While I'm Comparing....

Since I'm so obsessed with comparing lately, I may as well throw my kids into the mix. 

No harm intended, regardless of how they stack up.  I wouldn't trade them for anything (most days), I just need some answers regarding their recent behavior.

Welcome to...

"Have you ever?"

As in...Have you ever been missing a child (only for a few seconds, of course) and followed a trail of chocolate chip muffin that led you through the kitchen, into the playroom, around the piano, and eventually, to the back door?  When you opened the back door, did you find the muffin man quenching his thirst in the dog bowl?

I promise I give my kids drinks ALL DAY LONG.  In fact, they ask for them every 19 minutes.  Seriously, what does a dog bowl provide, that a regular cup cannot? 

All I can think of is germs, germs, germs!

Do your kids (or did your kids) ever drink out of a dog bowl?  Enlighten me, I'm waiting.

(*Tomorrows have you ever post will include the infamous bathroom towel rack.)

Comparing is not the cure...

I've somehow settled into the bad habit of comparing things lately.  What kind of things?  Everything.

Including, but not limited to the following: My house, my children (and the behavior they exude), my car, my lip gloss, my hair, my boys' hair, my energy level, the meals I prepare, the lunches I pack, the notes that go into the lunches I pack, the decor in my home, the way my home appears (and smells) to others, my wardrobe, the wardrobe of my boys, my dogs, my parrot, my bearded dragon, etc., etc., etc.

It's not just about BIGGER,
                       BETTER,
                     FASTER,

but more about me wondering if I can even compare to other mom's, families, etc.  Here's what set me off-

Last week, Jack was 'snack helper' at school.  We've known about this date for over a month now.  What did I do?  I did exactly what I thought every normal mom would, and sent my husband to the store at 10:00 PM with strict orders to buy 15 Dole Fruit Cups.

You know, so I could be deemed as the mom who sends the healthiest snack of the month.  (Take THAT all you moms who send Fruit By The Foot and Twinkies!) 

The next morning, Jack proudly gathered his 15 fruit cups, 15 napkins, and 15 plastic spoons.  I proudly drove him to school thinking about what a great snack choice I had made.  Was I the only mom who sent real fruit in for snack time?  Bet I was!  And I even supplied the napkins and plastic spoons....DOUBLE WHAMMY!!

Jack's teacher seemed happy about my choice, but didn't get overly excited.  Oh well.  I kissed him goodbye, and drove home.

Once home, I began my daily routine (OK, you got me.  There's no routine at all.  I just do my best to get done what needs to be done.  In no particular order or fashion.)  After starting a load of laundry, wiping up random 'sticky' from the kitchen floor for the 37th time, losing a wrestling match to a 2 year-old (and being told I'm 'not as good as Daddy), I sat down at the computer for my daily routine (this part is routine) of blog lurking.

BIG mistake.

I came across a blog I had never read before.  A blog of a HS classmate of mine.  A delightful blog.  A witty blog. A blog that slapped me in the face with a solid dose of 'you're not as cool as you think you are.'

It all came down to a frightfully disturbing picture located on the homepage of this blog.  A picture of....crayons.

They looked like this:

(**Please note: this is not the actual picture from the haunting blog.  Her picture was MUCH cuter than these, but seeing as I haven't talked with her since HS, I'm not sure if she'd even know who I was, and not sure she would ever associate with a mom who sent her son to school with fruit cups.)

Not scary, you say?  What if I told you that they were pretzel rods dipped in candy coating on each of the ends, and then wrapped with a creative Crayola-like wrapper?  What if I told you that this mom also had a child who was snack helper that week, and THIS is what she brought to school? 

Now do I have your attention?

As I sat in the chair, my heart sank.  All I could picture, was my sweet little Jack, walking into his classroom with a sack full of fruit cups.  Boring, lousy, fruit cups.  His friends probably hate him.  His teacher probably hates me.  And now I know that the snickering I heard as I pranced him into school that morning was directed at me...and my lack of creativity.

This is where the 'comparing' started, and it's been a nightmare ever since. 

So....if you're a mom who always has lip gloss on, whose children are always in perfect order and control while in public, whose dogs don't bark, who packs organic lunches everyday, who's hair is only in a ponytail once every 3 weeks, who's car is always washed, who has the energy of a gerbil (without meds), who has an amazing wardrobe with a matching necklace for every shirt, who's boys look like they just finished shooting a Gap commercial, who's lawn is always mowed and who's house always smells like pumpkin pie, THIS POST IS FOR YOU.

You got me.  You got me good.  I could never compare.

(How much do you want for the 'crayon' recipe)



Try to imagine....

It's no wonder I haven't blogged in forever.  Life for me is feeling quite messy right now.  Far from the neat and tidy that I love.  Just take a look at my kitchen floor.  It's strewn with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, sippy cups, crumpled up rugs, and monster teeth. 

I am desperate to write, as it always makes me feel so much better.  However, inside my brain is a tornado of thoughts, topics, issues & desires, which I haven't been able to pick from.  Do I write about finding my son stuffed inside a mailbox earlier this week, or the mom at preschool who finds it necessary to wear stilettos every fricken day? 

So there you have it.  Once again, my brain cloud is clogged.  Since my children are playing the part, we're headed to the zoo for the day.  Seems we all need to get out.

I'm crossing my fingers that this teensy bit of writing will be the mental draino that I so desperately need.

Please don't give up on me.  I promise I'll be right back....

Life with 3.

Last week, we traveled over 2700 miles (by car) to Wisconsin for a family vacation in Minocqua.  Our stay at the lake was every boy's dream come true.  Fishing, boating, bug-hunting, swimming, and wandering through the woods completed their agenda each and every day. Their cousins came too, which brought the numbers to 7 boys, ages 2 - 9.  Together, they created memories that will last a lifetime.

I could sit here and write forever about everything we did (including hiding in the basement of a gas station as a tornado passed through town), but I'm going to refrain.  Although I could think of worse things, reading about my vacation may bore you, and that's the last thing I'd want to do.  If you'd like all the gory details, please, feel free to call.

A gas station with a basement.  Who knew?

While we were gone, the boys missed the entire first week of school.  I had nightmares about the adjusting they'd be forced to do once we got back.  Surprisingly, they did amazingly well.  I, on the other hand, am doing my best to get organized.  I now have two children who spend the whole day at school.  Two lunches to pack, two backpacks to stock, two piles of homework to check, etc., etc. 

Mornings have been a bit rough.

The mid-section of the day, however, has become a different story.  With only three at home with me, I am more productive than ever....and I hope it lasts.  No more begging my husband and my mom to run my errands.  Doing so with 3 kids is more than doable.  In fact, it's enjoyable.

This morning we went to the pack-n-ship store to mail our 'Wii' console back to Nintendo for repair.  (One of the boys stuffed it full of miscellaneous keys.  I can't tell you who did it, because I am not the type of mom who rats on her kids.  But, I'll give you a hint : he has dimples.) I approached the counter and handed the nice lady at the UPS store my package.  "I'm sorry, this is a Fed Ex label.  You'll have to go to a Fed Ex store to mail it."  A few weeks ago, hearing something like this would have brought me to tears.  A few weeks ago, I would have had 4 boys with me.  Anyone with boys knows that taking 4 into public never turns out well.  Today was a different story.  "No problem!" I beamed.  That's right, I beamed.  I was now given the opportunity to go somewhere else with only three kids.  I grabbed my package and my three boys and together, we headed to the Fed Ex store.  As I stood in line with three kids in tow, a woman who was in front of us stepped to the side and offered to let us go next.  "Look at you! Taking three boys on your errands! You go ahead of me, who knows how long they'll behave!" 

"Trust me."  I said.  "They'll behave."  Everybody knows that I was lying through my teeth when I said that.  Truth is, I don't know if my kids will behave.  What I do know is that they key to every successful outing is to show confidence.  Stand tall, shoulders back, and walk briskly.  Exude a sense of purpose and walk fast enough that your kids have to run in order to keep up.  This gives them no time to stop and beg for all the crap that is displayed on the end caps.  Just like wild animals, kids can smell fear.  Don't ever let them smell yours.  Once they smell fear, you're toast.

Aside from errand running, the homeboys (the 3 at home during the day) and I have been busy baking.  Baking with three is also easier.  No matter what we're cooking, the recipe always seems to call for three eggs.  This means everyone gets to crack one.  Oh, happy day!

Call me a dork, or any other name you wish, but have you ever tried baking/cooking with an apron on?  I have, and it's my latest addiction.  Everything turns out better when you don an apron.  Not just any apron, though.  It has to be cute, and should involve vintage fabric and ribbon.  My sister in-law, Lorie, made mine, and it's my favorite thing in my kitchen.  I'm hoping to get another for Christmas this year.  Hint, hint. 

Another reason why aprons make everything better?  It's kind of a 'vacuuming in pearls' sort of gig.  Have you ever been slaving away at dinner with several children crying at your feet and felt like you were about to lose your mind when your husband walks through the door?  Did you get much empathy, sympathy, encouragement, or support?  No?

Next time, wear an apron.

Powerless

Just look at him.  His dimples are the size of craters, and they melt me.  He looks so innocent, doesn't he?  One would never guess I found his pockets full of corn skewers just yesterday.  I would give $100 just to know what his intent was.  It was malice, no doubt.  Like always, I'm sure his plan was well constructed.  

A pocket full of corn skewers!

 (I'm crazy about this kid) 

We overslept big time this morning.  A true rarity.  A blessing in disguise that leaves me feeling crooked for the entire day.

How does one feel crooked?  I'm not quite sure myself.....

I usually drink my first cup of coffee upstairs as I am getting ready.  Today I felt incredibly rushed and opted to skip it.  Big mistake.

A typical morning consists of me serving up 5 different breakfast orders to 5 different boys.  Their first meal of the day often includes requests such as, cereal, toast, yogurt, eggs, bacon, sausage, and your occasional grilled cheese sandwich.

This morning, however, I honored their requests and then reached for my first cup of coffee.  As the fog lifted from my brain, I took first notice of what I had agreeably served them for breakfast-

Popsicles,

Bacon,

Leftover Cheesecake,

& Popcorn

Nice.

And then I sat and watched as they successfully rearranged every ounce of furniture in our family room as to make the couches and chairs more suitable for their jumping purposes. 

Couch to couch, chair to chair, they bounced.

I just drank my coffee and giggled as they flew through the air.  Without my normal fuel intake I was powerless.  Like a shark smells blood in the water, my boys have the amazing ability to detect

 my level of endurance.

The rest of our day has continued in much the same fashion. 

Together, they've created a force that I can't battle. 

Today I choose to raise my white flag. 

I'm resting up for what tomorrow may bring.

Seldom spare moment...

3 of my boys are playing at the neighbors, which gives me a few minutes to put laundry away, empty the dishwasher, clean the birdcage, and try my best to sneak in a post on the blog.

Here goes....

Yesterday I took the boys to the farm.  Like always, we had an amazing time.  It's funny, the farm is the one place I can take 5 boys by myself and not become overwhelmed with stress and anxiety.  There is so much for them to explore, which keeps them out of trouble.  We were there over an hour and the *entire trip was incident-free.  Anyone with boys knows that by saying incident-free, I am referring to the following:

-hitting, tripping, teasing, punching, poking, wrestling, head locking, etc.

*The entire outdoor portion of the trip was incident-free.  This shall not include the part where I had to take them inside to use the bathroom.  I sent the three oldest boys into the men's room and was forced to wait outside and listen to the horror that took place less than 2 seconds after they went in.  Think potty jokes echoing throughout the building, think screaming and think misuse of the electricity.  I was left with no choice... I boldly went in and  forcibly removed them from the facilities. 

Our trip yesterday was full of excitement.  Bessy, the farm cow, finally had her calf and we enjoyed meeting him.  One of the peacocks had a flock of baby chicks that were the cutest things I've ever seen.  Have you ever seen a baby peacock?  Add it to your bucket list - you won't be disappointed. The goats had to be moved from one pen to another, and the rancher deliberately ran them right past the boys.  When I say ran them right past, I do so without any exaggeration.  I was instantaneously placed into rescue mode as I saved my boys who were so stunned at the sight of 60 goats headed their way, they froze in place and began a game of chicken.

All boys need to learn that hungry goats move for no one.

As we made our way back to the car, we said our usual goodbye to the farm, which goes something like this:

"Goodbye farm, we will miss you.  We love you, farm.  See you next time, farm.  We'll be back, farm.  goodbye."

As we drove away, I had tears in my eyes.  Crocodile tears over leaving a farm and heading home to life in suburbia. 

I've been wondering for the past 24 hours if my obsession with farm life is healthy. I quickly found my answer

as I came across this picture I took during our visit yesterday.
 

Healthy?  You better believe it.

Refreshed

Last Saturday night, I was lucky enough to get the chance to go out to eat with my darling hubby.  We went to an amazing Italian restaurant that had the most gigantic gluten free menu I've ever laid eyes on.  When I think of Italian food, I think of the two times I've eaten at North Beach in San Francisco. 

Talk about amazing food. 

I've been GF for almost 5 years now and have never had a true Italian meal since.  All of that changed on Saturday.  As soon as we were seated, and before we were even handed a menu, the waitress asked us if we would like "regular bread, or gluten free?"

I almost fell out of my chair.  GF bread with oil and vinegar?  No longer do I have to salivate as my husband devours an entire loaf of bread, dipping each warm bite until it's dripping with olive oil. On Saturday night I was given my own loaf.  The rest of the meal was much too fabulous to describe, as I am currently starving.  To my beloved North Beach in San Francisco, you have met your match.

As if the above didn't make me lucky enough, I also got the chance to escape for a few hours on Monday with my BFF.  We went out for 'drinks', but talked so much that we never made it past one beverage.  Next time, we need to take a vow of silence until the first drink has been consumed.  We are blindly robbing ourselves.

Lucy always gives the most thoughtful advice, insight, and gifts.  Lately, I've been spending the spare minutes that fall in between chasing, dressing, bathing, changing, scolding, feeding & loving 5 boys to read this (just one of my birthday gifts from Luc)-

It's a magazine that I'm sure was published solely for me.  From cowboy purses to sexy tractors, this is MY kind of mag.  (if you'd like to get me a subscription, please....feel free.)

My two favorite pages are this-

And this-

And that is how my week is going.  Lots of snow cone making, lots of playing, lots of preparing for a new term to begin at school, but never, not even for a second, forgetting about my farm.

I know I'll have it one day, and I intend on arriving prepared.

PS-I'm feeling refreshed, can you tell?

LOVE,

Another month....

 

We spend our days practicing our wall climbing abilities.


I've been trying, really I have. 

There have been several times throughout this past month where I wondered if I would ever blog again.  I think back to the times when I used to write several times in the same week.  I remember how the words just flowed, and how I never needed to think about a topic, yet choose from the outpouring.

And it felt so good.

I took a look this morning at the old blog.  I smiled and laughed as I read posts from the past few years.  And then I wondered if I would ever be able to write like that again.

Suddenly I feel as if my creative side is lost.  Of course, I could find several topics to write about - how college is harder when you're in your mid 30's, how challenging it is to get an entire bottle of 'sunscream' out of your carpet, how I wonder if my children are the only ones who eat ALL DAY LONG, how my kids find random push pins & tacks and chase each other with them when I can't even find a pen, how I've never been this exhausted in my life, or how my three year-old locked me out of the house twice this week.

And those are the reasons why I haven't blogged in so long.  Who in their right mind would ever want to read something like that?  Whining...in writing form. Something I made a vow to never do.

And so I sit.

And try to think of a way to write like I used to.

Hoping it will all come back.

Soon.

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