A Photo Post: Discovering Joy on a Farm with Nine Kids

about me

People look at me, their eyebrows shoot up, their mouths drop open and they sputter,
”YOU had 9 children??
This is because I am 5’ 1” and weigh 104 lbs. I was pregnant or nursing for 17 years without a break. I have been pregnant 10 times and I am healthy and happy and I have my BBB back. (That would be my Before Babies Body).

My husband and I raised 9 children on a hobby farm and discovered fulfilment and joy. When the words The Joy Of Mothering on a Hobby Farm popped into my head as a subtitle for my short stories it was like an epiphany for me because those few words verbalized my experience living with little people. The very existence of a joyful mother of nine children seems to confound people.

My writing is humourous and heart warming/ thoughtful and thought-provoking with a strong current of spirituality running through it.
Part of my call and my witness is to write the truth about children, family, marriage and the sacredness of life, especially a life lived in God
THE JOY MOTHERING
THIS IS YOUR CALL
THIS IS YOUR VOCATION
THIS IS YOUR WITNESS TO THE WORLD

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God Leads

Outwardly, my life is diametrically opposed  to anything I could have imagined as a teenager. Yet this strange life I find myself living has brought me more fulfilment and joy than I ever could have imagined.
At sixteen, I was still an avid reader, who loved school.   As  expected, I completed an Honours Degree in English Literature. By 23, my life was still on track. I considered continuing my studies as a graduate student because I still loved everything about academia.  The relaxed but challenging experience of reading Chaucer and Old English in the original vernacular with only one other student in a professor's office was invigorating. This teacher was delighted to find two students interested in his life's work

I loved my life and didn't for see any changes. I had grown up with one sister, ballet lessons and a library filled with great fiction. I enjoyed gardening, painting and drawing, eating a vegetarian diet, reading spiritual literature and growing in my faith ; I was content.
Suddenly, my life as I knew it, changed dramatically.
I met Michael, who was just passing through Regina, Saskatchewan from Ottawa, Ontario to Prince George, British Columbia and from that very first, it felt like the prairie wind had swooped down and scattered all my work and plans. Michael described our first meeting in much kinder terms;   he saw fireworks when he first laid eyes on me.
I was not ready for this dramatic change in my life but it was clear to me that this was my call. So I baffled my fellow students, profs, advisors, friends and family by saying yes to the unexpected. I did not know anything about my newly chosen lifestyle or even where we would live. I did realize that I was completely ignorant and lacked even the most basic skills required to survive.
I became pregnant before our first wedding anniversary. Instantly, I began to panic because I knew, that once again, I was utterly unprepared. I had never even held a newborn! So I prepared in the only way I knew how and I read every book I could find on pregnancy, birth and baby care.
However all this studying did little to equip me to mother a fragile, completely dependent newborn. For example, as I held my baby in a small bathtub for his first bath, I was very nervous. Guess what? I had a book propped open with one elbow awkwardly holding it open to the right page, while my baby was in the baby bathtub on the table. The book was my security blanket. In fact reading at any odd moment I could grab a few seconds , strong cups of tea plus the mercy of God  and a wicked sense of humour have been my strength.
In the ensuing years, 18 spent pregnant and/or nursing babies,  I discovered fulfilment. My call, vocation and witness became the joy of mothering children. Perhaps I could have started  writing seven years ago when everyone was in school full-time but realistically there was simply too much physical work involved in running a household for eleven people and helping with the farm animals and our large vegetable garden.
Now I  have come around full circle because I  have started writing again. Just as I imagined at 16.  It just took 40 years of living a strange life before this avid reader and crazy oral story-teller was ready to start writing.

A comment

I had to smile through the whole thing, Melanie. I believe that God had plans for you from even before you met the love of your life. Your story, how you became a wife and then a mother, is so beautiful. I don't think I could tire reading it. :)

Maybe that is the beauty and mystery of life...that we do have a destiny to fulfill and often are not aware of it till it happens...

EVERYONE’S EYES ARE OPEN!

   family and new daughter-in -law

                                       

The Happy Conundrum

Credit: pixiedusthealing.blogspot.com

A quirky house, an odd decorating theme and lots of little people all add up to a hilarious lifestyle.

It is a conundrum that few can figure out. People look at my smiling face , their eyebrows shoot up, their mouths drop open and they sputter,

Your happy but you have 9 kids !!

There are all sorts of components to my life, my soul and joyful spirit but one aspect to my happiness is one that most people have never considered. Large families are hilarious. and their homes even more so.

First picture a large, 1886, quaint house with all sorts of quirks. A window became a doorway to a hundred year old addition. It must have been some one with an odd sense of humour who cut a 4 ft 10 inch doorway to the baby room into the low wall with a slanting roof. (In the pitch dark, I banged my forehead against that door frame every night for the first month when I walked into the baby's room at 2:00 am.) Three sets of steps converge on the upstairs landing.

The bathroom, added in 1949 when a local farmer installed electricity, is so tiny that the tub is not even 4 ft. long. The shallow well dries up all the time and we must order a load of water. The toilet water pump is in the barn, surrounded by hay bales but still manages to freeze in the winter. We employ ingenious methods to thaw the pump.

The list goes on but it all adds up either to frustration or comedy and the kids and I choose comic relief.

Oh I forgot. If you plug two appliances in at the same time in the kitchen the power shuts off and I resort to sending a kid running to the cellar (and yes I do mean a cellar with huge oak beams and 2 ft, thick stone walls). There are three freezers stocked with our home raised meat and vegetables are in the cold storage. The kitchen pantry is halfway under the stairs and is a frightening place to wander into.

The decorating theme is early childhood art and it is everywhere. Too many plants add to the sense of colour and an eclectic combination of furniture is very comfortable. Generations of former owner, who were all full-time farmers, believed in 4 inch spikes for building barns as well as hanging pictures.

Into this absurd house, picture 11 people living in 5 bedrooms with bunk beds, 13 dressers and huge trunks because half the bedrooms have old-fashioned hooks on the wall but no closets. I should not have to explain further except to remark that I once lost a grade 1 reading book for 3 months in a trunk with dress-up clothes!! That is all I will say. You can surely picture the chaos as I madly fling socks about in a 3 ft high wicker basket full of unpaired socks, trying to find a pair or two before school.

This is the background to all sorts of mix-ups, and mayhem. I reacted the only way possible.. I laughed. By laughing, that house became a very, very fine house with two cats in the most comfortable chair, a dog that tripped visitors by the door, goldfish on the counter and a guinea gig squeaking for food every time the fridge opened.

Welcome to our house. We love kids, animals and plants. We will even love you but watch out, do not trip over the dog and please, edge around that blanket fort. It took an hour to make yesterday!

Christmas: A Magical Time for Nine Kids

Christmas for our large family was magical

It was still dark outside, way too early for my husband and I; we had worked on Christmas Eve set up till 2:00 am. We couldn't even pry our eyes open but we were smiling with contentment as we listened to the excited whispers and giggles of the three youngest children. They made their way down the front stairs. One of the older kids had intertwined multi-coloured lights. around the banister. First the trio ducked into the formal living room to see the presents for the first time and special candy canes on the tree. In our old farm-house, our bedroom was right above the kitchen and we had left the kitchen back stairs door open. Suddenly an excited gasp of awe escaped their lips as they gazed in wonder around the transformed kitchen.
A gingerbread house, created at night when the kids were sleeping sat in the centre of the table with a fruit bowl, dishes of candies, nuts and, best of all, sugar cereal! The whole room was edged with coloured lights and Christmas towels, tablecloth,napkins, pot holders with bright red ribbons on all the door handles. On year a friend at Madonna House asked Alison what her favorite thing about Christmas was and she said, "The pineapple!". Her answer shocked Martha but I was simply pleased. I understood that children notice and appreciate the small things. No detail escapes them.
When a few of the oldest kids were in their mid to late teens, friends would ask to come over and set up with us. They would cart presents downstairs arrange them, help fill 11 stockings and hang lights. They were intrigued by our large family with all the hustle and bustle and activity. It was never boring at our house The teens craved the joy and excitement of creating magic for kids who did not receive many frills during the rest of the year. I think they also craved the sense of stability, of a family grounded in the old-fashioned values of mutual love and respect.

Buried Alive in Laundry, Socks and Shoes

Credit: His and Hers
Try keeping track of shoes for 11 people

In a family of eleven, everything is a big deal.

Want a laugh today? Come take a peek into our house a few years ago.

Imagine twenty-two pieces of bread lined up in two rows on the table. Each sandwich is made with a particular person in mind because I did want them to actually eat the sandwiches at school and work. Even peanut butter sandwiches were complicated because some were made with jam or not, with thick or thin peanut butter, with butter under the peanut butter or not. A component of this chore was often a survey of the crew to see who wanted what in their lunch.

If that procedure wasn't daunting enough, I had to make sure that everyone had clean clothes and shoes to wear the next day. There were indoor and outdoor school shoes, decent runners and play runners, rain, barn and winter boots, skates, both play and good sandals, slippers, shoes to wear with dresses and dress shoe for the boys. This abbreviated list adds up to about TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FOUR shoes with the potential to get lost, wet, dirty or become too small.

Of course it was an especially big deal when the seasons changed because we had to sort and put away the shoes that weren't needed for a couple of moths and decide which shoes could be passed down or were still big enough for the current owner.

I can still hear Claire yelling, as she organized the shoes,

"Daniel, you really don't want to keep these, do you?"

Daniel would protest,

"But Claire, they're so comfortable. I like them."

His big sister would retort,

"Fine, but if they get any worse looking, I am throwing them out."

Sock were even a bigger nightmare because the only thing that will kill you as a mother of a large family is pairing socks. Although I used the toss and throw method of pairing, some mornings found us frantically searching for some appearance of a pair in my gigantic basket of unpaired socks. At times I had to literally toss the newly discovered pair over the upstairs railing. One of my kids, who already had their coat and school bag on their back, would catch them in mid-air. They quickly pulled on their socks, stuffed their feet into boots or shoes and flew out the door, barely making the school bus.

Then there was laundry, sometimes three or four loads a day because I used cloth diapers and had barn clothes to wash on top of regular clothes. I hung out at least two loads on the outside clothesline every day. Because a gulley and pasture were on that side of the house, this line was visible from the road. Unbeknownst to me, my laundry was a subject of great interest and of subsequent conversation.

" Oh my God, look at all that laundry."

" There are two different loads on the line now"

"I have never seen that line empty"

"Stop the car, I simply must take a picture of the horse and pony with the laundry line in the background"

"This is hilarious; there is every size and style of clothing on that one line"

I sometimes I held folding marathons where I literally tossed each kid their clothes and we all folded together. Other days, I simply put a basket of clean, unfolded clothes in a basket in each room.

Yep life was messy and everything was a big deal but it was awfully funny because simple chores in a family of four became massive, logistic battles in a family of eleven, battles that often went horribly wrong. Case in point, bleach spotted coloured load and makeup or gum left in a pocket, staining all the clothes in the dryer. My personal favorite disaster was that load of mostly men's white shirts that turned pink,not a subtle pink but a shockingly bright pink. I still hear about that one!!

I AM An Advocate

Today's prompt for the health blogging marathon I signed up for (blindly, I should add), asks how I have changed as an activist or advocate. My first response was to sputter,

" I am not an advocate  for anything!"

Then I experienced an epiphany of sorts,

"Hey, wait a minute. I stand up for large families in an often hostile society!"

In my experience as a mother of nine children, I have encountered more condemnation than acceptance, more questions that understanding. Perhaps it is because I do not look like the mother of a large family. I am tiny, look younger than my age and all my life people, including twerpy teenagers, have labelled me as cute. So people's first reaction to me is shock. Confusion follows because I am happy. Now a joyful, cute, tiny mother of nine simply baffles people. I shatter all their preconceived notions. The typical image of a multi-para woman would be a large, matronly, robust, grim battle-axe of a mother, efficiently marshaling her young charges with little time to coddle or love the poor deprived dears.

Parents with two children cannot fathom how a mother of a large family manages to cope with all the work to keep up a functional home as well as have enough time to love each child. However, more children are easier than less. If you have one or two children, you have to be everything for them.  In a large family, a seven-year old will read the same book over and over again to a toddler who loves one particular book. A ten-year old feels important when he can help his six-year old brother who struggles with reading. A young teenager delights in rocking a tiny, dependent infant to sleep.

For me, family started with three. I found one child horrendous, two a strain but three was easy. With three, community started. A community works and plays together and for little children work is as fun as play. I included everyone in ordinary household chores and made chores fun. A trained Montessorian told me that I ran my home like a Montessori school. What a wonderful revelation that was for me. My kids were not being deprived because I often could not sit and play with them in the traditional sense. Instead they received an expense educational experience simply because I integrated them into the running of our home.

It was never too soon to give a toddler a play job such as  picking up the toys his younger sibling drops from the high chair, again and again.The secret was to delegate, each according to his or her talents, but never to order around like troops. I always make a conspirator out of everyone. They chop wood, help fix the car, weed the garden, take care of the animals. If they're still treated like kids or overindulged, they don't have a purpose and become really angry as teenagers. When  parents let children know that their contributions are really appreciated,their self-esteem blossoms and matures

Employers love my kids because they know how to work and do not take anything for granted. Many have said,

"I will give anybody with the last name Juneau a job."

Large families strengthen the  basic foundations of our society. They live lives of greater interconnectedness. If you don't have a lot of money, you're not an island unto yourself. You learn how to share, barter skills and products with others. My children who go to college or university adapt well to communal life in a dorm or shared house. Just imagine, they already know how to share a bathroom with a lot of other people. They know how to get along with opposite personalities, how to give and take. For starters, they know how to cook and clean up after themselves.

Healthy, large families benefit society. So open your mind and heart the next time you see or hear of one. The condemnation is really hard to handle and totally unjust in a society that loves to call itself open-minded and tolerant.

Creative Thinking

 Creative thinking may mean simply the realization that there's no particular virtue in doing things the way they always have been done 
 Rudolf Flesch  

There are several ways of looking at a problematic situation.  Early on in my mothering career, I learned that I had a choice. I could either catastrophize the dilemma or consider it an interesting challenge. With limited funds, surrounded by lots of little people on a hobby farm, I had to discover innovative ways of coping. When I relaxed, often an unusual, creative or even funny solution popped into my head. I just needed to keep everything in perspective and listen to my own inner voice as well as the whispers of the Spirit. We are immersed in His Spirit. He is an integral part of every aspect of our lives. 

We simply must take the time to listen rather than over think and analyze. Ray Bradbury sums up how my kids solved their own problems, 

 Don't think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It's self-conscious, and anything self-conscious is lousy. You can't try to do things. You simply must do things. 

Of course my family absorbed this attitude when they were still young. As part of a busy household, they often came up with their own solutions to problems before I could help them. Six-year old Joseph illustrates Bradbury's concept perfectly. His grade one teacher recounted this story to me. It seems that she asked her class this question,

"How would you open the garage door if there were no grown-ups around?

Everybody just stared blankly at her, except Joseph. He frantically waved his hand in the air and then excitedly blurted out,

"You just stand on a milk crate, push on the upper left-hand corner of the door with a hockey stick and push hard. The door comes up a bit, you jump off the crate and crawl in!!"
When my eighth child was born, everyone was thirteen and under. The mornings could be chaotic and Joseph was the main contributor to the mayhem. He was full of energy and good humour but would express it by running up and down the kitchen in between eating, brushing his teeth, gathering  reading books, exercise sheets and his lunch. Somehow with all this activity he never seemed to be able to get dressed.While holding newborn Anthony over my shoulder and awkwardly putting lunches together with a helper, I'd repeat over and over, as calmly as I could,
 "Joseph, please put your clothes on."                                                                     

Finally I came to my senses; there had to be an easier way to handle the morning Battle To Get Him Dressed.  Soon after, I spotted a crazy cartoon in a parenting magazine. On two single beds, side by side, a little boy and girl lay on top of the covers. They were fully dressed in formal clothes with socks and shoes, hair clips, flower basket beside the girl and beside the boy, wedding rings on a pillow. Their mother had prepared for the wedding the next day by getting the ring bearer and flower girl ready the night before.  It looked so ludicrous that I laughed every time this image came to mind the rest of the week.

Then I experienced what I call a suddenly and inspiration hit. The p.j.s  Joseph wore to bed were not all that different than the sweat suits he wore to school. Why on earth did I not dress him in one of his school sweatsuits right after his nightly bath? It was ingenious, I thought.

After the first  day though, I realised  that I had overlooked one vital article of clothing the night before. As usual, Joseph was running up and down the kitchen but this time I was yelling,

"Joseph, please  put your socks on."

A Conversation With My Doctor

After moving to the Ottawa  Valley with our first child, I became the patient  of a very feminist Doctor who was childless, although she did have tropical fish and a  parrot.
I was an enigma to her as she was to me. The waiting room was filled with well off, professional women needing gynaecological care and women in their late thirties or early forties pregnant with their first child. Then, I would walk through the door, at first pregnant with a toddler on my hip and by my last visit with three or four other children clustered around me. Even though I switched doctors to combine a family doctor/obstetrician, this woman went beyond the call of duty for all four births.

Enshrined on this doctor's desk and encased in glass waere birth control devices that glared at me every time I sat across from her.

After one visit, my obstetrician said, in a teasing tone, "Would you quit bringing your beautiful children to my office. Someone always wants a reversal (from tubal ligation) after you leave."

A similar comment about our kids came from a priest who said, "You and Michael are nice looking but you make absolutely beautiful babies!"

Pregnant with my fourth child, I came for a scheduled appointment even though labour had begun. I preferred to see her right away rather than wait for her at the hospital because I wanted to go home after visiting her office and put everything in order and arrange childcare.

Apparently babies are born faster, after a few pregnacies. I was not expecting my doctor's reaction, "This baby is coming soon. You don't have time to travel all the way home. Use the phone in the office, get a hold of your husband and get someone to meet him with the kids in the hospital parking lot and you go straight to admitting ahead of him."

I walked into the waiting room, called my brother-in-law and explained the situation, laughing at my self as I apologised to him. A contraction hit, I breathed through the pain and then gathered all the kids together and left her office for the hospital.

An hour later she bustled into the delivery room and announced, "Well you sure impressed my entire waiting room! Everyone thinks you are super woman."

Two hours later, standing with assistance and enduring long contractions that were turning my baby completely around,  I was anything but super woman. I wailed , "I thought you said this delivery was going to be fast!"

It didn't help that seven or eight student nurses, obstetrical residents and medical students stood in a half circle around me, watching a woman give birth without drugs or an epidural, to her fourth child. (I was not trying to be super mom, natural  birth was better for delivery because I could work with my body and therefore prevented tearing and stitches. I could sit cross-legged on the bed right after and feel wonderful and much lighter.)

My fifth birth was even faster.  On Christmas Eve we gave the kids baths in the afternoon, a tortiere was baking in the oven almost  ready for an early dinner and I had just laid out dresses, white tights, ribbons for the girls  and outfits for the boys to wear to church when the contractions started coming hard and fast. In fact I barely could get my boots on.  Michael drove very quickly to the hospital. When I stepped into admitting, the lights were dim, Christmas lights were shining on the tree and strung along the walls and two relaxed nurses were leaning against the counter.

 "So ", one of the nurses calmly asked, "Is this your first?"
" No", I gasped, "My fifth."
"Your Fifth?", her head jerked up and her eyes popped open. "Sandra, get the elevator right now and then grab a wheelchair. I'll phone obstetrics so they can get ready for her!!!"
Michael followed the parade carrying David who refused to stay with our baffled neighbour; Dad assumed he had time to take him back home.
 The obstetrical  nurse told him, You aren't going anywhere if you want to see this baby's birth. Give him to the desk clerk and tell her to give him crackers."  By the way, David thoroughly enjoyed his adoring fans out at the nurses' station. My dress was literally yanked over my head, my tights whipped off, the doctor ran in to the delivery room and Emily was born 45 minutes later.
 And my slightly baffled doctor STILL showed up within 20 minutes on Christmas Eve!!

The Weirdest Thing about My Health

You would think having nine children would turn you into a frazzled wreck with a figure like the Pillsbury Dough Boy and a brain gone to mush. Not necessarily.

People look at me, their eyebrows shoot up, their mouths drop open and they sputter, "YOU had 9 children??"

This is because I am 5' 1" and weigh 104 lbs.  I was pregnant or nursing for 17 years without a break. I have been pregnant 10 times and I am healthy and happy and I have my BBB back. (That would be my Before Babies Body). I did not diet.

My husband and I half-heartedly followed natural family planning but I am a rare case; I have conceived 5 DAYS before ovulation. As my wonderful doctor once said,

"Ah yes, there was a woman in New Zealand who conceived 5 days before ovulation about two years ago. "

Once again, my body did not follow the rules. I also deliver 3 weeks early because my babies would be 9-10 lbs. if I didn't. Although I am tiny, my deliveries were all natural with out drugs or ripping and tearing. After short labours, I feel great with little pain. My doctor was my defender. For example

Our family doctor, who was also my obstetrician, had warned us to come into town immediately with my first labour pains. My eighth child was going to be born quickly. Dr. H met me outside the hospital, helped me out of our old mini-bus, into a wheelchair and literally ran past admitting with a huge grin on his face yelling,

 “Sorry. No time to admit her. I’ll do the paperwork for her after the delivery. See you later!”

He was still chuckling in the elevator over the shocked expression on the admitting clerk’s face. We moved slowly out of the elevator onto the obstetrical floor and Dr. H peered around the corner to check the nursing station. My doctor sighed happily,

“Good. The head nurse is on coffee break and no one is in the natural birthing room. Olga is going to have a fit when she sees your stats on the board and that you are in here!”

He laughed loudly this time as we darted into the softly lit room. Michael walked in a little later, holding 18- month old Katie with her sun suit on backwards, straps crossed across her chest. A nurse turned to me and said,

“Let me guess. Daddy dressed her.”

I smiled weakly in between labour pains because the nurse barely had time to check my vital signs before Anthony was born. Michael had pulled the curtain around my bed partly closed to block Katie’s view of the labour and delivery. Since she refused the cookie bribe offered by a nurse outside at the station, Katie was still with Michael. As soon as Anthony was born, my husband whipped the curtain open and passed Katie to a nurse so he could cut his son’s umbilical cord.

I am a happy anomaly.

Fashion Sense? Snort-She Was BORN With It!

Claire is on the left

One evening as I tried to rush out of the house, Claire glanced up from her homework, scrutinized me up and down disapprovingly and asked, very slowly, “Are you going out?”

Tiny, adorable, clever and independent Claire was also strong-willed, high maintenance and high-strung. My fifth child, Claire was a beautiful little package of contradictions who gave me strife and hilarious joy, sometimes at the very same time. Most arguments were about clothes. Although her fashion sense has developed into a wonderful gift now that she is in her mid twenties, at three and four-years old this “gift” was a pain.
Claire changed her clothes often throughout the day, from the age of two. Watching one of the few videos of our family, one of my older daughters pointed at the screen and laughed,
“Look at Claire. That is the third time she has changed clothes during this video!”
Sure enough, the pip squeak had another outfit on.
Claire was always aware of what she was wearing as well as those around her, which often led to disagreements about what she could and could not wear. Although she was a mature, articulate, fashion conscious three-year old, I was still concerned that Claire was too young to start four-year old kindergarten. When she stomped into the house after the first morning, ranting about a little girl who had worn a “jean skirt with a matching jean jacket”, I realized that it was the school which was not quite ready for Claire!
Alas, Claire's attention soon turned to her busy mother. I sometimes pulled on stockings, brushed my hair and applied a touch of make-up once I had climbed into our huge 13 seat mini-bus. I barely had enough time to make sure my dress was clean and I had brushed my teeth before I hustled everyone out the door. This changed when my daughters were in their late teens because they organized an all out assault to bring me into the 21st century. They took me to a hair salon for a cut and dye make-over, plucked my eyebrows, bought me clothes and make-up and forced me to throw out decade old comfy clothes. Claire has been the most persistent fashion advisor, however.
One evening as I tried to rush out of the house, Claire looked up from her homework, looked me up and down disapprovingly and asked, very slowly,
“Are you going out?”
I answered in the affirmative.
Claire continued, “And you’re wearing that?”
I nodded slowly. I knew the direction that this conversation was headed.
“I don’t think so”, she added, “Remember the navy pants that Melissa bought you for Christmas and the top that Rachel gave you on Mother’s Day? That would look really sharp with my light blue scarf and my little black belt. Could you pleeeease try it on?”
I sighed and trudged back upstairs because it was easier just to comply. I must admit that she was right. Of course, once I came down, Claire had to jump up to adjust the belt and re-tie the scarf but as a result of listening to my daughter’s fashion advice, Michael, my husband, was pleasantly surprised.
Really though, Claire is an expert at changing outfits. She has been practicing since she was two-years old.

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star? Not a chance >

What did our younger kids sing during circle time?

We were standing in line at the Canadian Tire's automotive desk with our youngest daughter. Lucy, three weeks before turning two, was sitting quietly in the shopping cart looking adorable in a soft, pink snowsuit. Suddenly she pointed and yelled,

"Gee mum, that guy is cute!"

Once again my tiny toddler startled and amused me because her perfectly articulated words were so in congruent with her appearance and the baby like tone of her voice. I turned around to catch a glimpse of the gentleman who had caught Lucy's attention and I almost burst into gales of laughter. He was a thirty-year old, skinny, balding, gap-toothed banker type sporting a blond, handlebar moustache, wearing a dark suit and beige trench coat. Everyone within hearing distance glanced in our direction. This young man blushed with embarrassment but also with pleasure. With a huge smile, he replied,

"That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time!"

We all laughed but I thought,

"Where did that idea come from?"

Then it all came together.

One of the after dinner responsibilities, at that stage in our family's life, was entertaining Lucy so I would be free to act as the ring master to the circus of activity that swirled around our house in the early evening. Mara and Melissa jumped at the chance to watch Lucy because they would relax and look at catalogues and magazines with her. I knew that they pointed out objects and people to Lucy to increase her vocabulary but I realized one of their comments must have been,

"THAT guy is cute!"

One of the major disadvantages of a large family; older siblings expose young children to pop culture. A prime demonstration of this phenomena was during 'circle time' in kindergarten. Sometimes the teacher encouraged the children to sing a song, expecting to hear something like Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. She did not get that sort of song from my youngest two. This teacher laughed with amusement as she told me what my two youngest children sang for the other five-year olds.

Anthony sang Go Grease Lightning from the movie musical Grease.

Lucy sang some pop song about not dating a scruffy looking guy "who sits in the passenger side of his best friend's car"!

There is usually a positive side to everything . My oldest daughters also taught the younger ones a valuable life lesson through the lyrics to this song,

"Don't settle for the first boy who gives you attention."

All my girls must have learned this lesson well because they are very selective when it comes to boyfriends. In high school, if my daughters date, it only lasts a couple of weeks because they find that the boys are typically "idiots". Lucy's English teacher was just teasing her, last month, that she was high maintenance and he pitied her boyfriend. Lucy shot back,

"Don't worry sir; my boyfriend is like my trampoline."

This statement confused her teacher, so Lucy explained,

"I don't have one!" `