Category: Olive Juice

Olive Juice

 

 

There are times in motherhood when you look at your kid and can’t help but almost cry. Like when they rest their head on you. Or when they run into your arms. Or when their little hand reaches for your hand. Or when they say “wuv you mommy.” Those moments are something I wasn’t prepared for. Those are the moments that almost take my breath away. Those are the moments that I now understand when they said “nothing compares to being a mother.” These next 10 moments… well, they’re not as great. But in the end, they will still always be worth it. Well, I’ll let you know. Kiddddinnnngggg. Kind of.

 

1). You know you’re  a mom when  blow drying your sheets at 11:00 at night cuz she pee’d on them and you’re too tired to change them.

2). You know you’re a mom when you give your kid the middle bite of your burger. You know that’s love cuz the middle bite is the best part, it has all the good stuff.

3). You know you’re a mom when you eat the orange that your kid just sucked all the juice out of and then spit out. Cuz you don’t wanna waste a whole orange.

4). You know you’re a mom when you drink all the backwash, cuz they HAD to have your drink even if theirs is the exact same one.

5). You know you’re a mom when you walk around with your shirt on your left arm soaked in pee from carrying a kid who just majorly pee’d through her diaper.

6). You know you’re mom when you pay way too much for a peach white tea with lemonade at Starbucks so your kid will stop screaming their head off. Pretty sure tea is marked up roughly 700%.

7). You know you’re a mom when you start counting down the hours to nap time the second they wake up. Then after nap time counting down the hours till dad gets home. Then start counting down the hours till bed time. Then when they do fall asleep, you start counting down the hours until they wake up because you miss them.

8). You know you’re a mom when you complain about not getting a full nights sleep… and then when the day finally comes… you get up every three hours to check on them. Not getting a full nights sleep. Again.

9). You know you’re a mom when you’ve sweat through your shirt trying to get your babies car seat in the car. Or when you’ve wrangled your toddler into the car seat while they kick and scream the entire 8 mins it took to get them in.

10). You know you’re a mom when….. “Baaaaabyyyyy shark doo-doo-doodoo!” That is all.

 

Keep going Momma, we got this.

 

 

Olive Juice, Personal

We celebrated 8 years of marriage together yesterday. We’ve had some of the most frustrating moments in these last 8 years than ever before. We’ve had some of the angriest moments in the last 8 years. We’ve had some of the toughest moments in the last 8 years. Nothing, NOTHING compares to the joy and gratitude I’ve had for my husband in the last 8 years. And it’s only been 8 years! Imagine how i’ll feel in 80 years? (oh, spoiler alert: I’m an elf and live to like, 400 years old. Give or take a few).

We have shared some of the best memories, no matter how simple or how exciting. We’ve has some of the best laughs where tears are streaming down our face, no matter how lame or how funny what we’re laughing at is. We’ve eaten some of the best foods in the last 8 years, whether it’s at the sunshine cafe in the Philippines across the world, or the best tacos in Fernie. We’ve had Olive, who truly is the best little human in our world. She’s sunshine and toes and little squeals with the cutest smile and endless curls.

Marriage is hard, but it’s wonderful. And it’s worth every smile, tear, fight and kiss. Here are my top 5 discoveries I’ve made in my 8 years of marriage.

1). Men can’t read our minds. SHOCKING. I know. I too, was shocked to discover this. Prime example of what I mean. My husband- “Where do you want to eat?” Me- “I dunno.” (Here’s the thing guys!! I DO KNOW. I want mcdonald’s. Or Joey’s. But I want HIM to OFFER it to me). So we banter back and forth doing the “just tell me where you want to eat…” “I actually don’t know. Don’t actually care….” But really, in my head I’m like “PICK JOEY’S. PICK JOEY’S.” He then suggests NOT Joey’s, and I get mad. And when he asks what’s wrong, I usually say “nothing. I just thought we were going to Joey’s.” And then my husband stares at me bewildered looking like he might scream at the top of his lungs, cry in frustration, or hug me for being so insanely cute (just kidding, this has never happened). Ladies, just tell the poor sucker where you actually want to eat. Save him his sanity.

2). Men don’t like to celebrate things. Anniversaries. Birthdays. Dating anniversaries. Even their own birthdays! According to my husband, birthdays are for little kids. So imagine my dismay when I’ve been dropping hints the 8 months leading up to my birthday, and he drops THAT bombshell on me. Wait… so you’re not surprising me and whisking me off to the Amalfi coast on a private jet?

3). Men don’t get cold. We live in Alberta, Canada OK? There have been days in the dead of winter where it has gotten to -40. Cars stop running. You get frost bite within mere seconds of being outside (slight exaggeration). Furnaces break down. If you threw water in the air it would freeze into crystals (i’ve never done this, but according to my scientific calculations, it would be possible. And also, I saw a video on youtube and it worked. What more scientific proof do you need?) So point is…. it’s cold here. Dane will sleep with the window open so that you can see your breath in your room. And the furnace is NOT turned up all the way. And he still sleeps with his feet out of the covers. MEN DON’T GET COLD. I repeat, MEN DON’T GET COLD.

4). Men don’t like to hear “we need to talk” at 11:23 when their head hits the pillow. Ladies, tell me I’m not wrong. You have been bottling something up all day. They’ve asked you “what’s wrong?” Yet you don’t tell them. You say “nothing,” but in your voice that they should know better and KNOW the something is definitely very wrong. But they carry on about their merry little day. And at 11:15, after they’ve showered, brushed their teeth, checked the last thing on their phone, they turn off the light, and they sigh and close their eyes… and you’re just laying there like…. “Is he seriously gonna go to sleep?” And you bite your tongue for a few more minutes very HEAVILY sighing, letting him know that he should not be going to sleep so calmly. And at 11:23 you can’t take it anymore, and you say “SERIOUSLY?! You’re just gonna fall asleep? We need to talk.” I CAN’T be the only one who does this.

5). Men (*ahem* my husband) are only pretending to listen. I have told Dane things, and he’s nodded his head, even AGREED with me… only to completely be shocked by my retelling someone else the same thing I told him. Or I’ll remind him of our plans for that evening and he looks all shocked and says “when were you gonna tell me we had plans for tonight?” And I have to slowly count to 10 so I don’t loose my cool on him. In my most sugary, sweet as pie voice REMIND HIM THAT I DID tell him about our plans. And then I’ll remind him of the conversation and tell him things he even replied with. You can see the wheels just turning in his head, his eyes are all squinty like he’s trying to remember. And then, there it is. He remembers. Vaguely. And you know what he says? “Well, I wasn’t really paying attention when you told me, so it doesn’t count.” 1..2..3..4..5..6..7..8..9..10……. blast off. I’ve lost my cool.

Here’s the thing. 8 years if marriage have opened my eyes to a lot. They’ve made me grow up. They’ve made me slightly more patient. They’ve made me more understanding. They’ve made me more honest. In a way, these last 8 years have made me more me. It is not lost on me how truly lucky I am to have such a supportive husband. Or how lucky I am to have someone who wants to take care of me. Or provide for me. Mentally, emotionally, McDonaldally (hi, I’m Claudia and I’m a McDonald’s addict. Not currently recovering).

Being married for 8 years has made me realize that this life can be tough, but if you’re married to your best friend, this life can be wonderful. And if the man can’t read your mind and guess your restaurant, and thinks birthdays are for babies, he causes frostbite to your toes and nose, and doesn’t wanna get the “talk” fight before bed, and he only half listens to you….. just count to 10. He’s probably still trying. Men are wired differently than women. As in they aren’t wired correctly and we are, but let’s not hold that against them.

Ladies, love your husbands. They’re amazing men, and they get plenty of credit from their mothers (especially if they’re momma’s boys), but let’s give them a little more.

Cheers (*clink!* My McDonald’s coke clinked with yours:)

Olive Juice, Personal

I always see these quotes pop up on pinterest. The whole “your body is not ruined, your stretch marks are just tiger stripes who earned them.” Or “I love my stretch marks because they show I carried my beautiful baby.” And I get it. We need to embrace them. For me, it’s more like accept them. And I do. I don’t care that much anymore. I remember when my first one popped out, I was like 7 months pregnant. I put coconut oil on. Biotin oil. Coffee grinds. Vaseline. Then more came out. So I said screw it.

I would have been fine if my proof that I carried a baby in my stomach was the actual baby itself that came out. Or maybe the bags under my eyes because my child is out to get me and doesn’t sleep. I would have been fine with these as my proof. That would have been A-OK with moi. Just humour me here OK? Don’t get offended (but like….who am I kidding, it’s 2018).

But what if a genie came to you and said “You have two choices. A). You keep your stretch marks and nothing changes. Your relationship with your body, your spouse, your child, it all stays the same. Wether it was good or bad. Or B). I get rid of your stretch marks and nothing changes. Your relationship with your body, your spouse, your child, it all stays the same. Good of bad.” Which option would you pick? I would be be picking option B faster than you can say “Hey Genie, if I KEEP my stretch marks, can you grant me a toned stomach?”

But, if you’re a mom who TRULY, 100% loves her stretch marks, and would keep them if given the choice to not have them…. then your name should be Mother fricking Teresa. And I take my hat off to you, and I think you’re definitely a better person than me. AND a lot less vain. But if you’re like me, and would totally pick no to the tiger stripes, AND would try and swindle this genie for a few more wishes, then I also take off my hat to you. Because you’re hustling and trying to get more wishes. But I probably wouldn’t call you Mother Teresa because I feel like she wouldn’t be swindling a genie. Shame on you.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that genie’s would make our lives a lot easier. What would your three wishes be? Mine would be:

1). Look like all the hot, tanned girls in cute bikinis in outfits I have pinned under my secret board called “get it girl.” (I made this board like legit 5 years ago, and guuuurrrrl…. I still haven’t gotten “it.”

2). Have a  # in my bank account, it can be any number (just not a 0), but with like a minimum of 6 zero’s following.

3). Health. Health to the people I love the most.

See? Getting rid of my tiger stripes didn’t even make the list. So clearly I’m not that upset about them. But what I was ACTUALLY trying to say is as a mom, or as women, we don’t HAVE to pretend we love out bodies as much as hash tags tell us to. It’s OK to hate your love handles. It’s OK to hate that your thighs are constantly touching and when it gets hot out you get a heat rash (anyone?) It’s OK to hate the fact that your calves make your hunter boots make fart nosies when you walk cuz they’re so tight around your calf, and when air escapes it sounds like a fart. It’s OK to hate that when you look at a picture of yourself you have a double chin and you hate it.

Like you get shamed for saying “ugh! I’ve gained so much weight.” How many times have you gotten “no way!! You look beautiful! You don’t need to lose any weight! You’re perfect!” Puh-Leeze. I have a mirror. And also, my clothes don’t fit, so there’s that. And another also, the person saying that to you is also a solid 10 on the hotness scale… while I’m a solid 3.4 on a good day. So let me tell you that I’ve gained weight. And instead of telling me I’m a babe (Umm, I kinda already knew that, duh), be like “Yup. You’re a fatty.” JUST KIDDING. DO NOT SAY THAT TO ANYONE. But maybe just say “ya, losing weight is hard.” Or “well, you can always fix that.” Or if you’re an amazing friend say “Lets work out together.” Am I getting my point across? Or do I sound like an idiot?

Don’t let your hate for your stomach make you hate yourself. But also, if you hate the extra 10 lbs (or in some cases…me….. 50 lbs. Wait… did I just write that?) get off the couch and lose it. If you don’t wanna lose it, then don’t. If you want to lose it, then do. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Basically, you’re allowed to want to look good. You’re allowed to want to lose weight, and still be confident and happy with who you are. I want to lose 50-60 lbs (before you say that’s too much, just trust me). I still like who I am right now with that extra weight. I still wake up happy (this is a lie. I hate waking up). I still think my husband won the lottery with me (his opinion on this is invalid). I still think I’m a bomb cook. I still think I’m a decent person. I just also want to look…. skinnier. And for me, strong is not the new skinny. Because let me tell you friends, I have yet to lose an arm wrestle against any girl. And I beat my brother, Dane, and another guy at a leg war. I’m a champ, basically. But also, don’t challenge me, you may make me eat my words.

If you have a chicken butt, or a lard butt, at least you still have a butt. So be happy. There!! I figured out the point of my post. BE HAPPY. If you don’t love how you look, do something about it, but be happy. If you love how you look, be happy, cuz you’re a babe. If you don’t agree with my post, bugger off and be happy. Just be happy.

Ps- don’t judge me on the fact that my first two wishes were a). vanity b). money, and that my last one was health. I know the genie’s got it in the bag, so I was’t too worried, OK? Remember, be happy.

PS- This is Olive in my belly. Not a new babe. NOT PREGNANT.

Olive Juice

I found Rocky Mountain Decals on Instagram and fell in love with their removable wallpapers. I wanted Olive’s room to feel “light and airy, and a place she could come and be herself.” Just kidding. I had no clue what I was going for, nor what I wanted it to look like. So up until I found these wallpapers, her room didn’t feel like much of anything. Putting up the wall paper just made everything look so put together. I’m in love with it. It’s my favourite room in the house, other than the pantry where I hide my secret candy stash.

They have so many options for different looks. The best part is that its removable and doesn’t damage your wall, and it’s extremely forgiving. Dane had to peel it off a few times when he was applying it if it wasn’t lined up perfectly (sometimes it pays to have a perfectionist as a husband!)

They have so many options to choose from, and its most definitely not limited to kids rooms! I wanna do our ensuite bathroom in the black and white floral. Just have to convince Dane:) Please, please go check them out! They’re Canadian and super helpful to work with. Ok, enough talking.

Rocky Mountain Decals are offering you guys an exclusive 15% off your own wallpaper with the code OLIVEBELL. So go browse and start baking the cake now to convince your husbands that you need this!

Thank you so much Rocky Mountain Decals for partnering with Olivebell to bring Olive the cutest little room where she can destroy all of the instagram worthy things. Like the books that are more decor than anything. And the white jelly cat bunny she threw in the toilet.

What it looked like before. Lovely init?

 

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Olive Juice, Personal

 

I keep secrets from Dane. You can’t really judge…. because I can almost guarantee you one of mine is also one of yours. Or similar. Here are mine.

1). When I was 9 months pregnant we went out to State and Main for supper. As soon as we finished eating (it was late because it was dark out, thank GOODNESS), I felt sick to my stomach. I had beads of sweat on my forehead, I felt all clammy, lightheaded, and just needed to get out of there. We were crossing the parking lot to the truck when I just knew I was about to puke. And I did. Man did I ever. I went to the back of the truck and puked my brains out into a shrub. Like full on chunky barf. So I’m 9 months pregnant, and spewing my insides out and I may or may not have been bearing down fairly significantly. And there may or may not have been a few noises that came out the other end. So I finish almost dying and get in the truck where Dane is patiently waiting for his 9 month preggo wife finish barfing. He looks over at me and goes “Um… were you like farting really loud?” I already felt embarrassed enough. Like a baby whale barfing isn’t enough of a sight to see already. So I did what any normal wife would do. I lied. I said no. So the best part is that he actually says “What? I thought you were cuz I could hear super loud fart noises. Hmmm. Must have been my truck.” Um.. my husband has just compared my farts to a truck. Awesome. Thanks sweets. Nope, just your run of the mill 9 month preggo wife puking her brains out all while farting.

2). I get jealous of how he knows what Olive is saying. She’s constantly chattering away in the back seat while we’re driving and she’ll go “sjdhcjabdsjkkhs?!” And Dane just instantly says “Oh, no Olive. We didn’t bring your protein bar and green juice.” Or she’ll scream “jdywncsdkjhcdcsljduto!!!!!!” And he’ll laugh and say ” Oh Olive! That was such a good knock knock joke!” And they’ll giggle together. OK, OBVIOUSLY I’m lying about what they’re saying, but he magically just knows what her gibberish is. It’s like he knows the Olivean dialect. And I feel left out. And I feel slightly jealous.

3). On a few occasions, I have been known to hide a McDonald’s bag inside a grocery bag and throw it in the garbage. And then I may have piled more garbage on top of it.

4). Ladies- I KNOW I am not alone on this one. Dane – (looking at my outfit quizzically) “is that shirt new?” Me – (pretending to look surprised) “What? This old thing? No. I got it ages ago. I can’t believe you’ve never noticed me wearing it before. You clearly need to pay attention to me more.” The shirt was new people.

5). Dane- “What did Olive eat today?” Me – “for breakfast she had a kale and spinach smoothie. Lunch she has organic lentil soup with quinoa and a salad. Her afternoon snack was celery sticks with rutabaga. And she JUST finished eating supper before you got home. She had beets with peas, and a few roasted chickpeas. For dessert she had 4 organic raisins and a blueberry.” She had a cookie. And a fruit leather. Sue me.

 

Sometimes I know Dane knows I’m lying. But he can’t call me out because he has his little secrets he’s kept from me. How do I know? Because his phone dings off the kijiji sound 3-5 times a week. So I know he’s buying some stupid part for his quad or some tool he just HAS to have. Last year, he went to some auction. Called me from there to inform me that he has spent our retirement plan savings on counter top and random tools. One of which is still sitting in the garage, untouched. (Anyone want to buy a sander?) Why? Because it was such a “good deal.” So the next time I find a dress at anthro, this will be my strategy. “is that a new dress?” “You bet your countertops it is! It was such a good deal I just had to buy it.” Ah, the joys of marriage. What are your secrets? Any of the above sound familiar?

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