by one, we took them into the darkness of our tiny bathroom and investigated with our homemade candling device.  Some were clear, meaning nothing was growing inside.  But we did find several with dark shadows (a.k.a.-little baby embryo).  This was too exciting!  I told the boys we really shouldn't be touching all of the eggs, but we took a vote and all agreed....we had to try one more.  I carefully plucked one from the warmth of the incubator and took it into the bathroom.  Another baby chickie!  Excitement turned to disaster as a curious little boy burst his way into the bathroom knocking the egg out of my hand. 

(Think bull in china shop.)

No one said anything for at least 20 seconds.  A period of silence that rarely happens in our home.  There he lay.  A tiny baby chick which was (unfortunately for me) pretty close to being recognizable.  "Are those his eyes?" someone asked.  "Yes, those are his eyes." I answered.  "Awwww.  Wook at his wittle body and his bwood.  He's so cute!" (who knew blood could be cute?)

They're handling this pretty well, I thought.  Until it came.....

"OK, mom.  we don't want him to get cold.  Put him back in his egg so he can live."

I did what I could to turn the situation into one they could learn from.  There we all sat, huddled on the bathroom floor, pointing to and discussing "baby chickie's" parts. 

We haven't touched the eggs since then.  20 to go.  We have none to spare.

So that's what we've been up to.  Burying gerbils and hatching chickens. 

And trying to get a group shot of the boys whenever we can.  Still no luck.

                                           And sneaking in a catnap when we get the chance.
Be thinking of names for the chicks!

Dear Logan,

Happy 3rd Birthday!

I remember the day you were born like it was just yesterday.  The past three years have gone quicker than any other.  Perhaps it has something to do with how you keep me so incredibly busy.  I don't think I've had the chance to sit since you began to crawl.  And you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way.  As I turn 35 this year, I have you to thank for making me feel young.

Whether you're coloring on the leather interior of our car with a Sharpie marker, dumping a 20 pound bag of dog food onto the garage floor, or being returned to me by a police officer, I love you more and more with each and every new infraction

If I may....just one request?

Go easy on me this year, little man.  Age three terrifies me and makes me somewhat weak in the knees.  What do you say?  No more 911 calls to get you rescued from a locked car.  No more fishing in our fish tank.  (Although, you are quite the fisherman.) 

Do we have a deal?  Take your time and think it over.

I love you to the moon and stars and back again!

Love,
Mommy

A Mother's Love

As I tucked the boys into bed last night and told each one how much I loved them, one boy replied with the following:

"I know you love us a whole lot, Mom."

"You do?"  I asked.  "How do you know that?"

"Because you didn't eat us when we were babies like some other creatures in the animal kingdom do."

"You're absolutely right."  I replied.  "I promise to never eat you."

And THAT is how much I love my children. 

Of this, I'm sure.

My life carries with it many uncertainties.

Will I get the weekly grocery shopping done?

Will the boy who is doing back flips off the swing in the back yard end up with stitches?

Will I get another call from the school principal today?

Will tonight be the night where all 5 stay in their own bed all night long?

But of all things that keep me wondering, there is one thing I will not question.

God did not give me 5 boys to raise them in suburbia.

I've had this dream of living on a farm since before I was born.  You heard me, I planned my life while in the womb.  Every year for Christmas I have asked Santa (and my Dad) for a horse.  I remain horseless. 

It's time for me to get serious. 

Mark my words, I will have a farm.  I (we) will have chickens who lay brown eggs, a rooster who provides daily wake up calls, goats who will....(what do goats do?)....goats for the boys to run with, and a horse for riding, brushing and loving.  We're starting small.  Eventually we'll include Bessy the cow and Wilbur the pig, but I must take baby steps in order to ensure my husband won't leave me.

Did I mention the barn that will be transformed into a haunted house during Halloween and the largest pumpkin patch (providing free pumpkins) to all who seek them?

Once the farm is up and running, I envision it being a place that is open to all visitors.  Especially abused, neglected, and special needs children.  I hope they come by the busloads and run with my boys.  The ultimate dream.

So I don't think it was coincidental that I flipped open the paper yesterday and my eyes fell onto this:

Here it is.  My dreamland.  Home, Barn, Guest Apartment, and the most important feature, a Lemonade Porch.  (A porch complete with white rocking chairs and unlimited refills on lemonade.)

So here's my plea:

Dear Donald Trump,

Have you ever been to Colorado?  I know that you do a great deal of investing and this particular piece of property is worth every penny you put into it.  Did you take note of the fact that it's been lowered by $200K so far?  Won't you please take a chance on us?  I promise I will work hard and won't let you down.  This farm needs me.  It needs us. 

I promise to let you stay in the guest apartment when you come for a visit.  Although, you may be happier in a local hotel in the nearest city that has 14 karat gold furnishings.  I want you to be comfortable.  When you come, I'll give you the grand tour and make you the freshest eggs for breakfast you have ever tasted.  I'll wait on you hand and foot while you relax on my lemonade porch.

Please, Mr. Trump.  This could be your next big thing. 

Eagerly awaiting your decision,
Amy

I know what you're thinking, "she's crazy!"

Here's what I'm thinking, 

If you like to invest, give me a call.

They're waiting.

What I Don't Know.

I often wonder what life would be like if I were given the chance to read the day's itinerary before I got out of bed.  Today's schedule would have included the following highlights:

6:29 AM - First of five wakes up.  Others are awake two minutes later.
7:55 AM - Finish cleaning up breakfast mess and children ask how much longer until lunch is ready.  Refrain from losing it.
8:12 AM - Dance on the couch and pretend you're Belle while singing a part to Beauty And The Beast.  Child complains that your dancing gives him a headache and bursts into tears....real tears.
9:32 AM - Youngest child sticks his hands down his diaper and paints his face with poo. *Please note: the 'painting' was entirely accidental. 
10:05 AM - Notice one of two frogs is floating upside down and has turned black.  Gather children for proper potty burial/flushing.
10:38AM - Massive headache increases and you realize your coffee is still on the counter...untouched.
11:22AM - Second to youngest son colors on various places (including his skin) with a red sharpie.
11:40 AM - Colossal fight breaks out. Your children are battling over a fart machine. 
12:03AM -Glance outside to make sure all offspring are safe and accounted for and tally 8 kids.  Wonder where in the hell the overflow is coming from.
12:07 PM - A large amount of blue slime flies by your face and lands on the ceiling. 
12:15PM - Change 8th 9th poopy diaper of the day.  Vow to never buy Raisin Bran again.

Although this only takes you halfway through my day, and my timing may be a little off, everything listed above is very accurate.  In fact, it's exactly how this morning went.

I've never been one for surprises.  I like to know when, where, why and how at all times.  Presents make me insane.  Especially when they sit under the tree for 4 weeks before Christmas.  Lucky for me, there hasn't been a present under the tree with my name on it since my children were born. 

I used to wish that I could have a window to my week.  Something that would give me just a glimpse of what lies ahead.  I'd have more time to prepare for the disastrous occurrences that frequently take place within these walls.  I'd go to bed earlier in an effort to rise ahead of the game the next morning. I'd be able to prevent things that drive me to the brink, such as running out of milk and paper towels, or brotherly battles involving fart machines. 

But then I started thinking of the flip side.  Every good idea has one.  If I knew that my dancing would make my child complain of a headache, would it stop me from my (daily) routine of cutting it up on the couch?  Probably.  Would it prevent me from allowing blue slime into my home.  Of course.  And then, quicker than blue slime, it hits me.  My favorite things throughout the day tend to be those that are unaccounted for.  The "reality checks" that throw me off my game may very well indeed be the key to my sanity.

I've grown to accept the hidden mysteries of daily life with five boys.  You have to agree, some things are better kept undercover until the time is right.

I don't know any mom in the world who would willingly get out of bed in the morning fully aware that in exactly three hours and 29 minutes, her youngest would become Picasso with a medium choice of poo.

Do you?